Sometimes I try to view my life as you all would view it. Fresh eyes to the seriously strange here. At moments I am able to step back and label something as the quintessential Rwandan moment, hoping to store these moments in quick, snapshot stories for when people ask me about Rwanda but really just want it summed up in cutesy, five minute anecdote. I have had two such moments just this week on my walk home from work.
My first involves my favorite hospital technician. I'm not sure what her name is but as far as I can tell she is the only female in this position. She is forever busy, a working mother of two small children. She often is dressed in beautiful dresses, which she puts her janitor-like smock over. She has a beautiful smile to match and without fail, always greets me warmly. I often see her around town doing other jobs, making me wonder if this woman ever sleeps. One this particular Wednesday, I was walking along the dirt road to my house, with the fortress-like boarding school to one side and an open field with a breathtaking view of the hills to the north on the other. With the convergence of two roads, I find myself walking side by side with favorite hospital technician, who I will fake name Mabel. I always get a mood lift with I see Mabel because she is just such a genuine person. We exchanged our usual greetings, then as if the camera's angle widened, I notice what is perched on her head - a branch the size of a small tree. It is quite common to see Rwandans walking around with all sorts of things on their heads. The most common are jerrycans of water and plastic basins of produce to sell, but you can never be quite sure what you will find on top of a Rwandans' head. One PCV claimed they saw someone transporting 13 mattresses on their head, yes, they counted. Personally I've seen full size suitcases and furniture, and for the humor of opposites, a tiny, tiny bag of sugar. Most times they are using the help of a small circular crown of banana reeds that makes a more flat surface out of their coconut; which is exactly what Mabel was doing. She had one arm up, balancing the length of this sapling, which was easily three times her own length. As I glanced back, I realized Mabel was just the first in a parade of petite, Rwandan women with trees on their heads. A house was being built nearby, so naturally…
The second instance of a purely Rwandan moment happened the very next day. Again I was walking home from work, this time along the main dirt road, not to be confused with the secondary dirt roads. So I'm walking down Main Street, when a couple children on the boulevard start shouting Mazungu at me. I immediately reprimand them because I will not stand for being called Mazungu in my own village. They are two small children around the age of five or six, and they've got three goats with them, all tied together. Immediately after I introduce myself, the goats make a run for it. Most goats have a rope around their neck, serving as a leash. Ninety percent of the time the rope is tied to something, allowing the goat to graze a small section of grass. Almost one hundred percent of the time, the rope has been tied to something feeble, small, and easily undone by a goat…even a dumb goat, therefore the goat is roaming around with a rope trailing after it. To my amusement, ten percent of the time people take their goats for a walk, perhaps to greener pastures. These goats seemed to be taking themselves on a walk. Soon the little boy was being dragged by his goats, but because he had placed the middle of the rope around his bottom, he was being pulled as if commanding a dog sled. I couldn't help but chuckle at this whole scene. Then off went the goats and children were left to run behind as fast as their little legs would allow. The goats stopped for a moment to politely let a honking Moto past- no need becoming a brochette any earlier than necessary. Just as the boy was within arm's reach of the rope, off they went again, heading for the open field. The children sprinted and stumbled and giggled in hot pursuit of their silly goats. Who needs Oprah after work when you can have bubbly children at odds with their misbehaving goats?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
News Desk
I am ever so thankful for the fair amount of news I intercept here. Voice of America, although the bane of my persistent search for diversified news sources, is also a great comfort. I also occasionally get BBC news too, a personal favorite of mine.
In case you haven't heard, a scathing report came out of the United Nations regarding Rwanda. There were accusations of discriminatory violence perpetuated by Rwandans living in the Congo. I won't regurgitate my limited news brief but I will share the weird feeling that came over me. I can see my old self sitting in front of my work computer scanning the headlines of the New York Times, seeing all that horrendous news that comes out of Africa at large. It was easy to analyze and speculate, critique and shake my head at the mess because I was so very removed. Now when I hear news it's in my backyard. As large as Africa is, it's my continent now. And I'm beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. Let's face it, Rwanda is bringing up the average of a very poor performing East Africa. I'm not jumping at the occasion of living in any of the other countries surrounding it. And as strange as I feel here when I hear my 'local' news, in a couple years, I will once again be sitting in America, enjoying my posh country, sitting in front of my computer, reading those sickeningly ugly African headlines.
I'll sign off with the concise, defeated reply of a fellow PCV when hearing the news of the UN report. I sighed, Oh Rwanda. and she summed it up with, Home sweet home.
In case you haven't heard, a scathing report came out of the United Nations regarding Rwanda. There were accusations of discriminatory violence perpetuated by Rwandans living in the Congo. I won't regurgitate my limited news brief but I will share the weird feeling that came over me. I can see my old self sitting in front of my work computer scanning the headlines of the New York Times, seeing all that horrendous news that comes out of Africa at large. It was easy to analyze and speculate, critique and shake my head at the mess because I was so very removed. Now when I hear news it's in my backyard. As large as Africa is, it's my continent now. And I'm beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. Let's face it, Rwanda is bringing up the average of a very poor performing East Africa. I'm not jumping at the occasion of living in any of the other countries surrounding it. And as strange as I feel here when I hear my 'local' news, in a couple years, I will once again be sitting in America, enjoying my posh country, sitting in front of my computer, reading those sickeningly ugly African headlines.
I'll sign off with the concise, defeated reply of a fellow PCV when hearing the news of the UN report. I sighed, Oh Rwanda. and she summed it up with, Home sweet home.
Stepping Into the Darkness
I stepped into the darkness. It was so incredibly pitch black that my eyeballs seared with a bright, glaring light that came from nowhere but my horrible night vision. I was instantly blinded. I had been rushing so fast to get here and now I was paralyzed. First of all I didn't want to look like an idiot and stumble into something. I also didn't want to disturb those around me. I had witnessed this scene before - the bumbling fool who was two minutes too late. It's not like I hadn't been here before. But they had remodeled since the last time. Sure it was all the same objects, a few chairs in neat little rows. And the walls were still curved in a circle. But geez was I disoriented. As I grappled with the wall like it was a life preserver, a gentle voice greeted me. Can I help you find a seat? Could you ever! She took a gentle yet firm hold of my elbow and led me to the nearest seat. Explaining that I could move into the center more because the first few seats were empty. At this rate I could have sat on someone's lap and not even realized. How rude. Pretty soon I was right where I wanted to be, enjoying a lunchtime planetarium session.
This memory popped into my head the other day. See, at Michigan State they have these great activities to de-stress employees. One of them was an hour long planetarium program with relaxing music that fit perfectly into lunch. The more I thought about it - this experience was exactly like moving to Rwanda. It's not like the parts are different than anything I'm used to - they are just in different positions, behavior that is based on unwritten rules that I haven't quite learned yet. It takes a while to adjust but there is usually someone who gently takes your elbow and shows you the way. Fortunately I've had about 20 wonderful people like that surrounding me. Although I'm getting to the point of banging my head against a wall concerning Rwandan culture, I'm taking this particular moment to be thankful and count my blessings.
and I have to say, the stars out here blow a planetarium away. I just wish I had a recliner to view them from.
This memory popped into my head the other day. See, at Michigan State they have these great activities to de-stress employees. One of them was an hour long planetarium program with relaxing music that fit perfectly into lunch. The more I thought about it - this experience was exactly like moving to Rwanda. It's not like the parts are different than anything I'm used to - they are just in different positions, behavior that is based on unwritten rules that I haven't quite learned yet. It takes a while to adjust but there is usually someone who gently takes your elbow and shows you the way. Fortunately I've had about 20 wonderful people like that surrounding me. Although I'm getting to the point of banging my head against a wall concerning Rwandan culture, I'm taking this particular moment to be thankful and count my blessings.
and I have to say, the stars out here blow a planetarium away. I just wish I had a recliner to view them from.
On Tap and Driving Ms. Daisy
What do I miss most?
A common question that I get -- I've been pondering my answer as the months pass. and of course my answers keep changing. Presently my top two are:
1. Tap water - never underestimate safe drinking water that comes out of indoor plumbing. And it even gets cold if you ask it to!
2. Driving - yes, believe it or not at home I was an adult and could transport myself places. I love driving aka speeding. I miss blaring the radio and singing at the top of my lungs with the windows all the way down. I even miss driving in snow, pumping gas and having to honk my horn at crazy drivers.
A common question that I get -- I've been pondering my answer as the months pass. and of course my answers keep changing. Presently my top two are:
1. Tap water - never underestimate safe drinking water that comes out of indoor plumbing. And it even gets cold if you ask it to!
2. Driving - yes, believe it or not at home I was an adult and could transport myself places. I love driving aka speeding. I miss blaring the radio and singing at the top of my lungs with the windows all the way down. I even miss driving in snow, pumping gas and having to honk my horn at crazy drivers.
Did I Lose You?
Alright I admit it! I have a mild addiction to blogging. My favorite excuse for my obsessive posting it that it is technically a Peace Corps goal to have a cultural exchange for the folks back at home. In the midst of my endless posts, I've noticed that there are less comments and even my own immediate family members have admitted they don't read anymore. Sorry if you are drowning in the rapid-fire, but if you're still here with me, hope you are enjoying.
Did I Lose You?
Alright I admit it! I have a mild addiction to blogging. My favorite excuse for my obsessive posting it that it is technically a Peace Corps goal to have a cultural exchange for the folks back at home. In the midst of my endless posts, I've noticed that there are less comments and even my own immediate family members have admitted they don't read anymore. Sorry if you are drowning in the rapid-fire, but if you're still here with me, hope you are enjoying.
Happy 6 Month Anniversary!
Yes, I've been in Rwanda for six whole months. Wow has time flown. So to commemorate this day I will share a few lessons I have learned just from today.
Lesson number one: holding an executive board election using written ballots is not easy when part of your constituency can't write.
Lesson number two: Rwandans have just as bad of handwriting as Americans but Americans have the luxury of hiding it behind Powerpoint presentations.
Lesson number one: holding an executive board election using written ballots is not easy when part of your constituency can't write.
Lesson number two: Rwandans have just as bad of handwriting as Americans but Americans have the luxury of hiding it behind Powerpoint presentations.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Family Is...
Soundtrack for this post: Reba McEntire's "I'll Be"
Family has morphed for me within these five months. I grew up in Michigan. I'd say 95% of my family lives within a 2 hour radius of each other. We are constantly in contact -a family gathering at least every month. I have quite a large family. I've definitely taken all of this for granted. I've always loved my family but everything has intensified.
I've started having the urge to look at pictures all the time. I've posted all the photos I brought and people have sent to my walls. I truly treasure the book of pictures my sister made for me before I left. I keep a recent picture of my nephew on my desktop at all times.
My sister picked out the bridesmaid dresses for her wedding next summer. I will fly in a few days before the wedding, get my dress altered and be privileged to stand up in her bridal party. Apparently wedding planning can include cross continental family members. I'm crossing my fingers that everything goes seamlessly.
My grandpa joined Facebook. Electronic networking knows no age bracket, and I'm glad.
I have strangely had better contact with my family members than when I lived in the same state as them.
Family is really just a group of people that you were randomly placed with to go through this journey called life. You might not be similar. You might not get along at all. You may do horrible things to one another. You may find the greatest source of forgiveness, patience and compassion within these individuals. It may be the family you were born with, or one you have created amongst you.
My most recent lesson in life: Perhaps only once you have followed your own dreams, can you fully accept the support and unconditional love that was always there in the first place.
Family has morphed for me within these five months. I grew up in Michigan. I'd say 95% of my family lives within a 2 hour radius of each other. We are constantly in contact -a family gathering at least every month. I have quite a large family. I've definitely taken all of this for granted. I've always loved my family but everything has intensified.
I've started having the urge to look at pictures all the time. I've posted all the photos I brought and people have sent to my walls. I truly treasure the book of pictures my sister made for me before I left. I keep a recent picture of my nephew on my desktop at all times.
My sister picked out the bridesmaid dresses for her wedding next summer. I will fly in a few days before the wedding, get my dress altered and be privileged to stand up in her bridal party. Apparently wedding planning can include cross continental family members. I'm crossing my fingers that everything goes seamlessly.
My grandpa joined Facebook. Electronic networking knows no age bracket, and I'm glad.
I have strangely had better contact with my family members than when I lived in the same state as them.
Family is really just a group of people that you were randomly placed with to go through this journey called life. You might not be similar. You might not get along at all. You may do horrible things to one another. You may find the greatest source of forgiveness, patience and compassion within these individuals. It may be the family you were born with, or one you have created amongst you.
My most recent lesson in life: Perhaps only once you have followed your own dreams, can you fully accept the support and unconditional love that was always there in the first place.
Rain
Why does it look like it's going to rain if it's not!? I've even had dreams that it rained. Am I so deprived of water? Am I a fish? I literally have detailed dreams that it has rained that when I go outside in the morning I expect to see mud.
I've heard that when it does start raining, globs of mud will fall from the sky. Really it will be all the dust and dirt that has accumulated on the trees. So when you are in the forest during the first rainfall it is like mud pellets falling on your head.
I've got roughly a month to go before it's supposed to rain. And it doesn't help to look at everyone's summer pictures at the lake!
Sweet dreams of rain...
I've heard that when it does start raining, globs of mud will fall from the sky. Really it will be all the dust and dirt that has accumulated on the trees. So when you are in the forest during the first rainfall it is like mud pellets falling on your head.
I've got roughly a month to go before it's supposed to rain. And it doesn't help to look at everyone's summer pictures at the lake!
Sweet dreams of rain...
Highs and Lows
Peace Corps is a mind game -building up your confidence to do a job you aren't qualified to do, stamina in learning a new language, feeling connected to home even when you are so far away, leaning on the support of other volunteers who haven't known you for that long but have become your closest confidantes, missing the familiar scents and sights and FOOD.
There is a cycle of adjustment that Peace Corps tells you, you will go through. The low points are supposed to be around 3-4 months in, and then the lowest around the year mark. But besides these general low points, everyday is a emotional roller coaster. Here is a classic example of what a high and low of my day is.
The low is often a feeling of selfishness. Does my family need me? Should I be there instead of gallivanting all over the world? There is always some rosy picture of what home would be like if you were there. Didn't the food always taste that good? and who can remember stress? The guilt sets in and that's that. Emails and calls from home only make it worse. You have convinced yourself that you are being incredibly self centered by committing two years of your life to a place so far from your mom's hugs.
The high is most often induced by a great cultural exchange or a hug from a random neighborhood kid or the kids calling my name. Like this morning Rwandan TV was showing National Geographic. The program was about the Golden Gate Bridge. I got to explain to Fidele all about bridges, a foreign concept here. He was instantly afraid of ever going on one after watching all the treacherous details. Or later in the morning when he got a call from his brother in law. His older sister had given birth to a baby girl last night. She already has two little boys but was holding out for a girl. Now she will stop having children because she got her little girl. Apparently some things really are the same in both cultures. Sometimes the highs involve other Peace Corps volunteers - like a bunch of us eating dinner together. We made tortilla chips from scratch, guacamole, black beans, salsa and a cheese sauce. We were all standing around the table because we didn't have chairs and it looked like we were in an eating contest, in between laughing so hard I thought I was going to get sprayed with guac.
There is a cycle of adjustment that Peace Corps tells you, you will go through. The low points are supposed to be around 3-4 months in, and then the lowest around the year mark. But besides these general low points, everyday is a emotional roller coaster. Here is a classic example of what a high and low of my day is.
The low is often a feeling of selfishness. Does my family need me? Should I be there instead of gallivanting all over the world? There is always some rosy picture of what home would be like if you were there. Didn't the food always taste that good? and who can remember stress? The guilt sets in and that's that. Emails and calls from home only make it worse. You have convinced yourself that you are being incredibly self centered by committing two years of your life to a place so far from your mom's hugs.
The high is most often induced by a great cultural exchange or a hug from a random neighborhood kid or the kids calling my name. Like this morning Rwandan TV was showing National Geographic. The program was about the Golden Gate Bridge. I got to explain to Fidele all about bridges, a foreign concept here. He was instantly afraid of ever going on one after watching all the treacherous details. Or later in the morning when he got a call from his brother in law. His older sister had given birth to a baby girl last night. She already has two little boys but was holding out for a girl. Now she will stop having children because she got her little girl. Apparently some things really are the same in both cultures. Sometimes the highs involve other Peace Corps volunteers - like a bunch of us eating dinner together. We made tortilla chips from scratch, guacamole, black beans, salsa and a cheese sauce. We were all standing around the table because we didn't have chairs and it looked like we were in an eating contest, in between laughing so hard I thought I was going to get sprayed with guac.
Hatred
To hate is to dispel evil into the world, to take your fear or your anger and make it into a physical action. Hate creates negative energy. It creates violence, prejudice, stereotypes, verbal slurs. It creates embarrassment, shame, a sense of deserving this abuse.
I recently heard a story of a racial slur directed at a young boy. The ethnicity of the boy doesn't matter. The situation surrounding the comment also doesn't matter. The fact that it took place in front of the boy's grandmother, siblings and cousins does matter. Should this boy feel shame, embarrassment or justification for what was spoken to him? For the fact that some ignorant, angry, insensitive person decided to give hatred a voice?
This took place in the great United States of America. One would imagine that some level of progress has been made considering how modern the country is. It saddens me to think of how this hatred was fostered. I don't believe that anyone is born with hatred in their hearts. I do however think it is a learned behavior, especially when it is directed towards one ethnicity or every ethnicity but one's own.
I was recently in an orientation for graduate school, beginning my master's in social work. One session was about acknowledging, appreciating and dealing with cultural differences. Before you can look outward it is essential that you look inward. If you do not assess your own perspective and biases then it will be near impossible for you to understand what you are projecting onto others. The facilitators had us complete an exercise that went something like this:
Take out a piece of paper. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Complete the sentence "White is…" and just free verse. At the end of five minutes, set the timer for 2 minutes and again complete "White is…". Top it off with one final session of thirty seconds with "White is…". After completing this exercise we discussed our responses. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Many had never appreciated, and therefore could not acknowledge, the privilege handed to them simply because they were born Caucasian. They won the birth lottery by being born white and American and yet they couldn't even see how ethnicity made a difference.
I am currently living in a society that was recently torn apart by hatred. Even in societies where color doesn't make the difference some historical, tribal division will be found and exploited. Foster some hatred add in a healthy dose of brainwashing and you are well on your way to a horrendous genocide. Is sixteen years enough to dispel that hatred?
Going back to the US, I selfishly think of my own future. What if I decide to adopt a baby who is a different ethnicity than me, most definitely one that doesn't automatically enjoy the perks of society that I do? Will I have to avoid living in certain cities or states because of the discrimination we will feel as a family? What lengths will I have to go to to keep my family safe and secure? Why am I even forced to consider all these asinine questions?!
My initial response to hearing the story of the young boy combating prejudice and hatred is to lash out with some sort of violence. Let's be honest, it feels good to have a physical response to something that hurts your heart. Of course this is the wrong reaction, perpetuating only more sadness and negativity. The best I can do is go on a rant on my blog and scream in all caps - STOP THE IGNORANCE! Take a moment, see the person underneath the label and relate to them on a 'human being to human being' level. Stop fearing the unknown.
I recently heard a story of a racial slur directed at a young boy. The ethnicity of the boy doesn't matter. The situation surrounding the comment also doesn't matter. The fact that it took place in front of the boy's grandmother, siblings and cousins does matter. Should this boy feel shame, embarrassment or justification for what was spoken to him? For the fact that some ignorant, angry, insensitive person decided to give hatred a voice?
This took place in the great United States of America. One would imagine that some level of progress has been made considering how modern the country is. It saddens me to think of how this hatred was fostered. I don't believe that anyone is born with hatred in their hearts. I do however think it is a learned behavior, especially when it is directed towards one ethnicity or every ethnicity but one's own.
I was recently in an orientation for graduate school, beginning my master's in social work. One session was about acknowledging, appreciating and dealing with cultural differences. Before you can look outward it is essential that you look inward. If you do not assess your own perspective and biases then it will be near impossible for you to understand what you are projecting onto others. The facilitators had us complete an exercise that went something like this:
Take out a piece of paper. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Complete the sentence "White is…" and just free verse. At the end of five minutes, set the timer for 2 minutes and again complete "White is…". Top it off with one final session of thirty seconds with "White is…". After completing this exercise we discussed our responses. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Many had never appreciated, and therefore could not acknowledge, the privilege handed to them simply because they were born Caucasian. They won the birth lottery by being born white and American and yet they couldn't even see how ethnicity made a difference.
I am currently living in a society that was recently torn apart by hatred. Even in societies where color doesn't make the difference some historical, tribal division will be found and exploited. Foster some hatred add in a healthy dose of brainwashing and you are well on your way to a horrendous genocide. Is sixteen years enough to dispel that hatred?
Going back to the US, I selfishly think of my own future. What if I decide to adopt a baby who is a different ethnicity than me, most definitely one that doesn't automatically enjoy the perks of society that I do? Will I have to avoid living in certain cities or states because of the discrimination we will feel as a family? What lengths will I have to go to to keep my family safe and secure? Why am I even forced to consider all these asinine questions?!
My initial response to hearing the story of the young boy combating prejudice and hatred is to lash out with some sort of violence. Let's be honest, it feels good to have a physical response to something that hurts your heart. Of course this is the wrong reaction, perpetuating only more sadness and negativity. The best I can do is go on a rant on my blog and scream in all caps - STOP THE IGNORANCE! Take a moment, see the person underneath the label and relate to them on a 'human being to human being' level. Stop fearing the unknown.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Inevitable
So I've recently been enjoying a little blog called 20-Nothing by Jesse Rosen. I'd compare it to the modern day, twenty-something's version of Carrie Bradshaw's Sex and the City column. It talks about love, dating, marriage, etc. while making me laugh and ponder. With all these American conceptions of what romance is, I forgot where I was for a moment.
I am still attempting to figure out the Rwandan dating game. I wish I would quickly or my million dollar idea of creating a Rwandan eHarmony will go up in smoke. These things I have figured out:
1. Rwandans will almost always deny that they have a girlfriend/boyfriend.
2. The first time they will admit to dating someone may be the exact moment they are announcing their engagement.
3. Whether it's a generalization or not, infidelity is talked about lightly and may be quite common.
I am stunned by the differences in Rwandan courtship versus American courtship - yes, I still believe people are actually courted. This afternoon I was equally as stunned by 'the list'.
I was having lunch with my buddy Jeanne. We were talking about marriage. Although I was attempting to pressure her into a swift marriage so I could be present at her wedding, she wasn't budging. She has logically chosen to get married in five years. That leaves three years to complete her master's degree and then two years to meet, seduce, and convince/trick a man into marriage.
And then out came the question - so what's your criteria? I blame it partially on the Rwandan accent, but I was completely confused. Criteria for what? For your man. All of a sudden I was right back in America having a girl talk session. Unfortunately for Jeanne I am an ill-prepared girl in these situations because I've never made a list of my specifications/standards before. So I made her go first. They were quite straightforward:
1. Be saved aka a Christian.
2. Be educated.
3. Do not drink alcohol - sometimes goes hand in hand with the Christianity.
4. Love and cherish her, consequentially a lack of abuse and harassment.
Well, these are completely realistic, especially compared to some of the multi-page American girl lists I've witnessed. After all, when did picking a spouse become comparable to shopping online. Just click a few boxes and wait impatiently for that next day delivery.
What struck me most was Jeanne's statement that she is asking God for a good man so He will provide. To Jeanne, marriage and love is inevitable. I suppose Rwandan women in general can clearly see their end point. Every life contains marriage and babies. From the American perspective love can be more fickle. Depending on a few choice decisions - career, education, dating circuits, stubbornness, multipage lists of standards - that marriage and those babies might not come. American women think 'what if I never find that?' or deny that any form of companionship is necessary - 'who says I need someone else to share my life with? I can do everything by myself, thank you very much.' Just seeing Jeanne's serenely calm face while discussing her inevitable marriage, I instantly juxtaposed it with an American girl, nearing thirty, pint of Ben and Jerry's in one hand, romantic comedy playing in the background, trying to come up with coy answers for an online dating site, internally screaming "WHERE IS HE ALREADY!".
So we can silently scoff at their mandatory, medieval culture of coupling and procreating but then again maybe this is one thing they have all figured out. I don't mean the legal contract of marriage, per say; but I am referring to admitting the need to have a long term companion to share life with. What if every late twenty-something, at the end of their education, didn't play games around romance - what if they all admitted that a solid, long term marriage was what was completely necessary in life? Just think how the dating scene would shift.
Now I just have to convince Rwandans to cut out the infidelity.
I am still attempting to figure out the Rwandan dating game. I wish I would quickly or my million dollar idea of creating a Rwandan eHarmony will go up in smoke. These things I have figured out:
1. Rwandans will almost always deny that they have a girlfriend/boyfriend.
2. The first time they will admit to dating someone may be the exact moment they are announcing their engagement.
3. Whether it's a generalization or not, infidelity is talked about lightly and may be quite common.
I am stunned by the differences in Rwandan courtship versus American courtship - yes, I still believe people are actually courted. This afternoon I was equally as stunned by 'the list'.
I was having lunch with my buddy Jeanne. We were talking about marriage. Although I was attempting to pressure her into a swift marriage so I could be present at her wedding, she wasn't budging. She has logically chosen to get married in five years. That leaves three years to complete her master's degree and then two years to meet, seduce, and convince/trick a man into marriage.
And then out came the question - so what's your criteria? I blame it partially on the Rwandan accent, but I was completely confused. Criteria for what? For your man. All of a sudden I was right back in America having a girl talk session. Unfortunately for Jeanne I am an ill-prepared girl in these situations because I've never made a list of my specifications/standards before. So I made her go first. They were quite straightforward:
1. Be saved aka a Christian.
2. Be educated.
3. Do not drink alcohol - sometimes goes hand in hand with the Christianity.
4. Love and cherish her, consequentially a lack of abuse and harassment.
Well, these are completely realistic, especially compared to some of the multi-page American girl lists I've witnessed. After all, when did picking a spouse become comparable to shopping online. Just click a few boxes and wait impatiently for that next day delivery.
What struck me most was Jeanne's statement that she is asking God for a good man so He will provide. To Jeanne, marriage and love is inevitable. I suppose Rwandan women in general can clearly see their end point. Every life contains marriage and babies. From the American perspective love can be more fickle. Depending on a few choice decisions - career, education, dating circuits, stubbornness, multipage lists of standards - that marriage and those babies might not come. American women think 'what if I never find that?' or deny that any form of companionship is necessary - 'who says I need someone else to share my life with? I can do everything by myself, thank you very much.' Just seeing Jeanne's serenely calm face while discussing her inevitable marriage, I instantly juxtaposed it with an American girl, nearing thirty, pint of Ben and Jerry's in one hand, romantic comedy playing in the background, trying to come up with coy answers for an online dating site, internally screaming "WHERE IS HE ALREADY!".
So we can silently scoff at their mandatory, medieval culture of coupling and procreating but then again maybe this is one thing they have all figured out. I don't mean the legal contract of marriage, per say; but I am referring to admitting the need to have a long term companion to share life with. What if every late twenty-something, at the end of their education, didn't play games around romance - what if they all admitted that a solid, long term marriage was what was completely necessary in life? Just think how the dating scene would shift.
Now I just have to convince Rwandans to cut out the infidelity.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
External Factors
A few months ago I read a tale of modernity in The New York Times. It was giving its two cents about the electronic book/news phenomenon. To Kindle or not to Kindle? The author gave the usual arguments - I like to feel a book in my hands, smell the wonderful mildewy smell, know that my eyesight isn't being lost by squinting at a screen. I concur to all of the above. But then they gave the best argument of them all - how would we judge each other? When you are sitting across from someone on the bus, or next to them in the waiting room, or you visit their house and you meander to their bookshelf - how can you get a true sense of their character if not by judging the cover of the book they are reading?
I have found the Peace Corps equivalent - the almighty external hard drive. We swap music, movies, TV episodes, audio books, PDF books. But be careful! As soon as you hand over the contents of your precious external, your character will be judged. Sure you can slough it off to 'some random music that your brother gave you' or you were just acting as a 'middleman' because another PCV wanted that movie. But we all know the truth. Everyone has their guilty pleasures they'd rather keep hidden in the dark recesses of electronic circuits. So if your hard drive could say something about you, what would it be? and more importantly, are you ashamed?
I have found the Peace Corps equivalent - the almighty external hard drive. We swap music, movies, TV episodes, audio books, PDF books. But be careful! As soon as you hand over the contents of your precious external, your character will be judged. Sure you can slough it off to 'some random music that your brother gave you' or you were just acting as a 'middleman' because another PCV wanted that movie. But we all know the truth. Everyone has their guilty pleasures they'd rather keep hidden in the dark recesses of electronic circuits. So if your hard drive could say something about you, what would it be? and more importantly, are you ashamed?
Caught
It's like something out of an Amy Tan novel. Children and adolescents and twenty-somethings caught between two generations and therefore caught between two cultures. It is the same thing that children and adolescents and twenty-somethings go through in the US when their families immigrate there. Language, customs, gender roles, job aspirations, power structure - they all shift. They have to change with the new environment and the new definition of success.
In Rwanda, the young generation is influx. Perhaps the most caught in the mix are those in the upper levels of secondary school. They have been caught in French or Kinyarwanda their whole education. Recently English became the priority. They now have to try to succeed at University taught entirely in English. Can you imagine? We have a hard enough in the US prepping the students who are the first generation of college students in their family. Now think of the international students who travel very far from their home, new stressors, new friends, new culture and we expect them to succeed. These Rwandan students aren't taken into a new country, although they are given great expectations.
I was sitting with my neighbor Eva yesterday. Eva is thirteen. She is completing the last semester of her Primary 6 level school, starting in a week. Eva and I read some English together. She tried to teach me a few new Kinyarwandan words (if only I would retain these things!). She started telling me about an eye disease. Then she ran to her house and grabbed a notebook from school. She has meticulously copied pages of medical terms, pictures and whole paragraphs describing the human eye. This was her science notebook. She also had descriptions of the human skeleton, reproductive system, etc. all in English. Having just read one chapter of Paul Coelho's The Alchemist with her, of which she understood absolutely nothing, I began to ponder the amount of English medical terminology she was catching. For that matter, how much the Rwandan teachers, teaching in English actually understand beyond having the students copy word for word and then regurgitate. Granted that is how I was successful in school, mainly because so many school systems are built upon the simple regurgitation of information.
If only I could find a way to teach critical thinking. Any ideas?
Well I went off on a bit of a tangent. The point I wanted to talk about was how the entire culture is shifting, not just education and language. Domestic violence is a huge problem here, coupled with the unequal rights of females and the low divorce rate. Yet the next generation is being taught to respect women, to value an educated woman. Adolescents here might have different ideals than their parents, different standards, different definitions of success. So I'm going to try to stop grouping all Rwandans together and making generalizations. Look at your own family structure. Do you have the same life goals as your parents? the same definition of what constitutes a job? even if the end goals are the same, was your method of getting there the same? I know my family is still trying to figure out why I'm in Africa.
Each generation automatically brings their own characteristics, what pieces of history they've witnessed, what music they listen to, the clothing they wear or lack of clothing they wear. But here in Rwanda this distinction of generations is more like a boxing match between Africa and the Western World. Are you on the side of the cool kids? Can you stomach pizza and guacamole or do you prefer the traditional rice and beans?
One thing I've realized is no matter how many layers of American I have to go through with a person, there is always a Rwandan at the core.
In Rwanda, the young generation is influx. Perhaps the most caught in the mix are those in the upper levels of secondary school. They have been caught in French or Kinyarwanda their whole education. Recently English became the priority. They now have to try to succeed at University taught entirely in English. Can you imagine? We have a hard enough in the US prepping the students who are the first generation of college students in their family. Now think of the international students who travel very far from their home, new stressors, new friends, new culture and we expect them to succeed. These Rwandan students aren't taken into a new country, although they are given great expectations.
I was sitting with my neighbor Eva yesterday. Eva is thirteen. She is completing the last semester of her Primary 6 level school, starting in a week. Eva and I read some English together. She tried to teach me a few new Kinyarwandan words (if only I would retain these things!). She started telling me about an eye disease. Then she ran to her house and grabbed a notebook from school. She has meticulously copied pages of medical terms, pictures and whole paragraphs describing the human eye. This was her science notebook. She also had descriptions of the human skeleton, reproductive system, etc. all in English. Having just read one chapter of Paul Coelho's The Alchemist with her, of which she understood absolutely nothing, I began to ponder the amount of English medical terminology she was catching. For that matter, how much the Rwandan teachers, teaching in English actually understand beyond having the students copy word for word and then regurgitate. Granted that is how I was successful in school, mainly because so many school systems are built upon the simple regurgitation of information.
If only I could find a way to teach critical thinking. Any ideas?
Well I went off on a bit of a tangent. The point I wanted to talk about was how the entire culture is shifting, not just education and language. Domestic violence is a huge problem here, coupled with the unequal rights of females and the low divorce rate. Yet the next generation is being taught to respect women, to value an educated woman. Adolescents here might have different ideals than their parents, different standards, different definitions of success. So I'm going to try to stop grouping all Rwandans together and making generalizations. Look at your own family structure. Do you have the same life goals as your parents? the same definition of what constitutes a job? even if the end goals are the same, was your method of getting there the same? I know my family is still trying to figure out why I'm in Africa.
Each generation automatically brings their own characteristics, what pieces of history they've witnessed, what music they listen to, the clothing they wear or lack of clothing they wear. But here in Rwanda this distinction of generations is more like a boxing match between Africa and the Western World. Are you on the side of the cool kids? Can you stomach pizza and guacamole or do you prefer the traditional rice and beans?
One thing I've realized is no matter how many layers of American I have to go through with a person, there is always a Rwandan at the core.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Reading Railroad
I watched the Rwandan children take the book from me and stare at it as if it were amazing. For many it was like looking at an archeological find. They reverently flipped through the pages. Ran their hands gently over the cover to feel the discount price sticker that Borders had placed there.
I'm hoping I can transfer my love of books onto them. If anyone wants to send me children's books, feel free. For now story time is going to be trashy romance novels and Vanity Fair. Thank goodness they don't know English!
I'm hoping I can transfer my love of books onto them. If anyone wants to send me children's books, feel free. For now story time is going to be trashy romance novels and Vanity Fair. Thank goodness they don't know English!
Brussels or Bust
While reorganizing all the documents on my computer I came across this little gem that I never posted. Nice blast from the past that shows me how far I’ve come since February.
I am writing from the Dulles airport in DC. I have finally started my journey. I went through a quick version of staging by myself today. My country desk rep was amazing, so helpful, so friendly. I did get a wee bit lost in DC but gathered my yellow fever vaccination and was on my way.
I am about to leave the country for over a year. To say an American farewell, there is a Wendy’s across from my gate. The grease smells wonderful but I refuse to purchase anything. My last American meal was a $5 footlong (go ahead and take a moment to sing the song).
And I just want to spread a lesson I learned today. Never underestimate a toothbrush in an airport. After all that grime, it makes you feel like you are hygienic.
I enjoyed three cab rides today. All three of them were listening to news radio. I don’t know if that was for the general DC audience or for the cab drivers’ own enjoyment.
2 hours to go until I head for Brussels. I will find my group there and then depart for Kigali, Rwanda. Oh boy!
I am writing from the Dulles airport in DC. I have finally started my journey. I went through a quick version of staging by myself today. My country desk rep was amazing, so helpful, so friendly. I did get a wee bit lost in DC but gathered my yellow fever vaccination and was on my way.
I am about to leave the country for over a year. To say an American farewell, there is a Wendy’s across from my gate. The grease smells wonderful but I refuse to purchase anything. My last American meal was a $5 footlong (go ahead and take a moment to sing the song).
And I just want to spread a lesson I learned today. Never underestimate a toothbrush in an airport. After all that grime, it makes you feel like you are hygienic.
I enjoyed three cab rides today. All three of them were listening to news radio. I don’t know if that was for the general DC audience or for the cab drivers’ own enjoyment.
2 hours to go until I head for Brussels. I will find my group there and then depart for Kigali, Rwanda. Oh boy!
Bag It
Everything is carried in a bag. It must always be concealed. Never show what you've got, what you can afford. This mirrors the expression of emotions. Keep everything closed up. Don't let on. It is rude to eat in public, to cry in public. The curtains should always be drawn.
This is contrasted drastically by the vanity of the Rwandan people. There is a high level of pride here that probably goes along with all destitute poverty. They must have some source of pride and it all boils down to hygiene here. Everything should be pressed and clean. Ironing usually involves putting hot coals into an iron and sufficing without electricity. No excuse for wrinkly pants. (I didn't iron much in the US and I don't plan on starting now!) You should be using the small amount of water you have to wash your face and body.
The ambulances at the hospital get washed everyday…EVERYDAY. Even days when I hear there is a water shortage and we might not get water to wash our hands. Do the cars really need to look perfectly clean when we all know it is the dry season and there is an inch of pure dust on the roads?
So while the quality and appearance of your clothes and shoes means everything, you can't display your wealth by eating in front of people or carrying belongings out in the open. Make sense?
This is contrasted drastically by the vanity of the Rwandan people. There is a high level of pride here that probably goes along with all destitute poverty. They must have some source of pride and it all boils down to hygiene here. Everything should be pressed and clean. Ironing usually involves putting hot coals into an iron and sufficing without electricity. No excuse for wrinkly pants. (I didn't iron much in the US and I don't plan on starting now!) You should be using the small amount of water you have to wash your face and body.
The ambulances at the hospital get washed everyday…EVERYDAY. Even days when I hear there is a water shortage and we might not get water to wash our hands. Do the cars really need to look perfectly clean when we all know it is the dry season and there is an inch of pure dust on the roads?
So while the quality and appearance of your clothes and shoes means everything, you can't display your wealth by eating in front of people or carrying belongings out in the open. Make sense?
Wedding Bells
I have arrived at site at the height of wedding season. Just like in the States, summer is prime time for everyone to make public displays of their lifelong commitment. Since living here for 3 months, I have attended one dowry ceremony and 2 wedding receptions. So I'm going to explain the many layers of ceremony that make up a complete wedding celebration in Rwanda.
First, you have the dowry ceremony. That's right I said dowry. This is my rudimentary understanding of how it happens. It the traditional ceremony that has survived all the modern changes in Rwanda. It is held at the house of the bride aka her parents' house. The bride, her bridesmaids and many other ladies in waiting help in the ceremony. The groom and his family show up. The bride is hidden in the house at this point. All the women are wearing traditional dress. The bride's family acts completely put out by the groom's family showing up. They always come up with excuse of why they are not available. Eventually they are convinced to speak to the groom's family. They barrage the groom with questions. The groom must answer all of them. They are not given to him ahead of time but he can assume what will be asked of him. He must have a sufficient answer to all the questions. I have heard that the groom can be turned away if he doesn't answer well enough, but I believe it is rare. I would equate this part to when a groom traditionally asks for her hand in marriage from her father.
Most of the ceremony is a conversation/debate between the groom's representative and the bride's representative. Gifts are bestowed to both sides with the main gift being cows to the bride's family. The more cows the better. Since most city-dwelling folks don't have cows anymore, they simply simulate a cow's presence. Someone actually does a song and dance as a cow, sometimes even dressed as a cow. In other cases, there is a legitimate cow that makes an appearance.
Since I get many marriage proposals, being a 'wealthy' white girl with prime citizenship, I have developed a great tacit for dodging them with humor. I tell the guy that I need a lot of cows. When they ask how many - I go off the charts and say around a 100. This is an absurd about of cows that no one has so I'm still safely single.
The next ceremony is for the civil contract. Everyone dresses in their Sunday best and shows up to the government office. Apparently you can invite a crowd to witness this paperwork portion of the program. I have yet to witness this part but I'm imagining it is similar to going to government office with someone and watching them do paperwork…magical.
Then comes the church portion of the wedding. All of these parts usually take place on different days, sometimes weeks apart. The church wedding and the reception are on the same day however. This is when it gets boring. Rwanda is very modern in certain respects and their weddings mimic our own. The bride wears a standard white wedding gown. The bridesmaids are all wearing matching dresses. The only difference here is that they all rent their outfits. The men are dressed as men do. The wedding will then be dictated by the couple's religion. The church ceremony is standard according to the religion's tradition.
The couple usually has a professional photographer. They often go to a pretty location like a garden to take photos of the couple, the wedding party, the family, etc.
Giving gifts - there is no wedding shower or wedding registry. Most people give money as a gift. As far as my work place goes, the invitations are handed out by a third party - another coworker who isn't the bride or groom. I'm assuming that each section of guests has a representative that hands out the invitations. This person then becomes the point person for gathering the money donations aka the gifts of money. A list is kept and then the money is handed over. If you don't give a money donation you are expected to bring a gift to the wedding. If you give a physical gift, you must present it to the bride and groom during the reception. Each section of guests is called up and gifts are given like it is the procession line.
Backtracking a bit - The reception can be held a hall. In the case of the wedding I recently attended, it was in the church itself. Pews were moved and chairs were sent up. It is uncommon for a meal to be served. Usually it is one drink per person. Fanta of course is the main drink (did I tell you all about the new Fanta flavor - Fiesta? DELICIOUS. Almost like Faygo red pop and something else that reminds me of childhood. Some Rwandans aren't handling change well though. New Fanta is just too much). There is cake served but Rwandan cake is like none other. It is like if they take all the sugar out of the cake and the frosting and you eat it thinking its bread. There are many speeches and usually some young people are hired to do traditional dancing. There is no dancing for the guests. Sometimes there is a smaller party held at the house afterwards. There might be food served there and even a third location for dancing into the wee hours of the night.
There are wedding albums and wedding videos. There are flower girls and ring bearers. There is champagne and the cutting of cake. I really wish it was more exciting but Rwandan weddings are just like American ones…that is if you received cows as payment for marriage.
First, you have the dowry ceremony. That's right I said dowry. This is my rudimentary understanding of how it happens. It the traditional ceremony that has survived all the modern changes in Rwanda. It is held at the house of the bride aka her parents' house. The bride, her bridesmaids and many other ladies in waiting help in the ceremony. The groom and his family show up. The bride is hidden in the house at this point. All the women are wearing traditional dress. The bride's family acts completely put out by the groom's family showing up. They always come up with excuse of why they are not available. Eventually they are convinced to speak to the groom's family. They barrage the groom with questions. The groom must answer all of them. They are not given to him ahead of time but he can assume what will be asked of him. He must have a sufficient answer to all the questions. I have heard that the groom can be turned away if he doesn't answer well enough, but I believe it is rare. I would equate this part to when a groom traditionally asks for her hand in marriage from her father.
Most of the ceremony is a conversation/debate between the groom's representative and the bride's representative. Gifts are bestowed to both sides with the main gift being cows to the bride's family. The more cows the better. Since most city-dwelling folks don't have cows anymore, they simply simulate a cow's presence. Someone actually does a song and dance as a cow, sometimes even dressed as a cow. In other cases, there is a legitimate cow that makes an appearance.
Since I get many marriage proposals, being a 'wealthy' white girl with prime citizenship, I have developed a great tacit for dodging them with humor. I tell the guy that I need a lot of cows. When they ask how many - I go off the charts and say around a 100. This is an absurd about of cows that no one has so I'm still safely single.
The next ceremony is for the civil contract. Everyone dresses in their Sunday best and shows up to the government office. Apparently you can invite a crowd to witness this paperwork portion of the program. I have yet to witness this part but I'm imagining it is similar to going to government office with someone and watching them do paperwork…magical.
Then comes the church portion of the wedding. All of these parts usually take place on different days, sometimes weeks apart. The church wedding and the reception are on the same day however. This is when it gets boring. Rwanda is very modern in certain respects and their weddings mimic our own. The bride wears a standard white wedding gown. The bridesmaids are all wearing matching dresses. The only difference here is that they all rent their outfits. The men are dressed as men do. The wedding will then be dictated by the couple's religion. The church ceremony is standard according to the religion's tradition.
The couple usually has a professional photographer. They often go to a pretty location like a garden to take photos of the couple, the wedding party, the family, etc.
Giving gifts - there is no wedding shower or wedding registry. Most people give money as a gift. As far as my work place goes, the invitations are handed out by a third party - another coworker who isn't the bride or groom. I'm assuming that each section of guests has a representative that hands out the invitations. This person then becomes the point person for gathering the money donations aka the gifts of money. A list is kept and then the money is handed over. If you don't give a money donation you are expected to bring a gift to the wedding. If you give a physical gift, you must present it to the bride and groom during the reception. Each section of guests is called up and gifts are given like it is the procession line.
Backtracking a bit - The reception can be held a hall. In the case of the wedding I recently attended, it was in the church itself. Pews were moved and chairs were sent up. It is uncommon for a meal to be served. Usually it is one drink per person. Fanta of course is the main drink (did I tell you all about the new Fanta flavor - Fiesta? DELICIOUS. Almost like Faygo red pop and something else that reminds me of childhood. Some Rwandans aren't handling change well though. New Fanta is just too much). There is cake served but Rwandan cake is like none other. It is like if they take all the sugar out of the cake and the frosting and you eat it thinking its bread. There are many speeches and usually some young people are hired to do traditional dancing. There is no dancing for the guests. Sometimes there is a smaller party held at the house afterwards. There might be food served there and even a third location for dancing into the wee hours of the night.
There are wedding albums and wedding videos. There are flower girls and ring bearers. There is champagne and the cutting of cake. I really wish it was more exciting but Rwandan weddings are just like American ones…that is if you received cows as payment for marriage.
Old Lady
Hey old lady!
Can you imagine someone saying that to a senior citizen in the US? I'd imagine they would get a slap across the face is the woman was able and feisty enough. This sort of thing is extremely common in Rwanda. The name calling, not the slapping. It is normal for people to address each other as exactly what they are - child, old woman, girl, boy, rich/ white person. It makes logical sense but I'm hoping I leave this habit in Rwanda. I don't want to get slapped as soon as I get home.
Can you imagine someone saying that to a senior citizen in the US? I'd imagine they would get a slap across the face is the woman was able and feisty enough. This sort of thing is extremely common in Rwanda. The name calling, not the slapping. It is normal for people to address each other as exactly what they are - child, old woman, girl, boy, rich/ white person. It makes logical sense but I'm hoping I leave this habit in Rwanda. I don't want to get slapped as soon as I get home.
On the Eve of this Election
Everything has built up to this moment. The presidential election in Rwanda is being held tomorrow. We have all prayed for peace. There have been some bumps in the road - grenade attacks in the capital, a vice presidential candidate for the opposition was nearly beheaded, newspapers were shut down - but here we are. Of course nothing was completely proven but Human Rights Watch has some comments about the whole thing.
We've all been holding our breathe. Peace Corps always has a contingency plan. Legally of course they have to have our backs… and our fronts…in complete safety. So I know where my consolidation point is. At this point they just want to know exactly where I am for the next couple days. I am supposed to be keeping a low profile, staying away from political events and avoiding crowded public places. If it comes down to it, we will be consolidated aka gathered in small groups in secure locations around the country so Peace Corps can keep a closer eye on us. The plan beyond that leaps to temporary evacuation to a regional place outside of the country. The next leap is evacuation to the US and then the very worst scenario - permanent evacuation and then being relocated to another Peace Corps country to serve out the rest of my 2 years. All this being said, it is very unlikely. It is expected that Kagame will win the election in a landslide. Last election he won with 95% of the vote. Subduing opposition is one of the claims against his political party.
To be honest, I can't tell if the setting up in town is for the voting process or the inevitable victory party.
So tomorrow, I get the day off work. I expect to sit around reading and visiting with my neighbors. Happy democracy.
We've all been holding our breathe. Peace Corps always has a contingency plan. Legally of course they have to have our backs… and our fronts…in complete safety. So I know where my consolidation point is. At this point they just want to know exactly where I am for the next couple days. I am supposed to be keeping a low profile, staying away from political events and avoiding crowded public places. If it comes down to it, we will be consolidated aka gathered in small groups in secure locations around the country so Peace Corps can keep a closer eye on us. The plan beyond that leaps to temporary evacuation to a regional place outside of the country. The next leap is evacuation to the US and then the very worst scenario - permanent evacuation and then being relocated to another Peace Corps country to serve out the rest of my 2 years. All this being said, it is very unlikely. It is expected that Kagame will win the election in a landslide. Last election he won with 95% of the vote. Subduing opposition is one of the claims against his political party.
To be honest, I can't tell if the setting up in town is for the voting process or the inevitable victory party.
So tomorrow, I get the day off work. I expect to sit around reading and visiting with my neighbors. Happy democracy.
Victory House
Today I visited my first Rwandan orphanage. I had the privilege of touring Victory House, which is an orphanage run by missionaries from the Victory Churches. It originated in Canada. The couple running it for this two year stint are from Colorado. They also have an adorable little boy.
The orphanage houses 59 kids ranging from the age of 17 to 1. They have a little cafeteria, library, family room where all the kids come together each night, and dorms with adorable bunk beds. The orphanage has some of its own animals and farm land to produce food.
It was a pleasure to see good work being done. These kids were obviously very well cared for. It was also great to visit with Americans. Each connection made is a new prospect for a secondary project so I may have more stories to come.
The orphanage houses 59 kids ranging from the age of 17 to 1. They have a little cafeteria, library, family room where all the kids come together each night, and dorms with adorable bunk beds. The orphanage has some of its own animals and farm land to produce food.
It was a pleasure to see good work being done. These kids were obviously very well cared for. It was also great to visit with Americans. Each connection made is a new prospect for a secondary project so I may have more stories to come.
Condensed Milk Party
"Normal" is a matter of perspective. I have been in Rwanda for a solid five months. Within this time my life has completely changed. I consider myself to be adjusting well to my surroundings. Here are a few things that have become very commonplace and normal.
I go to the bathroom in a hole.
I live without electricity, yet flashlights work just fine.
Chickens wander through my yard sometimes.
I've been watching the bananas grow on the banana trees I can see from over my back fence. Nice little agriculture lesson for me.
I recently got together with some fellow PCVs. A delicious meal was cooked up. Soup with rice in it, tomatoes, green pepper, onion, carrots, chicken bouillon cube and spices. For dessert, the centerpiece was a can of sweetened condensed milk from the western world. We crumbled biscuits (graham cracker like cookies), cubed pineapple and poured the condensed milk over it. It was DELICIOUS. Of course we all have stomach aches at this point but well worth it. Sweetened condensed milk is truly a reason to have a dinner party and celebrate. Pick up a can and try it yourself.
I go to the bathroom in a hole.
I live without electricity, yet flashlights work just fine.
Chickens wander through my yard sometimes.
I've been watching the bananas grow on the banana trees I can see from over my back fence. Nice little agriculture lesson for me.
I recently got together with some fellow PCVs. A delicious meal was cooked up. Soup with rice in it, tomatoes, green pepper, onion, carrots, chicken bouillon cube and spices. For dessert, the centerpiece was a can of sweetened condensed milk from the western world. We crumbled biscuits (graham cracker like cookies), cubed pineapple and poured the condensed milk over it. It was DELICIOUS. Of course we all have stomach aches at this point but well worth it. Sweetened condensed milk is truly a reason to have a dinner party and celebrate. Pick up a can and try it yourself.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Dear American People
Dear American people,
I am writing this letter because at this very moment my students are also writing you a letter. It is a mandatory letter of gratitude to the organizers and funders of this holiday camp. It should express what they've learned (goal setting, self esteem, resilience), how they feel about the camp and invariably their undying love for a country funding their education. Over 500 secondary students gathered for four days of camp activities. It was a mix between a pep rally and a scary military cult-like experience.
Perhaps there is something awkward about a forced thank you note - but so too is it awkward to come across the USAID logo - FROM THE AMERICAN PEOPLE- every five feet in this country. It leads to them thinking America is a magical place that can afford not only the education, food and shelter of all of its children but Rwanda's too. So American people, thank you. Your tax dollars really are being used for something productive (beyond the excessive amount given to the military force/presence we exert). You could not have bestowed the money on a more grateful group. When asked what has helped you achieve your accomplishments to this point in your life, the group of thirty girls responded - being born a girl, faith in God and USAID. When asked one good thing that has happened to them in life they responded - the ability to be a student and the chance to learn. These are students who are living with HIV/AIDS or whose parents are. They may be orphans, they may have a single parent - whatever the situation they are deemed at risk and vulnerable by their community members.
They found the time this week to share their talents - mainly singing, dancing, rapping, comedy relief - talk about their dreams - mainly becoming a doctor and owning a car - and spending quality time making new friends and getting a free t-shirt (with the USAID logo on the sleeve of course).
The other students I know, who aren't OVCs here at camp, have paid extra money to stay at the boarding school over the holiday break to study for the national exam, which is in November. They are spending every waking moment, apart from side jobs , studying. The national exam dictates their future. Depending on their score they could get a scholarship to a university - the best in Butare, go to the secondary or tertiary university choice, or get left with just their secondary education for the rest of their lives. Money and available seats in the universities are all obstacles.
Sitting in this new culture with this new educational system reminds me of my last job in a student affairs office at Michigan State. My advisor coworkers would get frustrated with students who are indecisive about elective credit, and just wanted someone else to make the decision for them. At times it was coupled with ambiance about their educational trajectory, which is perhaps the most difficult student to work with. I see this situation from a new paradigm now. I have crossed the border and am now in a community/group based culture, versus the American, individual based culture. In America, an adolescent can sit there and ponder life. They can singularly decide what they want, where they want to attend school, what city to live in, what sort of family to have, all based on their own whim of desires. In a community based culture, an adolescent has depended on the opinion and needs of their community their whole life. Rwandan kids take multiple national exams that decide for them, based on 'the good of the country'. The first are in primary school. At the end of primary, the exam dictates what focus their secondary school education will have (science, literature, nursing, math, agriculture, etc.); or whether they are even allowed to attend secondary school, maybe they will go to vocational school. Even halfway through secondary, they are reassessed. If they aren't performing up to par, they are kicked out. No decision up to this point in their education has been their own. University is the first time they are allowed to choose a focus - that is if they get in. If I were to offer my secondary students an elective option, they would probably scratch their heads and possibly choose an extra English class so they could perform better in other classes, get to University, get a good job and be able to give money back to their family.
I am writing this letter because at this very moment my students are also writing you a letter. It is a mandatory letter of gratitude to the organizers and funders of this holiday camp. It should express what they've learned (goal setting, self esteem, resilience), how they feel about the camp and invariably their undying love for a country funding their education. Over 500 secondary students gathered for four days of camp activities. It was a mix between a pep rally and a scary military cult-like experience.
Perhaps there is something awkward about a forced thank you note - but so too is it awkward to come across the USAID logo - FROM THE AMERICAN PEOPLE- every five feet in this country. It leads to them thinking America is a magical place that can afford not only the education, food and shelter of all of its children but Rwanda's too. So American people, thank you. Your tax dollars really are being used for something productive (beyond the excessive amount given to the military force/presence we exert). You could not have bestowed the money on a more grateful group. When asked what has helped you achieve your accomplishments to this point in your life, the group of thirty girls responded - being born a girl, faith in God and USAID. When asked one good thing that has happened to them in life they responded - the ability to be a student and the chance to learn. These are students who are living with HIV/AIDS or whose parents are. They may be orphans, they may have a single parent - whatever the situation they are deemed at risk and vulnerable by their community members.
They found the time this week to share their talents - mainly singing, dancing, rapping, comedy relief - talk about their dreams - mainly becoming a doctor and owning a car - and spending quality time making new friends and getting a free t-shirt (with the USAID logo on the sleeve of course).
The other students I know, who aren't OVCs here at camp, have paid extra money to stay at the boarding school over the holiday break to study for the national exam, which is in November. They are spending every waking moment, apart from side jobs , studying. The national exam dictates their future. Depending on their score they could get a scholarship to a university - the best in Butare, go to the secondary or tertiary university choice, or get left with just their secondary education for the rest of their lives. Money and available seats in the universities are all obstacles.
Sitting in this new culture with this new educational system reminds me of my last job in a student affairs office at Michigan State. My advisor coworkers would get frustrated with students who are indecisive about elective credit, and just wanted someone else to make the decision for them. At times it was coupled with ambiance about their educational trajectory, which is perhaps the most difficult student to work with. I see this situation from a new paradigm now. I have crossed the border and am now in a community/group based culture, versus the American, individual based culture. In America, an adolescent can sit there and ponder life. They can singularly decide what they want, where they want to attend school, what city to live in, what sort of family to have, all based on their own whim of desires. In a community based culture, an adolescent has depended on the opinion and needs of their community their whole life. Rwandan kids take multiple national exams that decide for them, based on 'the good of the country'. The first are in primary school. At the end of primary, the exam dictates what focus their secondary school education will have (science, literature, nursing, math, agriculture, etc.); or whether they are even allowed to attend secondary school, maybe they will go to vocational school. Even halfway through secondary, they are reassessed. If they aren't performing up to par, they are kicked out. No decision up to this point in their education has been their own. University is the first time they are allowed to choose a focus - that is if they get in. If I were to offer my secondary students an elective option, they would probably scratch their heads and possibly choose an extra English class so they could perform better in other classes, get to University, get a good job and be able to give money back to their family.
Rejuvenation
Renewed faith in humanity
Sometimes there are days you just feel horrible. You feel like the world is horrible, and you just need that reminder of everything right in the world. Unfortunately when you are dwelling in the horribleness you usually forget that something wonderful may happen to cheer you up ever again. Luckily, I've had two such occurrences in the past week.
It all started with a PCV kickball tournament. A huge group of volunteers came together to bond, swap ideas and expertise and play some kickball. Aside from meeting new people, I also got to see a new part of Rwanda. The game took place 6 hours from the capital. With a little help from motion sickness pills, it was a lovely journey. The ride home wasn't as quick and painless, but as always an adventure. Since a mass of volunteers were leaving a small village all at the same time, we decided to rent a bus just for us to take us part of the way, until we all split into separate paths. Two flat tires later, and moving at a glacial speed, the first leg of the journey took double the amount of time it should have. Fortunately, I was in good company, but ended up needing to spend the night before completing the trip back home. Finally, the next morning we were all getting a bit cranky at Rwanda in general and line-cutting people in particular. As we stood in the bus office to buy our tickets, a man rudely cuts right in front of Sally. Because we are very used to assuming no one around speaks English well enough to understand, we tend to speak what's on our minds at all times, profanities included. Sally turns to us and gripes about the rudeness that happens because forming a single line where everyone waits their turn is not customary here. We all shake our heads in commiseration. Then a lovely young man next to us, selling MTN minutes, reaches over, taps the man's arm and motions for him to move his butt to the end of the line. Small victory for organized lines everyone. Jen, fellow PCV, turns to the MTN man to buy some minutes since he is so conveniently located and learns that he is deaf. He didn't even hear Sally's complaint but I suppose body language and disgust on a person's face is pretty easy to read. As the morning went on, this young man became our friend. He gently told us we were boarding the wrong bus, lead us around the corner to the correct one and made sure we were taken care of. People like him astound me. How can someone be so kind and knowing, and yet have to struggle so hard in life? He didn't give up and assume he wouldn't be able to support himself. He somehow manages to hold his job and show kindness to strangers.
The second occurrence happened just a couple days ago. I had just finished lunch with a friend and was about to brave the massive market in Kigali alone. Completely necessary because I needed some household items like sheets for my spare bed and curtains, and completely do-able because I've been around the market a lot and know how to handle myself…but all the same, lonely. I was in a grouchy mood in general and just wasn't in the mood for shopping alone. But I hit my bargaining stride. I successfully bought 4 sheets from a woman and she even threw in two pillowcases for free. There was a new trend at the market though. As soon as you walk in adolescent through small boys follow you offering to hold your items or help you in exchange for some money. I suppose it is the equivalent of homeless people cleaning your windshield when you didn't ask and expecting to get paid. I had to forcefully tell two boys I was not giving them a job and under no circumstances was I paying them. They finally got the hint. Then I ventured into the produce section. The smell of a pseudo fruit market almost made me cry. I don't have access to variety so this was heavenly. Did I mention how large this market is? A little boy about 7 years old started following me, telling me if things were a good price and translating for me. He was so darling that I didn't realize he was trying to get money from me. He was quite a clown. The sellers were irritated by him and tried to shoo him away but I told them that I liked him and to let him stay. One woman tried to scam me but he called her out and I trusted his judgment and didn't buy from her. He was wearing a Harry Potter shirt. I asked if he knew who that was, he claimed he did but I knew better. Most people here don't understand what is on their clothes, and they just don't care. Halfway through our shopping adventure I told him I wasn't going to pay him for his help. He accepted this and kept following, probably for entertainment sake. It's hard to describe what was so special about this little boy. He had charisma, and a pure joy about him. Although I didn't end up buying much of anything, I had a lot of fun. He reminded me how much fun simple adventures can be. Rwandans have an amazing ability to be social. They are very good at interpersonal skills for the most part. Sometimes you just have to get out in public and enjoy their company.
Sometimes there are days you just feel horrible. You feel like the world is horrible, and you just need that reminder of everything right in the world. Unfortunately when you are dwelling in the horribleness you usually forget that something wonderful may happen to cheer you up ever again. Luckily, I've had two such occurrences in the past week.
It all started with a PCV kickball tournament. A huge group of volunteers came together to bond, swap ideas and expertise and play some kickball. Aside from meeting new people, I also got to see a new part of Rwanda. The game took place 6 hours from the capital. With a little help from motion sickness pills, it was a lovely journey. The ride home wasn't as quick and painless, but as always an adventure. Since a mass of volunteers were leaving a small village all at the same time, we decided to rent a bus just for us to take us part of the way, until we all split into separate paths. Two flat tires later, and moving at a glacial speed, the first leg of the journey took double the amount of time it should have. Fortunately, I was in good company, but ended up needing to spend the night before completing the trip back home. Finally, the next morning we were all getting a bit cranky at Rwanda in general and line-cutting people in particular. As we stood in the bus office to buy our tickets, a man rudely cuts right in front of Sally. Because we are very used to assuming no one around speaks English well enough to understand, we tend to speak what's on our minds at all times, profanities included. Sally turns to us and gripes about the rudeness that happens because forming a single line where everyone waits their turn is not customary here. We all shake our heads in commiseration. Then a lovely young man next to us, selling MTN minutes, reaches over, taps the man's arm and motions for him to move his butt to the end of the line. Small victory for organized lines everyone. Jen, fellow PCV, turns to the MTN man to buy some minutes since he is so conveniently located and learns that he is deaf. He didn't even hear Sally's complaint but I suppose body language and disgust on a person's face is pretty easy to read. As the morning went on, this young man became our friend. He gently told us we were boarding the wrong bus, lead us around the corner to the correct one and made sure we were taken care of. People like him astound me. How can someone be so kind and knowing, and yet have to struggle so hard in life? He didn't give up and assume he wouldn't be able to support himself. He somehow manages to hold his job and show kindness to strangers.
The second occurrence happened just a couple days ago. I had just finished lunch with a friend and was about to brave the massive market in Kigali alone. Completely necessary because I needed some household items like sheets for my spare bed and curtains, and completely do-able because I've been around the market a lot and know how to handle myself…but all the same, lonely. I was in a grouchy mood in general and just wasn't in the mood for shopping alone. But I hit my bargaining stride. I successfully bought 4 sheets from a woman and she even threw in two pillowcases for free. There was a new trend at the market though. As soon as you walk in adolescent through small boys follow you offering to hold your items or help you in exchange for some money. I suppose it is the equivalent of homeless people cleaning your windshield when you didn't ask and expecting to get paid. I had to forcefully tell two boys I was not giving them a job and under no circumstances was I paying them. They finally got the hint. Then I ventured into the produce section. The smell of a pseudo fruit market almost made me cry. I don't have access to variety so this was heavenly. Did I mention how large this market is? A little boy about 7 years old started following me, telling me if things were a good price and translating for me. He was so darling that I didn't realize he was trying to get money from me. He was quite a clown. The sellers were irritated by him and tried to shoo him away but I told them that I liked him and to let him stay. One woman tried to scam me but he called her out and I trusted his judgment and didn't buy from her. He was wearing a Harry Potter shirt. I asked if he knew who that was, he claimed he did but I knew better. Most people here don't understand what is on their clothes, and they just don't care. Halfway through our shopping adventure I told him I wasn't going to pay him for his help. He accepted this and kept following, probably for entertainment sake. It's hard to describe what was so special about this little boy. He had charisma, and a pure joy about him. Although I didn't end up buying much of anything, I had a lot of fun. He reminded me how much fun simple adventures can be. Rwandans have an amazing ability to be social. They are very good at interpersonal skills for the most part. Sometimes you just have to get out in public and enjoy their company.
Meet Maryanne
Meet Maryanne.
One morning she showed up at my gate with her toothbrush in her mouth and a cup in her hand. She was begging for water. I turned her away and felt horrible as I went back to washing my laundry, probably wasting a ton of water, on my front porch.
Finally a month into living here I realized she owned a store two doors down from my house. It was always an open door with people sitting outside and some calling me over to them. I tend to avoid those doors for fear they are a bar or another place I'd really rather not be. Tabita lured me in one time knowing I was having a banana craving. I found it to be a cute little store. The size of a half bath. A counter, behind which she sells about 30 different products - biscuits, soaps, eggs, produce, dry goods. She is known for having perfectly ripe avocados (on the days she actually has avocados aka avoka). She also constantly asks if I want bananas because she knows about my addiction to them.
Maryanne is constantly seen with Tabita's little girl Bellina. Some children in my neighborhood just sort of float around during the day to stay with other adults when they have working parents. Maryanne and Tabita seem to be good friends. Maryanne certainly has Tabita's brazen attitude. She isn't one to apologize or back down from her stance.
I like to give Maryanne a hard time because she is constantly giving Edison free food, but not me! She should technically be more loyal to me because I'm her immediate neighbor and a fellow female. At some point I will win her over to my side.
Maryanne is probably around her early thirties, late twenties, although life hasn't treated her kindly. She is single, with no children.
I had never thought much about where Maryanne lives because she always seemed to be at the store or roaming around the neighborhood. One day the door was closed. Edison and I went up to it and saw it closed. We asked the neighborhood kids where Maryanne was - Maryanne ari hehe? They started pounding on the door and motioning that she was inside. A couple minutes went by and we just thought the children were confused. Clearly she wasn't in there. Then a little voice answered back. Maryanne had been taking a nap inside. Once we walked inside we saw her mattress fitting neatly in the narrow space behind the counter. One simple question left - Maryanne, is this where you live? Yes.
One morning she showed up at my gate with her toothbrush in her mouth and a cup in her hand. She was begging for water. I turned her away and felt horrible as I went back to washing my laundry, probably wasting a ton of water, on my front porch.
Finally a month into living here I realized she owned a store two doors down from my house. It was always an open door with people sitting outside and some calling me over to them. I tend to avoid those doors for fear they are a bar or another place I'd really rather not be. Tabita lured me in one time knowing I was having a banana craving. I found it to be a cute little store. The size of a half bath. A counter, behind which she sells about 30 different products - biscuits, soaps, eggs, produce, dry goods. She is known for having perfectly ripe avocados (on the days she actually has avocados aka avoka). She also constantly asks if I want bananas because she knows about my addiction to them.
Maryanne is constantly seen with Tabita's little girl Bellina. Some children in my neighborhood just sort of float around during the day to stay with other adults when they have working parents. Maryanne and Tabita seem to be good friends. Maryanne certainly has Tabita's brazen attitude. She isn't one to apologize or back down from her stance.
I like to give Maryanne a hard time because she is constantly giving Edison free food, but not me! She should technically be more loyal to me because I'm her immediate neighbor and a fellow female. At some point I will win her over to my side.
Maryanne is probably around her early thirties, late twenties, although life hasn't treated her kindly. She is single, with no children.
I had never thought much about where Maryanne lives because she always seemed to be at the store or roaming around the neighborhood. One day the door was closed. Edison and I went up to it and saw it closed. We asked the neighborhood kids where Maryanne was - Maryanne ari hehe? They started pounding on the door and motioning that she was inside. A couple minutes went by and we just thought the children were confused. Clearly she wasn't in there. Then a little voice answered back. Maryanne had been taking a nap inside. Once we walked inside we saw her mattress fitting neatly in the narrow space behind the counter. One simple question left - Maryanne, is this where you live? Yes.
Community Developments
Some new developments have altered my life in Rwanda. Don't get too excited, my house doesn't have electricity yet! But some parts of my town do. The hospital, church, government offices and some schools have power. It works most of the time, better than none of the time. Residential electricity hasn't been achieved yet. Barely any houses have it so far. The rest of us that want it have a few steps to follow. First, is our house even wired for electricity? Mine is, which seems strange, except that most rich people who live here pay for generators. Every room has outlets and light switches and even light bulbs. It's like they are mocking me! There is even a convenient light switch in my bedroom right next to where they knew I would put the bed so I don't even have to get out of bed to turn out the light at night. Some day…
Back to the point, we might have to pay for a pole to be put in near our house. Plus pay for the wire going directly to the house. I'll have to talk to my landlord to see if power is in my future.
I also finally have furniture! My three months of sleeping on the floor is over…good thing because there is definitely a mouse in my house. About a month ago I went to the carpenter, Daniel. Made a list of what I wanted - kitchen table, two chairs, nightstand, bed frame, three bookshelves - a contract was written up and signed, deposit was put down, deadline date was given. Then Daniel decided to be a pain in the butt. He tried to jack up the price around the time the furniture was supposed to be done. He forced me to pay to deliver the furniture to my house even though free delivery was supposed to be included. It involved a few conversations through a Rwandan translator aka Jeanne the mental health nurse, a walk down to his store and a lot of frustrating comments under my breath. But sure enough one day after five there was furniture on my porch. It was being delivered slowly since the two guys were carrying it by hand to my house from the carpenter shop. The delivery fee - $2…split between the two of them. Newest discovery - putting together a bed frame by yourself is difficult. But it up and I moved into my new bedroom. It is about three times the size of my other one. I love it. I can neatly surround myself with my books and pictures. Finally starting to feel like a home.
Back to the point, we might have to pay for a pole to be put in near our house. Plus pay for the wire going directly to the house. I'll have to talk to my landlord to see if power is in my future.
I also finally have furniture! My three months of sleeping on the floor is over…good thing because there is definitely a mouse in my house. About a month ago I went to the carpenter, Daniel. Made a list of what I wanted - kitchen table, two chairs, nightstand, bed frame, three bookshelves - a contract was written up and signed, deposit was put down, deadline date was given. Then Daniel decided to be a pain in the butt. He tried to jack up the price around the time the furniture was supposed to be done. He forced me to pay to deliver the furniture to my house even though free delivery was supposed to be included. It involved a few conversations through a Rwandan translator aka Jeanne the mental health nurse, a walk down to his store and a lot of frustrating comments under my breath. But sure enough one day after five there was furniture on my porch. It was being delivered slowly since the two guys were carrying it by hand to my house from the carpenter shop. The delivery fee - $2…split between the two of them. Newest discovery - putting together a bed frame by yourself is difficult. But it up and I moved into my new bedroom. It is about three times the size of my other one. I love it. I can neatly surround myself with my books and pictures. Finally starting to feel like a home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
