I am inept in every Rwandan sense of the word. This weekend I had Anna come to my country retreat to get out of the city. It forced me to clean my house (sort of) and even contemplate getting over my cooking phobia. I have a kerosene stove with a burner on top. Step One: get an empty water bottle and find a store that sells kerosene. Step Two: Pour the kerosene into the bottom of the stove. Step Three: Turn the wicks up and light them on fire. Step Four: Place the top of the stove and try to cook. Sounds fairly easy, right? After two hours trials two days in a row I was still unable to boil water! It was like the water was mocking me. It would get to the point when the bubbles were sitting on the bottom of the pot ready to rise…and it would just sit there. Sure I was watching the pot so of course it wouldn't boil. I tried to distract myself but I MEAN REALLY, two hours! I just wanted some oatmeal.
I've recently gotten some tips to fix my issue. I hope in the future I will be telling you how delicious my oatmeal is and my future house guests will actually have something to eat besides bread and condiments.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Hot Streak
My hot streak is over. My four months of perfect health has ended. It all came crashing down Sunday night. I had spent a hectic but nice weekend with my first houseguest, Anna. We'd finished lunch at the guesthouse and I had put her on a bus back to the big city. I was lounging around on the computer for a few hours and then exhaustion hit me. Nevertheless Edison and I went to visit our coworker Jeanne at her house. I drank my tea, ate my biscuits and started in on a mandarin orange thinking the fruit would reinvigorate me from my rude position of lying down on Jeanne's couch. I got through half of the tiny orange but just didn't have it in me to finish it because all I wanted to do was lie down. Jeanne chastised me for not finishing the orange and went into her usual lecture of poor nutrition equaling sickness and death. I followed orders and finished it. Then scamper, scamper. Sure enough Jeanne had a rat living in her house as of the last week. It was running from the bedroom to the kitchen. Ah! Running rodents being seen by lantern and flashlight are always more frightening than if we actually had electricity to see them clearly. We mocked Jeanne that the rat would curl up in her bed with her to sleep tonight. Then my exhaustion turned to nausea. Next thing I knew the orange and Jeanne's dirt yard were meeting each other. I've only vomited about ten times in my life so I was surprised and appalled all the same time. I was extremely dizzy, nauseous and tired. There was no way I was making the 5 minute walk to my house. Jeanne graciously let me sleep in her spare bedroom, really more so she could monitor me throughout the night. It was a night of fitful catnaps. Around 2am I woke up to very loud rustling. I shined my flashlight over to the box in the corner of the room and low and behold I was sharing my bedroom with the RAT. There was a hole bitten through the bottom corner of the box and apparently Mr. Rat couldn't get comfortable in his bed in there because he was rustling around quite loudly. I have actually lived with rats before because my old roommate had them as pets. I figured I knew how they would react to certain things so I left my flashlight shining on the hole, thinking it would prefer the darkness of the box and stay in there. My imagination was going wild with a massive, fat rat with bulging red eyes. The fever I was running was probably contributing to this level of terror. Soon after that rat made an appearance. It looked more like a tiny field mouse. Initial terror was over. Now I just wanted to make sure that thing didn't end up in bed with me.
The next day was spent in bed. I was still dizzy and nauseous, breaking a fever every once in awhile, pounding headache, achey, with absolutely no appetite. We have our own Peace Corps doctor in Kigali that we can consult and go to at any time so I kept him up to date with my symptoms. Because I live so close to the city he urged me to come in just so he didn't have to irrationally worry that I had malaria. Luckily I have a wonderful site-mate who didn't want me fainting on a bus alone so Edison came along. And here's where that good old VIP American status comes in. We were walking into town to find a bus when I see one of the larger Volcano buses (Volcano is a bus company here). Larger buses are NEVER at site because only the small buses travel these rural roads. Then we realized that a group of health practitioners from all over the world had been visiting our hospital earlier today. They were already loaded up on the bus waiting to leave. Should we ask for a ride? Couldn't hurt. Our instant ticket on is literally written all over our faces. I offered to faint or vomit on the road beside the bus to really seal the deal, I'm just that giving. Turns out I looked sick enough for them to take pity and allow us to ride their bus back to Kigali. Just before the bus was about to pull away we got called over by our boss', boss' boss. Think Office Space and the memos. He was driving over to Kigali in his beautiful Land Cruiser and had room for two more. He drove us right up to the Peace Corps office, avoiding the hustle and bustle of switching buses and then walking 1/2 a mile down the road to the office.
Then as if my luck couldn't get any better I walk into the office and see my long lost friends from the forest. The married couple from my group living in the most remote site. They don't get out much. Unfortunately there was a bicycle accident and they were just getting everything checked to be completely sure it was okay. Even though I wasn't much fun it was a nice visit. I also got to run into my training manager, Mup. He gave me a huge hug and then ordered me to not die. Mission accomplished.
It is still undetermined exactly what I had but my energy has gone back up, the fever hasn't come back and my appetite is slowly coming back. Thanks to all of you who sent me messages saying feel better. Apparently telling my mom equals everyone in the world knowing in the next 6 hours! I'm back at site now and have essentially spent all week resting and not doing any work. My house is a mess and I can't wait to get back into a routine. Of course I'm heading to another training next week so normalcy will need to wait yet again.
The next day was spent in bed. I was still dizzy and nauseous, breaking a fever every once in awhile, pounding headache, achey, with absolutely no appetite. We have our own Peace Corps doctor in Kigali that we can consult and go to at any time so I kept him up to date with my symptoms. Because I live so close to the city he urged me to come in just so he didn't have to irrationally worry that I had malaria. Luckily I have a wonderful site-mate who didn't want me fainting on a bus alone so Edison came along. And here's where that good old VIP American status comes in. We were walking into town to find a bus when I see one of the larger Volcano buses (Volcano is a bus company here). Larger buses are NEVER at site because only the small buses travel these rural roads. Then we realized that a group of health practitioners from all over the world had been visiting our hospital earlier today. They were already loaded up on the bus waiting to leave. Should we ask for a ride? Couldn't hurt. Our instant ticket on is literally written all over our faces. I offered to faint or vomit on the road beside the bus to really seal the deal, I'm just that giving. Turns out I looked sick enough for them to take pity and allow us to ride their bus back to Kigali. Just before the bus was about to pull away we got called over by our boss', boss' boss. Think Office Space and the memos. He was driving over to Kigali in his beautiful Land Cruiser and had room for two more. He drove us right up to the Peace Corps office, avoiding the hustle and bustle of switching buses and then walking 1/2 a mile down the road to the office.
Then as if my luck couldn't get any better I walk into the office and see my long lost friends from the forest. The married couple from my group living in the most remote site. They don't get out much. Unfortunately there was a bicycle accident and they were just getting everything checked to be completely sure it was okay. Even though I wasn't much fun it was a nice visit. I also got to run into my training manager, Mup. He gave me a huge hug and then ordered me to not die. Mission accomplished.
It is still undetermined exactly what I had but my energy has gone back up, the fever hasn't come back and my appetite is slowly coming back. Thanks to all of you who sent me messages saying feel better. Apparently telling my mom equals everyone in the world knowing in the next 6 hours! I'm back at site now and have essentially spent all week resting and not doing any work. My house is a mess and I can't wait to get back into a routine. Of course I'm heading to another training next week so normalcy will need to wait yet again.
What PC Dreams are Made of
I just woke up on a Sunday morning at 6:20 am, my usual waking time, sans alarm clock. It never fails. I don't think I've slept past 7 the entire time I've been in Rwanda. I had a strange little dream that only makes sense if you are in the PC. The floor of my house was dirt (which it isn't, but my yard is) and I had to pull weeds. I was being meticulous and making sure I captured the entire root. One root was incredibly long, a couple feet long. I slowly pulled, only putting enough pressure to ensure I got the entire thing. Once I had successfully conquered the gargantuan root and thrown it aside, I looked down at the hole of upturned dirt it had created. Within the hole there was an electronic device. Intrigued, I dug further and found board games! Trouble, the pink breast cancer edition of Monopoly, Sorry. I found scrapbooking supplies and multiple picture frames. Everything had been owned by a previous PCV and her pictures and crafts were still contained here. I sorted through all of it and made a pile of my small bounty. Life was good. Then I woke up to the birds prancing on my tin roof. This day will be filled with ceremonies and I'm dragging my first house guest, Anna, along for the ride. Church and then a baby naming ceremony and hopefully a birthday celebration for a coworker of mine. It should be a great one.
Running with the Bulls
I had just attended a lovely Rwandan wedding. Jeanne, Edison, Anna and I were traveling back to my site. We were in downtown Kigali looking for a bus to get back to Nybugogo to make the hour ride back. The bus area is semi-organized chaos. Lines of buses file in and you basically have to ask a few times to get to the bus with the end destination you are looking for. There are tons of people milling around. We were all tired and trying to get home quickly when suddenly the crowd in front of me abruptly turned around to face me and started running. Not one to be left behind I followed suit. There was terror in their faces so whatever they were running from seemed legitimate enough for me to run to. I make a few huge strides in the opposite direction when I hear my friends laughing hysterically. What could possibly be funny about this situation?! I'm getting the hell out if that's what the situation calls for. And my response time was excellent! Well it turns out my survival instincts were triggered for no reason. All the people running happened to be street vendors who were selling things, which I just at that moment learned was illegal. People are not supposed to be selling items on the street, which you would never guess because there are a million street vendors. Apparently the cops were walking by and the vendors were scampering away so they didn't get caught. No wonder the look of terror. My travel companions proceeded to laugh at me for the next few hours/days about this and forced me to write this embarrassing story for my blog so you could all laugh at me too.
Lost in Translation
First of all, if you all haven’t been listening to the theme song for the World Cup or the Shakira song that goes along with it, I demand you to YouTube it right now. I love both the songs and have had them in my head for about two weeks. It doesn’t help that they are played every two seconds here. I just love World Cup hype. It’s like Olympic excitement. So that is the official soundtrack of this blog post.
Sometimes the translation between English and Kinyarwanda can be awkward and sometimes it provides the greatest clarity to a situation.
I was meeting the Social Affairs Secretary for our district a couple weeks ago. She was a lovely woman who spoke English very well. She’s one of the few Rwandans who have actually been to America. We spoke about her trip to Chicago and St. Louis for part of a conference. Naturally the conversation turned to martial status and future plans. I fired right back, asking if she was married and had children. She was indeed married and had one son so far although she’d like two more eventually. She was stressing the importance of marriage and finding a good person to share your life with. She began with ‘Being married to a wonderful spouse is like…’ and then paused. There are so many ways to end that statement I was intrigued what direction she was going to take it. “…is like a small paradise.” Ah, for once the translation was perfectly eloquent.
An interesting challenge to teaching English to the secondary students are the words that are combined into one in Kinyarwanda. For example, to love and to like are combined into one verb. The same is true for the verbs to want and to need. Trying to explain the difference is more difficult than I’d like to admit. Anyone want to give it a try?
Sometimes the translation between English and Kinyarwanda can be awkward and sometimes it provides the greatest clarity to a situation.
I was meeting the Social Affairs Secretary for our district a couple weeks ago. She was a lovely woman who spoke English very well. She’s one of the few Rwandans who have actually been to America. We spoke about her trip to Chicago and St. Louis for part of a conference. Naturally the conversation turned to martial status and future plans. I fired right back, asking if she was married and had children. She was indeed married and had one son so far although she’d like two more eventually. She was stressing the importance of marriage and finding a good person to share your life with. She began with ‘Being married to a wonderful spouse is like…’ and then paused. There are so many ways to end that statement I was intrigued what direction she was going to take it. “…is like a small paradise.” Ah, for once the translation was perfectly eloquent.
An interesting challenge to teaching English to the secondary students are the words that are combined into one in Kinyarwanda. For example, to love and to like are combined into one verb. The same is true for the verbs to want and to need. Trying to explain the difference is more difficult than I’d like to admit. Anyone want to give it a try?
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Clubs
I’m back with secondary students and it feels great. I was privileged enough to help two clubs out this week and hope to be able to do so every week. Tuesdays is the anti-SIDA club. SIDA is the French acronym for AIDS. The club serves as a way to educate young people and helps reduce their risky behavior. It offers great health information as well as a way to get their personal questions answered. This week Edison and I tackled the difficult subject of love, romance and making the personal decision of whether sex is the next step in your relationship. They wanted to know how to show love without having sex. Now imagine that conversation with a group of 50 secondary students, in another language. Luckily we have a great translator, a student who happens to excel in English. We covered the range of emotional support in relationships, physical affection that doesn’t involve the risk of contracting AIDS, having open and honest communication, reasons for having sex, not breaking down to peer pressure, prioritizing your goals in life and realizing what behavior is too risky. All within an hour! It was great. The students were able to ask specific questions and challenge us with realistic struggles they face.
The most heartbreaking moment was during the discussion of why people have sex. We had already laid out the curiosity, pleasure, to make babies arguments. A girl in the front row raised her hand and said – to get money. The sugar mama/sugar daddy phenomena is a huge problem in Rwanda. Many adolescents cannot afford school so they sell their bodies for sex in order to afford school fees. It is such a noble cause but such a horrendous predicament. Many of the children are placing themselves at a huge risk for becoming HIV positive or getting pregnant all because they want an education and a chance at a better future.
(The second club I attended was the English club. It’s for any student that wants to improve their English. I’m sure I’ll have some funny stories as time goes on…)
The most heartbreaking moment was during the discussion of why people have sex. We had already laid out the curiosity, pleasure, to make babies arguments. A girl in the front row raised her hand and said – to get money. The sugar mama/sugar daddy phenomena is a huge problem in Rwanda. Many adolescents cannot afford school so they sell their bodies for sex in order to afford school fees. It is such a noble cause but such a horrendous predicament. Many of the children are placing themselves at a huge risk for becoming HIV positive or getting pregnant all because they want an education and a chance at a better future.
(The second club I attended was the English club. It’s for any student that wants to improve their English. I’m sure I’ll have some funny stories as time goes on…)
Introspection
A wise woman recently asked me whether I was shielding my own emotions from myself. If by being in this culture of suppressing emotion, I would in turn lose touch with myself. I think the answer to this also combines the emotional journey of being in the Peace Corps. I have always been a sucker for overanalyzing my behavior, responses to situations, emotional highs and lows. I analyze so much I’m surprised I even have time to act and react in real life.
The past couple years in Michigan I had actually been hiding from myself a bit. I was ashamed of my life, my lack of direction. I’d rather sit mindlessly in front of the TV or escape into books than have that internal conversation going that made me acknowledge my reality.
Being in Rwanda is sort of the same, for completely different reasons. This is such a monumental time in my life, with practically every facet of life being different than the reality I’m used to. Every day presents extreme emotions and internal struggles. As a defense mechanism I’ve shut down most of my internal analyzing. The less I think about all the change and struggle, the less I actually feel it. It’s like when you don’t verbally acknowledge something…then it’s not really there. I think this is calming my sense of overload. If I don’t let go and see that bird’s eye view of what I’m doing in my life right now then I can handle bit by bit as it comes.
There are obvious pitfalls to this method – Am I experiencing this time to the fullest? Am I allowing myself to trust the people around me and myself? Am I living in huge sense of denial? Will I recognize my full range of emotions again?
It also brings up the topic of the relationships I’m building here. It is such an odd microcosm that I exist in. For the Americans I am here with there is an instant bond that I will never be able to recreate with anyone back home. No one will completely understand what I am experiencing like they will. Then again, just like any first day at a new place, with completely new people, it’s a time to recreate myself. I can forget/deny the past and start fresh. It’s so tantalizing I may be acting too cryptic and vague with my friends here as a way to save myself from myself. Ahh and I thought I had shut off the overanalyzing part of my brain…
The past couple years in Michigan I had actually been hiding from myself a bit. I was ashamed of my life, my lack of direction. I’d rather sit mindlessly in front of the TV or escape into books than have that internal conversation going that made me acknowledge my reality.
Being in Rwanda is sort of the same, for completely different reasons. This is such a monumental time in my life, with practically every facet of life being different than the reality I’m used to. Every day presents extreme emotions and internal struggles. As a defense mechanism I’ve shut down most of my internal analyzing. The less I think about all the change and struggle, the less I actually feel it. It’s like when you don’t verbally acknowledge something…then it’s not really there. I think this is calming my sense of overload. If I don’t let go and see that bird’s eye view of what I’m doing in my life right now then I can handle bit by bit as it comes.
There are obvious pitfalls to this method – Am I experiencing this time to the fullest? Am I allowing myself to trust the people around me and myself? Am I living in huge sense of denial? Will I recognize my full range of emotions again?
It also brings up the topic of the relationships I’m building here. It is such an odd microcosm that I exist in. For the Americans I am here with there is an instant bond that I will never be able to recreate with anyone back home. No one will completely understand what I am experiencing like they will. Then again, just like any first day at a new place, with completely new people, it’s a time to recreate myself. I can forget/deny the past and start fresh. It’s so tantalizing I may be acting too cryptic and vague with my friends here as a way to save myself from myself. Ahh and I thought I had shut off the overanalyzing part of my brain…
Arguments
The only topic I really get fired up about here is the subject of poor people in America. For the most part I am extremely capable of having a calm conversation with people, explaining American culture or perspective. This topic, however, usually ends up with me reminding myself not to let out frustration on the poor soul who accidentally brought it up. Just a couple days ago I had one such conversation with my newest coworker/new supervisor Fidele. Fidele is about my age and fresh out of college. I think this is his first job so he’s by the book, workaholic, trying to do everything right. It’s wonderful. He is trying so hard and can speak English really well so I can have a role in things too. We have been able to have a lot of good cultural conversations and debate differences in nationalities. One of our current jokes is about me judging how men are always late to meetings but the women are always early. He tries to defend his gender but I’m waiting for the raw data.
Unfortunately for him, he happened to bring up poverty in America. It began because we were visiting a sector quite a ways from my site. It is within our territory of people we need to work with. We were meeting with officials there to notify them about what we are doing and then meeting with a cooperative who produces honey (yum!). It was a very small village and possibly the most rural location I’ve seen in Rwanda so far. Fidele began with – are there villages like this in America? Yes, there are very small towns, with barely any businesses, and very poor people. Well they aren’t poor like this village is poor. In fact, they are. Well they aren’t starving, right? Yes, believe it or not there are starving people in America. But they don’t have AIDS like we do here? Yes, Americans have AIDS. But the government helps them. No, actually some people cannot afford the medication to keep their illness in check and they die. But the government helps them I’m sure because your government helps our people.
Ahh, there comes the fine tension between domestic and foreign aid. Who should we be helping more, the poor people of America or the poor people of the world? And does it have to be a one or the other situation? Everywhere you turn here is a sign proclaiming it is financed by USAID – by the American people. It’s actually embarrassing. The use of logos to signify the bureaucracy and ownership of charity money is only strengthening the argument of all the people who ask me for money because I’m a white American. The American people have so much to give, don’t YOU? But then doesn’t that prove their viewpoint that there are absolutely no poor Americans, none of them are starving or suffering from diseases. And if they are then surely the US government is sweeping in and taking away all the pain.
How do I explain that many Americans are living is destitute poverty just like them? Only our culture tells them to own guns, join gangs, sell drugs, eat fast food because it’s all they can afford and is available, devalue education, try to keep up with the materialism of the upper classes and become mindless zombies in front of TVs. How do I explain the plight of the poor American who is placed side by side with such extreme wealth, the huge houses, multiple cars, expensive clothing, pricey food? Is it easier to watch that wealth from a TV screen half way around the world or just on the other side of town? It is easier for them to believe there are no poor Americans because that taints their vision of the heavenly land of milk and honey?
Unfortunately for him, he happened to bring up poverty in America. It began because we were visiting a sector quite a ways from my site. It is within our territory of people we need to work with. We were meeting with officials there to notify them about what we are doing and then meeting with a cooperative who produces honey (yum!). It was a very small village and possibly the most rural location I’ve seen in Rwanda so far. Fidele began with – are there villages like this in America? Yes, there are very small towns, with barely any businesses, and very poor people. Well they aren’t poor like this village is poor. In fact, they are. Well they aren’t starving, right? Yes, believe it or not there are starving people in America. But they don’t have AIDS like we do here? Yes, Americans have AIDS. But the government helps them. No, actually some people cannot afford the medication to keep their illness in check and they die. But the government helps them I’m sure because your government helps our people.
Ahh, there comes the fine tension between domestic and foreign aid. Who should we be helping more, the poor people of America or the poor people of the world? And does it have to be a one or the other situation? Everywhere you turn here is a sign proclaiming it is financed by USAID – by the American people. It’s actually embarrassing. The use of logos to signify the bureaucracy and ownership of charity money is only strengthening the argument of all the people who ask me for money because I’m a white American. The American people have so much to give, don’t YOU? But then doesn’t that prove their viewpoint that there are absolutely no poor Americans, none of them are starving or suffering from diseases. And if they are then surely the US government is sweeping in and taking away all the pain.
How do I explain that many Americans are living is destitute poverty just like them? Only our culture tells them to own guns, join gangs, sell drugs, eat fast food because it’s all they can afford and is available, devalue education, try to keep up with the materialism of the upper classes and become mindless zombies in front of TVs. How do I explain the plight of the poor American who is placed side by side with such extreme wealth, the huge houses, multiple cars, expensive clothing, pricey food? Is it easier to watch that wealth from a TV screen half way around the world or just on the other side of town? It is easier for them to believe there are no poor Americans because that taints their vision of the heavenly land of milk and honey?
Scars
Shortly after I arrived in Rwanda I began having a nagging internal conflict while trying to reconcile the horrific history of this country with its breathtaking scenery. After visiting the genocide memorial and hearing people’s stories, I wanted to see the physical destruction. I wanted to mourn the pain and the terror but I needed to see its legacy. Perhaps demolished countryside or ruined buildings. I saw none of this. Sometimes when I was on the bus I tried to imagine what this looked like in 1994. It sounds like a torturous habit but connecting the history with the present is nearly impossible here if you do not force yourself to imagine the past. There is fast development, unyielding hope and no permanent physical destruction.
Then I discovered where the scars lie. It’s not in the landscape as if bombs were thrown down from planes. It’s on the bodies of the people. Once you begin to look around you can see the scars everywhere. But you must look at the people to see the pain.
Then I discovered where the scars lie. It’s not in the landscape as if bombs were thrown down from planes. It’s on the bodies of the people. Once you begin to look around you can see the scars everywhere. But you must look at the people to see the pain.
Single Mothers
I left my gate open for the first time. My gate is very imposing. It is large, rusty brown. Having it closed makes most of my yard invisible to the street and can be read as a huge Do Not Enter sign. In American culture it would just be a – I want some privacy, and I like my alone time. But in Rwanda it feels like more of a Get out of my face, I don’t want to make friends with any of you. Visiting is a big deal here. Everyone wants to visit and be visited, for extended periods of time. Imagine when you are in a place with no TV, radio only if you can afford it, no computer or internet. Conversation is all you have – which is why this culture is so oral. I’m going to encourage reading and libraries while I’m here but I think I can only get them hooked if I read to them aloud. This is my newest ploy for the neighborhood kids and my neighbors you want to learn English. I like reading aloud anyhow so it could be a win-win situation. Signal the end of my tangent.
So I left my gate open. And a plethora of my female neighbors came to visit. I’m very guarded about letting people in my house and I don’t really have furniture anyway so I made them sit on the cement of my front porch. I really love my female neighbors. They stand up for me, and teach me Kinyarwanda vocabulary. I’m going to introduce you to a couple of them.
Meet Tabita (spelling may be incorrect but it’s pronounced Ta-beat-a). She is a big mouth. Tabita is perpetually shouting something and getting herself in your face. At first I was put off by her. This may be because every single conversation I have with her involves her asking me for something. First she wanted to be my housegirl, then my cook, to do my laundry, to clean my house, to fetch my water…and the latest scheme is to borrow my radio during the day while I’m at work. Don’t put her in the same category as Bubba though. She is jovial and generally joking. At least I laugh it off and tell her no as sarcastically as I can. We mainly have a relationship based on body language. I make funny faces to her requests and she plays the role of shocked neighbor. Out of all my neighbors she has the lowest level of English knowledge. She says she understands most of it but can’t speak back – which is the same place I’m in with Kinyarwanda – minus the understanding most part ☺
She is also my greatest cheerleader. Tabita is very consistent about yelling at people to not call me muzungu, that I do in fact have a name, and it’s Kim. Ever since day two when I complained to her that I dislike being called muzungu when they know my name – she has been yelling ever since. I get a kick out of it because she’s a wonderful person as long as she’s on your side of the battle.
Tabita is also a single mother. Her daughter (who is named something close to Bellina) is about 1 ½ years old. She has beautiful, big eyes and likes to call me Kimmy. Bellina also has a bad habit of losing her shoes.
Today was the first time I broached the subject about marriage. Although Rwandans love to ask if you are married, I’m still not used to being the asker of personal questions. Today I noticed she had a wedding ring on – they wear them on the same finger we do. She also had a ring on her middle finger – which is where they put a ring when they are engaged. So I asked if she was married, pointing to her ring finger. She laughed, slightly embarrassed and said no. She proceeded to take off that ring and point to her middle finger and explain that she was engaged. I dropped the subject and watched moments later as she placed the first ring back on her marriage finger. I’m assuming she wears it to give the allusion of marriage. To have children and not be married is scandalous. She is a tall, striking woman who likes to retain her pride when possible.
Claudette also came by. She is my next door neighbor on the other side. She just gave birth to a baby girl. She had the baby on her back. Almost all women strap the babies on their backs when they need to travel, or get work done or the baby needs to go to sleep. I think I’ve figured out the technique so you can try it at home if you’d like. They bend over so their backs are parallel to the ground and lay the baby down with their face towards their back. First they use a towel, if they possess one. They lay it over the baby so just their head is sticking out, arms inside. They wrap the towel around their front like when you get out of the shower and wrap a towel around, but very tight. Then they stand up straight while grabbing the bottom corners of the towel. They make sure it is wrapped around the baby’s butt and tie it in front, letting the feet stick out. Sometimes a second piece of fabric is also wrapped around. If the baby is fussy or sleeping they tie a sheet around their own shoulders so that it lightly covers the baby and creates some darkness. Once you get over the fear that the baby is going to fall out of this contraption, you discover it’s ingenious. You have the use of both of your arms. You can bounce around and tap the baby’s butt if it’s fussy. And much smarter than having the baby on your front, you don’t worry about smacking it into things or having limited use of things in front of you because the baby’s in the way. Of course you must remember not to sit far back on a chair and squish them. All in all, points for the Rwandans for being multitasking and not letting a baby get in the way of work.
So Claudette came by to sit and chat, and mainly to play with my radio, listen to music and sing. I also had another visitor, a neighbor who lives somewhere behind me who is a student at the local college. She is studying to be an accountant.
Apparently every visitor I receive ends with that person helping me clean. I’ll admit I was a slob in America but in Rwanda, I believe even the biggest neat freak would be considered messy. I’ve been ashamed of my yard ever since Claudia swept half of it for me. I’ve slowly been getting to the other half. It still had weeds all over the place and some random garbage wrappers – a huge no-no in Rwanda. Sweeping dirt is a national pastime. Soon Tabita was yelling for someone to bring a hoe and a broom. We all pulled weeds and now my yard is immaculate.
I think I’ll leave my gate open again soon. I have so many lessons to learn here and my neighbors are oh so willing to show me the way. Thank goodness. There’s no better example of how to be an independent woman here than the single mothers on my block.
So I left my gate open. And a plethora of my female neighbors came to visit. I’m very guarded about letting people in my house and I don’t really have furniture anyway so I made them sit on the cement of my front porch. I really love my female neighbors. They stand up for me, and teach me Kinyarwanda vocabulary. I’m going to introduce you to a couple of them.
Meet Tabita (spelling may be incorrect but it’s pronounced Ta-beat-a). She is a big mouth. Tabita is perpetually shouting something and getting herself in your face. At first I was put off by her. This may be because every single conversation I have with her involves her asking me for something. First she wanted to be my housegirl, then my cook, to do my laundry, to clean my house, to fetch my water…and the latest scheme is to borrow my radio during the day while I’m at work. Don’t put her in the same category as Bubba though. She is jovial and generally joking. At least I laugh it off and tell her no as sarcastically as I can. We mainly have a relationship based on body language. I make funny faces to her requests and she plays the role of shocked neighbor. Out of all my neighbors she has the lowest level of English knowledge. She says she understands most of it but can’t speak back – which is the same place I’m in with Kinyarwanda – minus the understanding most part ☺
She is also my greatest cheerleader. Tabita is very consistent about yelling at people to not call me muzungu, that I do in fact have a name, and it’s Kim. Ever since day two when I complained to her that I dislike being called muzungu when they know my name – she has been yelling ever since. I get a kick out of it because she’s a wonderful person as long as she’s on your side of the battle.
Tabita is also a single mother. Her daughter (who is named something close to Bellina) is about 1 ½ years old. She has beautiful, big eyes and likes to call me Kimmy. Bellina also has a bad habit of losing her shoes.
Today was the first time I broached the subject about marriage. Although Rwandans love to ask if you are married, I’m still not used to being the asker of personal questions. Today I noticed she had a wedding ring on – they wear them on the same finger we do. She also had a ring on her middle finger – which is where they put a ring when they are engaged. So I asked if she was married, pointing to her ring finger. She laughed, slightly embarrassed and said no. She proceeded to take off that ring and point to her middle finger and explain that she was engaged. I dropped the subject and watched moments later as she placed the first ring back on her marriage finger. I’m assuming she wears it to give the allusion of marriage. To have children and not be married is scandalous. She is a tall, striking woman who likes to retain her pride when possible.
Claudette also came by. She is my next door neighbor on the other side. She just gave birth to a baby girl. She had the baby on her back. Almost all women strap the babies on their backs when they need to travel, or get work done or the baby needs to go to sleep. I think I’ve figured out the technique so you can try it at home if you’d like. They bend over so their backs are parallel to the ground and lay the baby down with their face towards their back. First they use a towel, if they possess one. They lay it over the baby so just their head is sticking out, arms inside. They wrap the towel around their front like when you get out of the shower and wrap a towel around, but very tight. Then they stand up straight while grabbing the bottom corners of the towel. They make sure it is wrapped around the baby’s butt and tie it in front, letting the feet stick out. Sometimes a second piece of fabric is also wrapped around. If the baby is fussy or sleeping they tie a sheet around their own shoulders so that it lightly covers the baby and creates some darkness. Once you get over the fear that the baby is going to fall out of this contraption, you discover it’s ingenious. You have the use of both of your arms. You can bounce around and tap the baby’s butt if it’s fussy. And much smarter than having the baby on your front, you don’t worry about smacking it into things or having limited use of things in front of you because the baby’s in the way. Of course you must remember not to sit far back on a chair and squish them. All in all, points for the Rwandans for being multitasking and not letting a baby get in the way of work.
So Claudette came by to sit and chat, and mainly to play with my radio, listen to music and sing. I also had another visitor, a neighbor who lives somewhere behind me who is a student at the local college. She is studying to be an accountant.
Apparently every visitor I receive ends with that person helping me clean. I’ll admit I was a slob in America but in Rwanda, I believe even the biggest neat freak would be considered messy. I’ve been ashamed of my yard ever since Claudia swept half of it for me. I’ve slowly been getting to the other half. It still had weeds all over the place and some random garbage wrappers – a huge no-no in Rwanda. Sweeping dirt is a national pastime. Soon Tabita was yelling for someone to bring a hoe and a broom. We all pulled weeds and now my yard is immaculate.
I think I’ll leave my gate open again soon. I have so many lessons to learn here and my neighbors are oh so willing to show me the way. Thank goodness. There’s no better example of how to be an independent woman here than the single mothers on my block.
Day Who Knows Anymore
I’ve fallen off the blog bandwagon. I almost made it the full 30 days! Whenever I get a little less happy than the normal I hole myself up and hide. I’ve been drifting towards that tendency. I’ve been trying to make a schedule for sleep and regulate my nutrition in order to stabilize my moods a bit. I just feel off, which probably has a lot to do with lack of exercise and produce.
I have many new things to explain but I’m just not in the mood and haven’t been all week. I’m gonna store up topics for when my mood swings back to writing.
Looking into buying a new modem because Edison’s doesn’t work on my computer or his new one. I really don’t want full control of a modem because I’ll become addicted to sitting in bed online. Internet will be sporadic until I get something worked out.
I have many new things to explain but I’m just not in the mood and haven’t been all week. I’m gonna store up topics for when my mood swings back to writing.
Looking into buying a new modem because Edison’s doesn’t work on my computer or his new one. I really don’t want full control of a modem because I’ll become addicted to sitting in bed online. Internet will be sporadic until I get something worked out.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Day 24
This morning’s breakfast contained the funniest moment of the day. I was eating with Jadeau the dentist, Gideon the data manager and another male coworker. In case you didn’t notice I have a plethora of male coworkers. I’m thinking of setting up e-Harmony Rwandan style to fix them up with their future wives and make a fortune. Gideon was telling me that Solange was coming to breakfast and asking if I knew her. I’ve met close to a million people in the past month so my usual response is “Probably, but I don’t remember”. He proceeds to say, “You know, the black girl.” “Well that narrows it down for me.” At site there is literally not a single other white person (excluding Edison). I can go days seeing only Rwandans. But Gideon keeps it up, “She’s really black.” I don’t know what he’s getting at, especially since rating a person’s shade of black is offensive in the US. I don’t think they care so much about here because the boys proceeded to relate her skin to charcoal. Oh culture.
I have been schooled in being a proper Rwandan woman today. My counterpart decided to visit my home after work. My house looks like an absolute disaster zone. I blame half of it on the fact that I have no furniture and eat random food and the other half on my general nature of being a slob. I’m sure she was horrified as soon as she stepped foot inside my gate, but she held off a good 15 minutes before saying she was going to sweep the outside of my house. She took my traditional Rwandan broom and went to town. There is a fine art to sweeping dirt here. My entire yard is dirt, as it should be. I have walkways that are made of bricks and a border of concrete around my house that acts as a trench to the water that falls from my gutters. I observed as she worked in silence, only breaking it to say that cleaning the outside of a house is the woman’s job in Rwandan culture. Enough said…I got it.
I have been schooled in being a proper Rwandan woman today. My counterpart decided to visit my home after work. My house looks like an absolute disaster zone. I blame half of it on the fact that I have no furniture and eat random food and the other half on my general nature of being a slob. I’m sure she was horrified as soon as she stepped foot inside my gate, but she held off a good 15 minutes before saying she was going to sweep the outside of my house. She took my traditional Rwandan broom and went to town. There is a fine art to sweeping dirt here. My entire yard is dirt, as it should be. I have walkways that are made of bricks and a border of concrete around my house that acts as a trench to the water that falls from my gutters. I observed as she worked in silence, only breaking it to say that cleaning the outside of a house is the woman’s job in Rwandan culture. Enough said…I got it.
Day 23
There’s was quite the buzz in town today. I was going to leave work when I see about half the town’s residents standing outside the hospital gates looking up. An electrical tower was being installed! There was a crane holding up the top metal piece trying to fit it into the bottom metal piece. Basically it was the shape football goal posts, cut in half horizontally. To make matters even more interesting there was a man hanging onto the top metal piece being moved by the crane. No harness of course, just hanging on like an acrobat. Well this is about as much entertainment as you can get, so I stood with my townspeople for an hour watching. The tiny, intricate movements to make the pieces fit together transfixed all of us. When it was complete and the man successfully touched the ground again, there was mild applause. I think he deserved more but it was a tough crowd. Then I started thinking, do these people know down-power-line safety? Baby steps in development. The best part was the buses trying to navigate through the crowd. We have one main road that I will call Main Street, even though it has no name that I’m aware of. Main Street runs through town and essentially dead ends for all intensive purposes in front of the hospital. Not many cars travel Main Street. A ton of bicycles with seats on the back like bicycle taxis and motos, a few minibuses and the occasional taxicab but for the most part we all just walk right down the middle of the road. Imagine the bus’ surprise when it comes upon the whole town standing in the middle of the road watching the crane. The best pop culture reference I could relate this to is the town from Gilmore Girls. We are definitely quirky, everyone knows everyone’s business, we are entertained by bizarre town happenings and we definitely have our share of characters.
I believe I failed to mention that from the time I first set eyes on my site during site visit until I moved in permanently four weeks later, my town became construction central. There is scaffolding EVERYWHERE. I don’t quite understand, unless they are changing things because of the electricity but I think we are funding a whole construction company. There is also new hope that my house really will get electricity, because I was told by Claudia that I live on the rich side of town. I’m keeping the dream alive!
I believe I failed to mention that from the time I first set eyes on my site during site visit until I moved in permanently four weeks later, my town became construction central. There is scaffolding EVERYWHERE. I don’t quite understand, unless they are changing things because of the electricity but I think we are funding a whole construction company. There is also new hope that my house really will get electricity, because I was told by Claudia that I live on the rich side of town. I’m keeping the dream alive!
Day 22
Best part of my day: an impromptu dance party to Gospel music with Jeanne and her roommate Josieanne. This was after our girly discussion about hair. Jeanne was busy taking out her extensions so that she could go to the salon on Saturday (Funny spell check note: every salon in Rwanda has a sign that says saloon. I don’t know why no one ever corrected their English but it’s a national problem. So if you are visiting Rwandan and see a million signs for saloons, they are really salons.) Jeanne assumed that I had no idea what a weave was or heard of relaxers. Rwandans truly don’t believe there are any black Americans.
They wanted to touch my hair and kept telling me how beautiful it is (picture me with the greasiest hair imaginable because I haven’t washed in three days). Beauty is different in different cultures and hair is such an important status symbol here as it is in black culture at large.
I tried to explain the shampooing ritual we need to do. I don’t think they will fully grasp it until I have them watch me wash my hair. I tried to convey just how much water it uses and how impractical it is to wash your hair all the time here. Even me saying I wash my hair twice a week here was ludicrous to them. Seven days a week is out of the question.
This is a good time to explain who people are. I think I’ve created some confusion about my coworkers because I’ve been getting some questions about it.
Claudia is my counterpart/supervisor. She is in charge of me. She works for EPR as well, mainly handling the OVCs (orphans and vulnerable children) and education sector of our program for the district. She is Rwandan. She is probably about 40 years old. She has two children – a girl and a boy. I’m not sure if she has a husband. I’m sure I will learn more as time goes on.
It goes without saying that every single person I talk about will be Rwandan. The only Americans or Westerners that I interact with are other PCVs. There are a couple small exceptions but when I mention someone, assume they are Rwandan.
Jeanne is the mental health nurse at the hospital. She will very likely be helping me with my secondary project – something involving mental health, PTSD, maybe even getting the secondary schools involved – one can dream. She is in her mid-twenties. She has two younger brothers. She is finishing up her bachelor’s degree in population studies and wants to eventually get her PhD. *In Rwanda you can be certified as a nurse by completing that track in secondary school. A bachelor’s degree is not needed. The health centers employ only nurses. Doctors are found in hospitals only. As far as I can tell, there are no private practice doctors.
Edison is the other PCV at my site. (Sorry for the acronyms – Peace Corp Volunteer=PCV; Peace Corps is famous for their acronyms. There are so many I struggle to leave out.)
They wanted to touch my hair and kept telling me how beautiful it is (picture me with the greasiest hair imaginable because I haven’t washed in three days). Beauty is different in different cultures and hair is such an important status symbol here as it is in black culture at large.
I tried to explain the shampooing ritual we need to do. I don’t think they will fully grasp it until I have them watch me wash my hair. I tried to convey just how much water it uses and how impractical it is to wash your hair all the time here. Even me saying I wash my hair twice a week here was ludicrous to them. Seven days a week is out of the question.
This is a good time to explain who people are. I think I’ve created some confusion about my coworkers because I’ve been getting some questions about it.
Claudia is my counterpart/supervisor. She is in charge of me. She works for EPR as well, mainly handling the OVCs (orphans and vulnerable children) and education sector of our program for the district. She is Rwandan. She is probably about 40 years old. She has two children – a girl and a boy. I’m not sure if she has a husband. I’m sure I will learn more as time goes on.
It goes without saying that every single person I talk about will be Rwandan. The only Americans or Westerners that I interact with are other PCVs. There are a couple small exceptions but when I mention someone, assume they are Rwandan.
Jeanne is the mental health nurse at the hospital. She will very likely be helping me with my secondary project – something involving mental health, PTSD, maybe even getting the secondary schools involved – one can dream. She is in her mid-twenties. She has two younger brothers. She is finishing up her bachelor’s degree in population studies and wants to eventually get her PhD. *In Rwanda you can be certified as a nurse by completing that track in secondary school. A bachelor’s degree is not needed. The health centers employ only nurses. Doctors are found in hospitals only. As far as I can tell, there are no private practice doctors.
Edison is the other PCV at my site. (Sorry for the acronyms – Peace Corp Volunteer=PCV; Peace Corps is famous for their acronyms. There are so many I struggle to leave out.)
Day 21
Love isn’t a feeling, it’s an ability.
Plan to be surprised.
Two great lines from Dan in Real Life, which I believe to be one of those great underrated movies – and not just because the teacher from Glee plays the traffic cop.
I have spent the last week or two intensely planning my life: grad school, new cities to live in, GRE to take, career trajectory. Yes, I just used the phrase career trajectory. I became a bit of a manic. Lists were coming out of my ears because they make life fit into nice, manageable boxes.
I’ve never been one to plan. I like to test the wind a bit. Stand in one place, really still and access my feelings. I understand that I will change throughout life and I should leave room for that evolution. I’ve never made a bucket list, mainly because I like to take adventures as the opportunities present themselves. My life has never had a drought of adventure, probably because I tend to make friends with people who plan and make bucket lists and schedule reservations. As much as everyone says that leadership and taking charge is a good personality characteristic, I quite enjoy the tag-along position. I hate planning vacations. I like to wait and see what everyone else wants to do that weekend. I’d much prefer spontaneously inserting myself into other’s plans.
Something must have snapped in me. Being here, in Rwanda, has made me feel invincible in a way that really needed to happen. When I was sitting in East Lansing, before leaving, I had resigned myself. I had finished my bachelors and watched all my friends move on with their lives. I really hate being left instead of doing the leaving. I was pondering life and frustratingly wasting time. But I needed to waste that time. I needed to sit, and test the wind. When I considered what I wanted to do with my life the possibilities seemed endless. I’ve never had much of a problem with self-confidence/arrogance so I truly believed that I could achieve anything. The next question was, what would I be most proud of myself for doing. Up until this point in my life, I have no self-pride. Everything I’ve achieved I believe was practically handed to me. I’ve been given great privilege in my life and to top that off I haven’t had to work too hard for anything. Yet at the same time I found myself in a life with distinct boundaries. Some dreams just seemed too big, too unrealistic. I found myself getting really excited about a job for a certain organization but never thinking that I could be that person seeking it. My universe was shrinking and, to be as melodramatic as possible, a part of my soul was dying.
So I made that first big leap: Peace Corps. I just knew that would open the door for me to take baby steps towards a life I’m actually excited about. I don’t expect to have all my life goals set in stone right away. In fact I like that way. As my father says – he’s still figuring out what he wants to be when he grows up. And I hate to admit it but I become more like him every day.
The good news: the floodgates have opened. I’m a planning machine. I’m sure I will change my mind as time passes but it’s nice to dream big again. The next step seems so much more reachable when you plan it from Rwanda.
The bad news: I forgot to let life surprise me. Acting like I can actually plan out the next 5 years of my life is a joke. (Don’t worry parents, my future takes place in the United States, I just can’t tell you which state yet ☺)
The great news: Love is an amazing thing. Maybe you should watch Dan in Real Life at this point and then continue reading. It just reminded me how rare having true loving relationships can be. There is a scene of a whole family coming together at a cottage to close it up for the winter. I’ll admit I started crying. Rwanda has made me a major sap. I am incredibly blessed to have an amazing family. Who, amazingly enough, have used this distance to create even more meaningful relationships with me. And I’m crying again…I wish I could send love in a package!
And now a disclaimer: for people who believe that physically running to a different continent separates you from (a) your past, (b) your problems, or (c) your internal battles with your character flaws – that is the biggest joke in the world. Thank goodness I was under none of those assumptions. Placing yourself in a completely new environment, being socially different from everyone around you, and having loads of free time to think is essentially better than paying for a therapist. It’s like putting life under a big magnifying glass. Wow, are those blemishes ugly! So far I have become the human equivalent of a Hallmark card. For those of you who know me in real life – I’m sure you are laughing fairly hard at this point. Being sentimental was never quite a strong suit. But then again writing is always easier for me to express myself. Exhibit A: this blog… Maybe if I had just written letters to family and friends my entire life our relationships would have been much deeper a long time ago. Oh to be born in a different era.
Now switching gears:
I’ve said a lot of presumptuous things about people sending me books…and I will continue with that. No pressure…I’m serious. But if you are choosing to send me books please send me used books whenever possible. This will be a mini character analysis for you all – but firstly, I’m super cheap and encourage everyone else to be so as well. Secondly, I believe each individual book has a little life trajectory. It should reach as many people as possible of course. But in addition to that, there’s something magical about the fact that it goes from one person’s life to another with the ability to create so much change. As much as I love books having surround me, especially in my own home, I also like to set books free and give them to people who will actually read them and be changed and pass them along to create more change. This was one of the biggest reasons I sold a massive amount of my books on Amazon before coming here. As well as the tiring task of moving all those heavy boxes into my parent’s basement! So getting back around to the point – buy used, send used, I will of course be passing them on to other volunteers and these books will live on forever.
And now I will actually tell you about my day 21.
Homecoming
I finally returned home on Sunday. It was wonderful. I got great big hugs from my next-door neighbors. They conveyed it had been many days that I was gone…too many. In Rwandan there are different physical greetings. You have the handshake, the arm shake – sometimes people don’t want you to touch their hands so they offer the wrist for you to grasp, the mix between the handshake and the high five – essentially a handshake with a bit of a slap in it, the cheek touch – going back and forth European style three times, the arm clasp – instead of going in for a hug you just grab each others’ forearms. There is rarely a real hug – which is actually a blessing since you really don’t want to be hugging most of these people. But when my neighbors went in for the full American hug it felt so reassuring. Home again.
I dropped off my things and ran to church. Right before I entered the school grounds I was intercepted by two girls in school uniforms. “Going to pray?” they asked. “Catholic?” “Follow us. Church is at a different school.” Ok so I was paraphrasing, our English/Kin dialogue wasn’t so coherent, which was why after walking with them for about fifteen minutes I was really hoping there wasn’t anything lost in translation. I had asked if the school was near (hafi) and they agreed but in Rwanda it is common to claim that everything is close. It is also common to say you know where something is when someone asks directions even when you don’t. I haven’t experienced any of these things firsthand but I was passed the generalizations along from my Rwandan teachers. Thank goodness I had remembered to put on my sunscreen. We found the school and mass was just beginning. It is generally always worth trusting strangers and going along for the ride.
On my walk back to town I met Abel #2. He had seen me in church and wanted to practice his English. He was in town because he used to go to secondary school here. He had many friends in town to visit because they had helped him when his mom was in this hospital for four months. I didn’t have the heart to ask if she was okay. He was excited that I was Christian and stressed the importance of praying and trusting in what God has planned for us all.
After church I perused town for groceries because I desperately needed food. There are about 10-15 stores in town. They resemble little frontier general stores – shelves against the back wall, counter in front, you have to ask for what you want and they place it on the counter. The merchandise selection is very small. Almost every store carries the same thing. I was shopping for produce so it is very hit and miss on which store has which inventory on that given day. After asking for avocado (avoka) in 5 stores I was striking out big time. But I REALLY wanted avocado and tomato sandwiches and I wasn’t giving up. Pretty soon random townspeople were trying to help me on my noble search for avocado. It always takes a village, doesn’t it. I ended up meeting back up with Abel, who escorted me to five more stores and made sure I wasn’t ripped off. I enjoy when friends come out of the woodwork, as they so often do in Rwanda.
Before I even dropped my groceries at home I decided to stop in to my neighbor’s house. I’m not sure if I had mentioned it but my neighbor Claudette was in labor when I left town. I was desperate to see her baby. She had a girl! And she is beautiful! I’m guessing she was born at five or six pounds. She doesn’t have a name yet. It will come later at the naming ceremony. I’ve heard of them but never witnessed one so I hope I’m invited. I was so intrigued just to watch everything about parenting here in Rwanda. Claudette let me hold her right away, I must have had a maternal look in my eye. I was a bit of baby hog but I didn’t care. There were two other visitors in line after me because everyone wanted to see her.
Because all the clothing here is just secondhand American or European stuff she was dressed like a normal baby – full fleece outfit. Then she was in one of those big blanket pockets for babies. That is a lame description but you know the little cocoon things. I’m not sure why they had her wrapped up like it was an Arctic winter but I’m not here to judge. She did have a little cough and stuffy nose. They used a q-tip to clean her nose out – a first for me to witness but makes perfect sense when you think about it.
This is a good time to mention breastfeeding in Rwanda. It happens all the time, in public. There is absolutely no social stigma about baring your breasts in public, as long as you are feeding a baby. Some see this as barbaric but I disagree. There are no secrets that breastfeeding is done, it’s healthier and women aren’t trying to keep up a false image of vanity. The baby cries, the boob comes out. Done, get on with your day.
So I entered this intimate world of women at Claudette’s. We were all watching the baby girl and marveling at her. I wonder what kind of life she will lead; what opportunities she will have; what challenges she will encounter. As it is, she’s off to a rough start. She was born in Rwanda, to a single mother, who is an orphan and lives with her grandmother. Unfortunately the lives of women are never easy, especially in the third world, but even in the richest of nations.
Happy Memorial Day weekend everyone. Enjoy that day off!
Plan to be surprised.
Two great lines from Dan in Real Life, which I believe to be one of those great underrated movies – and not just because the teacher from Glee plays the traffic cop.
I have spent the last week or two intensely planning my life: grad school, new cities to live in, GRE to take, career trajectory. Yes, I just used the phrase career trajectory. I became a bit of a manic. Lists were coming out of my ears because they make life fit into nice, manageable boxes.
I’ve never been one to plan. I like to test the wind a bit. Stand in one place, really still and access my feelings. I understand that I will change throughout life and I should leave room for that evolution. I’ve never made a bucket list, mainly because I like to take adventures as the opportunities present themselves. My life has never had a drought of adventure, probably because I tend to make friends with people who plan and make bucket lists and schedule reservations. As much as everyone says that leadership and taking charge is a good personality characteristic, I quite enjoy the tag-along position. I hate planning vacations. I like to wait and see what everyone else wants to do that weekend. I’d much prefer spontaneously inserting myself into other’s plans.
Something must have snapped in me. Being here, in Rwanda, has made me feel invincible in a way that really needed to happen. When I was sitting in East Lansing, before leaving, I had resigned myself. I had finished my bachelors and watched all my friends move on with their lives. I really hate being left instead of doing the leaving. I was pondering life and frustratingly wasting time. But I needed to waste that time. I needed to sit, and test the wind. When I considered what I wanted to do with my life the possibilities seemed endless. I’ve never had much of a problem with self-confidence/arrogance so I truly believed that I could achieve anything. The next question was, what would I be most proud of myself for doing. Up until this point in my life, I have no self-pride. Everything I’ve achieved I believe was practically handed to me. I’ve been given great privilege in my life and to top that off I haven’t had to work too hard for anything. Yet at the same time I found myself in a life with distinct boundaries. Some dreams just seemed too big, too unrealistic. I found myself getting really excited about a job for a certain organization but never thinking that I could be that person seeking it. My universe was shrinking and, to be as melodramatic as possible, a part of my soul was dying.
So I made that first big leap: Peace Corps. I just knew that would open the door for me to take baby steps towards a life I’m actually excited about. I don’t expect to have all my life goals set in stone right away. In fact I like that way. As my father says – he’s still figuring out what he wants to be when he grows up. And I hate to admit it but I become more like him every day.
The good news: the floodgates have opened. I’m a planning machine. I’m sure I will change my mind as time passes but it’s nice to dream big again. The next step seems so much more reachable when you plan it from Rwanda.
The bad news: I forgot to let life surprise me. Acting like I can actually plan out the next 5 years of my life is a joke. (Don’t worry parents, my future takes place in the United States, I just can’t tell you which state yet ☺)
The great news: Love is an amazing thing. Maybe you should watch Dan in Real Life at this point and then continue reading. It just reminded me how rare having true loving relationships can be. There is a scene of a whole family coming together at a cottage to close it up for the winter. I’ll admit I started crying. Rwanda has made me a major sap. I am incredibly blessed to have an amazing family. Who, amazingly enough, have used this distance to create even more meaningful relationships with me. And I’m crying again…I wish I could send love in a package!
And now a disclaimer: for people who believe that physically running to a different continent separates you from (a) your past, (b) your problems, or (c) your internal battles with your character flaws – that is the biggest joke in the world. Thank goodness I was under none of those assumptions. Placing yourself in a completely new environment, being socially different from everyone around you, and having loads of free time to think is essentially better than paying for a therapist. It’s like putting life under a big magnifying glass. Wow, are those blemishes ugly! So far I have become the human equivalent of a Hallmark card. For those of you who know me in real life – I’m sure you are laughing fairly hard at this point. Being sentimental was never quite a strong suit. But then again writing is always easier for me to express myself. Exhibit A: this blog… Maybe if I had just written letters to family and friends my entire life our relationships would have been much deeper a long time ago. Oh to be born in a different era.
Now switching gears:
I’ve said a lot of presumptuous things about people sending me books…and I will continue with that. No pressure…I’m serious. But if you are choosing to send me books please send me used books whenever possible. This will be a mini character analysis for you all – but firstly, I’m super cheap and encourage everyone else to be so as well. Secondly, I believe each individual book has a little life trajectory. It should reach as many people as possible of course. But in addition to that, there’s something magical about the fact that it goes from one person’s life to another with the ability to create so much change. As much as I love books having surround me, especially in my own home, I also like to set books free and give them to people who will actually read them and be changed and pass them along to create more change. This was one of the biggest reasons I sold a massive amount of my books on Amazon before coming here. As well as the tiring task of moving all those heavy boxes into my parent’s basement! So getting back around to the point – buy used, send used, I will of course be passing them on to other volunteers and these books will live on forever.
And now I will actually tell you about my day 21.
Homecoming
I finally returned home on Sunday. It was wonderful. I got great big hugs from my next-door neighbors. They conveyed it had been many days that I was gone…too many. In Rwandan there are different physical greetings. You have the handshake, the arm shake – sometimes people don’t want you to touch their hands so they offer the wrist for you to grasp, the mix between the handshake and the high five – essentially a handshake with a bit of a slap in it, the cheek touch – going back and forth European style three times, the arm clasp – instead of going in for a hug you just grab each others’ forearms. There is rarely a real hug – which is actually a blessing since you really don’t want to be hugging most of these people. But when my neighbors went in for the full American hug it felt so reassuring. Home again.
I dropped off my things and ran to church. Right before I entered the school grounds I was intercepted by two girls in school uniforms. “Going to pray?” they asked. “Catholic?” “Follow us. Church is at a different school.” Ok so I was paraphrasing, our English/Kin dialogue wasn’t so coherent, which was why after walking with them for about fifteen minutes I was really hoping there wasn’t anything lost in translation. I had asked if the school was near (hafi) and they agreed but in Rwanda it is common to claim that everything is close. It is also common to say you know where something is when someone asks directions even when you don’t. I haven’t experienced any of these things firsthand but I was passed the generalizations along from my Rwandan teachers. Thank goodness I had remembered to put on my sunscreen. We found the school and mass was just beginning. It is generally always worth trusting strangers and going along for the ride.
On my walk back to town I met Abel #2. He had seen me in church and wanted to practice his English. He was in town because he used to go to secondary school here. He had many friends in town to visit because they had helped him when his mom was in this hospital for four months. I didn’t have the heart to ask if she was okay. He was excited that I was Christian and stressed the importance of praying and trusting in what God has planned for us all.
After church I perused town for groceries because I desperately needed food. There are about 10-15 stores in town. They resemble little frontier general stores – shelves against the back wall, counter in front, you have to ask for what you want and they place it on the counter. The merchandise selection is very small. Almost every store carries the same thing. I was shopping for produce so it is very hit and miss on which store has which inventory on that given day. After asking for avocado (avoka) in 5 stores I was striking out big time. But I REALLY wanted avocado and tomato sandwiches and I wasn’t giving up. Pretty soon random townspeople were trying to help me on my noble search for avocado. It always takes a village, doesn’t it. I ended up meeting back up with Abel, who escorted me to five more stores and made sure I wasn’t ripped off. I enjoy when friends come out of the woodwork, as they so often do in Rwanda.
Before I even dropped my groceries at home I decided to stop in to my neighbor’s house. I’m not sure if I had mentioned it but my neighbor Claudette was in labor when I left town. I was desperate to see her baby. She had a girl! And she is beautiful! I’m guessing she was born at five or six pounds. She doesn’t have a name yet. It will come later at the naming ceremony. I’ve heard of them but never witnessed one so I hope I’m invited. I was so intrigued just to watch everything about parenting here in Rwanda. Claudette let me hold her right away, I must have had a maternal look in my eye. I was a bit of baby hog but I didn’t care. There were two other visitors in line after me because everyone wanted to see her.
Because all the clothing here is just secondhand American or European stuff she was dressed like a normal baby – full fleece outfit. Then she was in one of those big blanket pockets for babies. That is a lame description but you know the little cocoon things. I’m not sure why they had her wrapped up like it was an Arctic winter but I’m not here to judge. She did have a little cough and stuffy nose. They used a q-tip to clean her nose out – a first for me to witness but makes perfect sense when you think about it.
This is a good time to mention breastfeeding in Rwanda. It happens all the time, in public. There is absolutely no social stigma about baring your breasts in public, as long as you are feeding a baby. Some see this as barbaric but I disagree. There are no secrets that breastfeeding is done, it’s healthier and women aren’t trying to keep up a false image of vanity. The baby cries, the boob comes out. Done, get on with your day.
So I entered this intimate world of women at Claudette’s. We were all watching the baby girl and marveling at her. I wonder what kind of life she will lead; what opportunities she will have; what challenges she will encounter. As it is, she’s off to a rough start. She was born in Rwanda, to a single mother, who is an orphan and lives with her grandmother. Unfortunately the lives of women are never easy, especially in the third world, but even in the richest of nations.
Happy Memorial Day weekend everyone. Enjoy that day off!
Day 20
I have finally encountered it. The one thing that I have so amazingly avoided thus far. But there they were, scurrying across the concrete floor of the latrine - cockroaches. Nice big, healthy cockroaches that have that lovely tint of clay brown on their bodies. I stomped but it didn’t scare him, in fact he came closer to my foot. He was headed towards the same thing I was crouching down towards – that lovely hole in the ground. I just couldn’t do it! The urge that had brought me to this place was suddenly gone. I myself scurried along, back inside to Anna to get some sympathy. But not much was to be had – her response – well yea, don’t you have cockroaches in your latrine? This is Africa. Fair enough. I talked myself up and boldly went back for round two. My latrine is looking like a luxury suite at this point. It has no permanent residents of any kind, thank goodness!
Day 19
Discussing the rough transition back to the US.
I guess it’s never too early to consider the transition at the end of these two years. While hanging out with a bunch of PCVs that was our dinner topic: how awkward we will be when we return.
The first five questions out of our mouths when we meet someone will be completely socially unacceptable:
Are you married?
When will you get married?
Do you have children?
How old are you?
How much do you make?
We will wonder why everyone doesn’t want to strike up a conversation with us as if we were addictively interesting.
We will be confused when we aren’t allowed into any place, at any time that we’d like as if we were an honored guest. Isn’t the whiteness of our skin an instant VIP pass anymore?
We shouldn’t say hi to every single person on the street?
Sitting anywhere in public will be distracting because instead of focusing on our own conversation with a person we will be busy actually being able to understand all the conversations around us. Eavesdropping is a full time job when everyone speaks English!
I’ve begun a habit that is even mocked among PCVs. I save my napkins from restaurants to use as toilet paper, in case I happen to find myself in need at a later time. So many things can be recycled, especially when you don’t understand where the garbage goes!
We will most likely invade the personal space of everyone we speak to.
…I can’t wait!
I guess it’s never too early to consider the transition at the end of these two years. While hanging out with a bunch of PCVs that was our dinner topic: how awkward we will be when we return.
The first five questions out of our mouths when we meet someone will be completely socially unacceptable:
Are you married?
When will you get married?
Do you have children?
How old are you?
How much do you make?
We will wonder why everyone doesn’t want to strike up a conversation with us as if we were addictively interesting.
We will be confused when we aren’t allowed into any place, at any time that we’d like as if we were an honored guest. Isn’t the whiteness of our skin an instant VIP pass anymore?
We shouldn’t say hi to every single person on the street?
Sitting anywhere in public will be distracting because instead of focusing on our own conversation with a person we will be busy actually being able to understand all the conversations around us. Eavesdropping is a full time job when everyone speaks English!
I’ve begun a habit that is even mocked among PCVs. I save my napkins from restaurants to use as toilet paper, in case I happen to find myself in need at a later time. So many things can be recycled, especially when you don’t understand where the garbage goes!
We will most likely invade the personal space of everyone we speak to.
…I can’t wait!
Day 18
ISLGs
My training was all about ISLGs : internal saving and lending groups. I will write more about this later because I’m too lazy at the moment…
My training was all about ISLGs : internal saving and lending groups. I will write more about this later because I’m too lazy at the moment…
Day 17
Top ten reasons I love trainings from my organization:
Number 10: free office supplies
Number 9: seeing blue cleaner in a Western toilet
Number 8: electricity
Number 7: getting a chance to see the volcanoes in the North and being reminded I need motion sickness pills
Number 6: getting fed every 3 hours
Number 5: visiting with other PCVs
Number 4: walking up in a five star hotel and thinking I’m in America
Number 3: hot showers
Number 2: free wireless
And the number 1 reason I love trainings from my organization is: watching grown Rwandan men play Simon Says
If you are wondering how Rwandan trainings/conferences are different than American, they are actually very similar. There is an agenda. We did an ice breaker – drawing our hand and each finger was a getting to know you question. Reminded me of Ele’s Place. I drew my hand to be giving the peace sign – had to spice things up a bit. One of the questions was what did you notice on the drive over here to this new city in the north. Mine answer was it’s colder and I need to take motion sickness pills. A lot of people in the room were agriculturalists so they repeatedly noticed soil erosion and poor crop placement. I love seeing things from a different perspective.
Number 10: free office supplies
Number 9: seeing blue cleaner in a Western toilet
Number 8: electricity
Number 7: getting a chance to see the volcanoes in the North and being reminded I need motion sickness pills
Number 6: getting fed every 3 hours
Number 5: visiting with other PCVs
Number 4: walking up in a five star hotel and thinking I’m in America
Number 3: hot showers
Number 2: free wireless
And the number 1 reason I love trainings from my organization is: watching grown Rwandan men play Simon Says
If you are wondering how Rwandan trainings/conferences are different than American, they are actually very similar. There is an agenda. We did an ice breaker – drawing our hand and each finger was a getting to know you question. Reminded me of Ele’s Place. I drew my hand to be giving the peace sign – had to spice things up a bit. One of the questions was what did you notice on the drive over here to this new city in the north. Mine answer was it’s colder and I need to take motion sickness pills. A lot of people in the room were agriculturalists so they repeatedly noticed soil erosion and poor crop placement. I love seeing things from a different perspective.
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