Is it like when you see your doctor smoking?
This is the only question comparison that makes sense to me at this point. I was talking to my coworker a few days ago. She was lamenting over witnessing a fellow nurse eating an amandozi (fried dough) in public, on the side of the main road. This hits the general rule or no eating or drinking in public. I have never fully understood this cultural rule so I thought I'd push the issue now since she brought it up.
All I got out of her was that people would no longer respect her as a nurse if they had seen her eating in public. Was it because she was eating unhealthy food? Unlikely, since it encompasses all food and drink. The only exceptions are when you on a long bus ride or at an outdoor cafe. Otherwise, it's a no-no.
The discussion moved onto how the person eating in public would probably litter afterward and that would look bad too. Even if litter was taken out of the equation, she just kept shaking her head in disgust over this woman's actions.
I tried to explain how everyone in the US eats in public, all the time, and we don't knock people's work credentials for doing it.
But come to think of it, think of how much less snacking you would do if you weren't allowed to eat out in the open. Rwandans may be on to something.
Still trying to get to the bottom of this one…another cultural mystery goes unsolved…until next time.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Countdown
Blog Soundtrack: Long Time Gone by Dixie Chicks
…but who's counting! I've now been in-country 9 months. That means 18 more months to go. and roughly 6 months until I visit home for my sister's wedding. Holy cow.
…but who's counting! I've now been in-country 9 months. That means 18 more months to go. and roughly 6 months until I visit home for my sister's wedding. Holy cow.
Thanksgiving in Rwanda
So, no, they don't have Thanksgiving in Rwanda. Although I've explained the concept of giving thanks for everything in your life and being surrounded by people that you love to a couple Rwandans and they thought it was an excellent idea. Although I don't think they could wrap their heads around traditional football games and family arguments that make every holiday special.
Although I won't be celebrating on the actual day, there will be a Thanksgiving celebration this weekend. We volunteers are trying our best to create some semblance of Thanksgiving. We have some food donations thanks to packages via family and friends. Nothing can compete with StoveTop (right Coley?) and I'm throwing in some WheatThins for cheese and cracker appetizers. There are turkeys in Rwanda and you can even pick one out and have them kill it, just like at home. I think that will be way too much work for us but then again I'm only a food prepper. The real cooking is left to the professionals (aka AJ).
So happy thanksgiving everyone. Enjoy your sweatpants, football, family tension and homemade gravy. and don't forget to count your blessings.
**Blog quiz: Have you been counting how many times I use the word 'although'? I think I hit an all time high.
Although I won't be celebrating on the actual day, there will be a Thanksgiving celebration this weekend. We volunteers are trying our best to create some semblance of Thanksgiving. We have some food donations thanks to packages via family and friends. Nothing can compete with StoveTop (right Coley?) and I'm throwing in some WheatThins for cheese and cracker appetizers. There are turkeys in Rwanda and you can even pick one out and have them kill it, just like at home. I think that will be way too much work for us but then again I'm only a food prepper. The real cooking is left to the professionals (aka AJ).
So happy thanksgiving everyone. Enjoy your sweatpants, football, family tension and homemade gravy. and don't forget to count your blessings.
**Blog quiz: Have you been counting how many times I use the word 'although'? I think I hit an all time high.
Food Update
I have experienced two new things to add to my food repertoire.
The first was sugar cane. Before coming here I had never even seen a sugar cane. It stalk sort of looks like bamboo. They just hack off a 3-4 foot stalk and sell them at the market. You have to use a knife to remove the green outer casing. The inside is a soggy white matter. You rip off a section with your teeth - easier said than done. Then you chomp on it with your teeth. You are not actually chewing it or intending to swallow it. You are simply excreting the liquid and then spitting out the small piece of white leftovers. The liquid is not the abrasive sugar flavor that we processed sugar eaters are used to. It is much more subtle, although sweet and refreshing all the same. After struggling with my sugar cane and then getting a slight stomach ache from eating it, I was told it is good for your teeth. I still get a puzzled look on my face when contemplating this nutritional fact. Another folklore of Rwandan nutrition?
My second new experience was lemongrass tea. I don't think I can fully convey to you how much I LOVED this. You would probably have to see my face and utter childlike joy. Lemongrass is a kind of grass. You just pull off a piece and put it in your boiling water to make tea. When you add milk and sugar I swear to God and all things holy that it tastes like the milk after you've eaten a bowl of Fruit Loops (I can't take the credit for this comparison, but it's spot on so I'm stealing it). If possible, start growing some lemongrass and try it for yourself. I doubt you will be disappointed if you are a tea drinker to begin with. I would also like to give a shout out to AJ's nuns who introduced me to lemongrass tea and possibly grinned and snickered at me when I clapped my hands together in glee whenever they would offer me some. They have solidified my love for nuns for all time.
The first was sugar cane. Before coming here I had never even seen a sugar cane. It stalk sort of looks like bamboo. They just hack off a 3-4 foot stalk and sell them at the market. You have to use a knife to remove the green outer casing. The inside is a soggy white matter. You rip off a section with your teeth - easier said than done. Then you chomp on it with your teeth. You are not actually chewing it or intending to swallow it. You are simply excreting the liquid and then spitting out the small piece of white leftovers. The liquid is not the abrasive sugar flavor that we processed sugar eaters are used to. It is much more subtle, although sweet and refreshing all the same. After struggling with my sugar cane and then getting a slight stomach ache from eating it, I was told it is good for your teeth. I still get a puzzled look on my face when contemplating this nutritional fact. Another folklore of Rwandan nutrition?
My second new experience was lemongrass tea. I don't think I can fully convey to you how much I LOVED this. You would probably have to see my face and utter childlike joy. Lemongrass is a kind of grass. You just pull off a piece and put it in your boiling water to make tea. When you add milk and sugar I swear to God and all things holy that it tastes like the milk after you've eaten a bowl of Fruit Loops (I can't take the credit for this comparison, but it's spot on so I'm stealing it). If possible, start growing some lemongrass and try it for yourself. I doubt you will be disappointed if you are a tea drinker to begin with. I would also like to give a shout out to AJ's nuns who introduced me to lemongrass tea and possibly grinned and snickered at me when I clapped my hands together in glee whenever they would offer me some. They have solidified my love for nuns for all time.
Finding the End of the Rope
Life here gets exacerbated by mountains of tiny moments and stressors. I often feel like I'm going crazy. Meeting with other volunteers, we joke that Peace Corps makes you unstable. We commiserate and are only half joking. Some days I don't understand why my emotions are a roller coaster. Here are the factors I've come up with:
1. Weight gain/your body is changing and usually not in a good way.
Sure I've gained my freshmen 15 in college, and then my own unique version of the sophomore 10, but other than that I haven't had much problem with weight during my life. You can stop throwing tomatoes at your computer screen. I know, I know, I'm lucky. I've been blessed with good metabolism which makes weight gain even more of a disturbing revelation when it springs itself on me. Most people assume you lose weight when you come to a developing country. Makes sense on most logical fronts but you have to think of what the staples of their diet are. People here want to fill themselves up, even if its empty calories. So bring on the carbs. I eat more white bread in one day here than I would eat within a year at home. Wow, that's a disgusting fact when I write it down, but it's true. Add in some white rice, fried bread, everything cooked in oil and you've got a bad equation for weight gain. (It is common for PC females to gain weight and PC males to lose weight.) So there's a kicker to the ole self esteem.
2. Language skills.
This is a big one for me. I speak like I'm two years old. I've lost sight of improving. There's a balance of being ashamed and yet too embarrassed and prideful to struggle to improve. It's an ugly catch-22 that I believe will plague my whole service. Language is the key to getting in with the community, gaining respect and trust. I'm hoping to compensate in another area. Then again I'm really sick of thinking people are saying rude things about me right in front of my face.
3. Meds
This factor should not be discredited. For most of us it is the first time we have been this medicated. I am currently on two medications, which is two medications more than I'd like to take/would take at home. Somedays I cry for no reason or feel incredibly anxious for no reason. I can't seem to relax. My sleep is disturbed. I escape into any mind numbing activity that I can. I avoid people sometimes. I hide and isolate and feel miserable. Is it the meds? Good question. One will never know. I certainly never had anxiety issues at home. But would I rather get malaria? Hell no. and it is always balanced out by great days/great moments/completely sane moods.
1. Weight gain/your body is changing and usually not in a good way.
Sure I've gained my freshmen 15 in college, and then my own unique version of the sophomore 10, but other than that I haven't had much problem with weight during my life. You can stop throwing tomatoes at your computer screen. I know, I know, I'm lucky. I've been blessed with good metabolism which makes weight gain even more of a disturbing revelation when it springs itself on me. Most people assume you lose weight when you come to a developing country. Makes sense on most logical fronts but you have to think of what the staples of their diet are. People here want to fill themselves up, even if its empty calories. So bring on the carbs. I eat more white bread in one day here than I would eat within a year at home. Wow, that's a disgusting fact when I write it down, but it's true. Add in some white rice, fried bread, everything cooked in oil and you've got a bad equation for weight gain. (It is common for PC females to gain weight and PC males to lose weight.) So there's a kicker to the ole self esteem.
2. Language skills.
This is a big one for me. I speak like I'm two years old. I've lost sight of improving. There's a balance of being ashamed and yet too embarrassed and prideful to struggle to improve. It's an ugly catch-22 that I believe will plague my whole service. Language is the key to getting in with the community, gaining respect and trust. I'm hoping to compensate in another area. Then again I'm really sick of thinking people are saying rude things about me right in front of my face.
3. Meds
This factor should not be discredited. For most of us it is the first time we have been this medicated. I am currently on two medications, which is two medications more than I'd like to take/would take at home. Somedays I cry for no reason or feel incredibly anxious for no reason. I can't seem to relax. My sleep is disturbed. I escape into any mind numbing activity that I can. I avoid people sometimes. I hide and isolate and feel miserable. Is it the meds? Good question. One will never know. I certainly never had anxiety issues at home. But would I rather get malaria? Hell no. and it is always balanced out by great days/great moments/completely sane moods.
Kids are kids are kids are kids
I've been compiling the funny things I see kids do here as proof of the above.
Playing house - my neighbors play make believe with tea cups and laundry on the line.
Treating your younger sibling like a dog (this one was inspired by my Uncle Rick. Having all older, female siblings comes with certain dangers.) I've seen a girl playing fetch with her younger sister. Literally throwing a stick for her to bring back, as amusement.
Hopscotch and jump rope are just as popular here. When desperate I've seen a girl use a banana tree leaf as the jump rope.
Kids cry. They hate getting bathed. They are shy. They are loud.
Tabitha's little girl went from not speaking a word to having a huge vocabulary in the six months I've known her. I swear she said a full sentence to me the other day. Impressive for somebody pushing two.
It's been lovely to see kids being just what you would expect them to be, regardless of culture.
Playing house - my neighbors play make believe with tea cups and laundry on the line.
Treating your younger sibling like a dog (this one was inspired by my Uncle Rick. Having all older, female siblings comes with certain dangers.) I've seen a girl playing fetch with her younger sister. Literally throwing a stick for her to bring back, as amusement.
Hopscotch and jump rope are just as popular here. When desperate I've seen a girl use a banana tree leaf as the jump rope.
Kids cry. They hate getting bathed. They are shy. They are loud.
Tabitha's little girl went from not speaking a word to having a huge vocabulary in the six months I've known her. I swear she said a full sentence to me the other day. Impressive for somebody pushing two.
It's been lovely to see kids being just what you would expect them to be, regardless of culture.
Looking for a Band-aid
It hit me yesterday. This poverty is insurmountable. I was recently talking aka emailing my best friend, asking about her time in Teach for America. Did she really think it was worthwhile? Of course, because she is a compassionate, optimistic sort of person she saw the contribution she had made in a select few lives of her students and believes that that small number actually adds up to big change. I've always heard that line - well if I change the life of just one person than I will feel like it was worthwhile. It sounds like a beautiful thing. And some statements that are said so simply are actually incredibly difficult to achieve to that level of certainty and feeling of purpose.
I should add that I've been mulling over a new metaphor for Rwandan mentality, which can be relatable to many African countries and their state of aid in development. Disclaimer: I am no history buff nor cultural expert, but here goes. First slavery battered their souls and bodies. It took away their work force and their security and stability. Then you've got colonization. Stripping a place of natural resources while placing the people below second class citizen status is something our Native Americans can understand (Happy Thanksgiving everybody). Civil wars and battles for power have been hampering their progress ever since. You've got drug lords here, terrorist cells there, hatred amongst ethnicities and tribes all over. Faulty politicians and corruption all over.
All the while the rest of the world sees pictures of starving Ethiopian children with flies all over their faces. We can't believe the level of existence these people live. We have guilt/compassion. So we give money, in bulk. We live so far away and can't think of any other way to help. So over comes the money and food and books and the toys and the candy. Like a child whose parents got divorced, we feel that action should be taken so we pile on the material goods. We think this will help. We set up whole institutions to help and help and help. And then some projects stop and some begin. The people begin asking, where is my money, where is my gift? Is it their fault we have made them dependent? and not even on regional or local goods, but on products brought in from far away so its not even helping regional economies. We wonder why they don't feel confident to come up with their own ideas when we've been dictating what we thought best.
So am I saying money donations and clothing donations and food donations and medical donations should stop? No. But where is the balance? Where is the long term plan of building up regional economies? Where is the trust that helping small businesses will do more good than controlling things ourselves? Where's the sustainability?
There are so many factions of development. I'm so glad people follow their passion and do what they believe will help. With a combined effort life truly is improving. Plus kudos to the Rwandan government. Say what you want about the level of freedom or democracy, this country is on the move. Kagame has big plans. But it still doesn't help the little girl that keeps getting admitted to the hospital for malnourishment. And forcing her family to take food donations doesn't solve the problem either. Her parents need help or her whole family or her whole village. Which gets me back to insurmountable. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. and hopefully I can get myself to that place where I'm glad I helped one person or five people. But right now I'm feeling worthless and more desensitized by the day.
I should add that I've been mulling over a new metaphor for Rwandan mentality, which can be relatable to many African countries and their state of aid in development. Disclaimer: I am no history buff nor cultural expert, but here goes. First slavery battered their souls and bodies. It took away their work force and their security and stability. Then you've got colonization. Stripping a place of natural resources while placing the people below second class citizen status is something our Native Americans can understand (Happy Thanksgiving everybody). Civil wars and battles for power have been hampering their progress ever since. You've got drug lords here, terrorist cells there, hatred amongst ethnicities and tribes all over. Faulty politicians and corruption all over.
All the while the rest of the world sees pictures of starving Ethiopian children with flies all over their faces. We can't believe the level of existence these people live. We have guilt/compassion. So we give money, in bulk. We live so far away and can't think of any other way to help. So over comes the money and food and books and the toys and the candy. Like a child whose parents got divorced, we feel that action should be taken so we pile on the material goods. We think this will help. We set up whole institutions to help and help and help. And then some projects stop and some begin. The people begin asking, where is my money, where is my gift? Is it their fault we have made them dependent? and not even on regional or local goods, but on products brought in from far away so its not even helping regional economies. We wonder why they don't feel confident to come up with their own ideas when we've been dictating what we thought best.
So am I saying money donations and clothing donations and food donations and medical donations should stop? No. But where is the balance? Where is the long term plan of building up regional economies? Where is the trust that helping small businesses will do more good than controlling things ourselves? Where's the sustainability?
There are so many factions of development. I'm so glad people follow their passion and do what they believe will help. With a combined effort life truly is improving. Plus kudos to the Rwandan government. Say what you want about the level of freedom or democracy, this country is on the move. Kagame has big plans. But it still doesn't help the little girl that keeps getting admitted to the hospital for malnourishment. And forcing her family to take food donations doesn't solve the problem either. Her parents need help or her whole family or her whole village. Which gets me back to insurmountable. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. and hopefully I can get myself to that place where I'm glad I helped one person or five people. But right now I'm feeling worthless and more desensitized by the day.
SURPRISE
I've experienced my first birthday in Rwanda. I like to avoid my birthday so it really wasn't that different from birthdays at home. I just realized how funny that statement was… of course it was ridiculously different.
So my birthday began like any other. I got up at and went to work. I had breakfast served to me at the guest house and watched a Korean soap opera (I've never watched so many soap operas in my life, Korean so far is my favorite).
The strangeness began around lunch time. I received about 5 calls in a row. One from one of my Rwandan language teachers who sang happy birthday to me in Kinyarwandan. Then all the guys I was having lunch with proceeded to sing to me in English once they realized it was my birthday.
Probably the most amusing part was watching people guess my age. I pass as 'youthful' in Rwanda.
Then the next day my coworker Jeanne told me she was having a special guest over for dinner, and that I should attend. After some questionable turn of events, which I gullibly went along with, it was revealed that the special guest was actually ME! It was an impromptu birthday party, with Doritos and everything.
Everyone signed two cards, in front of me. Literally they signed two different cards, the same group of people. Strange but whatever. I received gifts - a box of biscuits. and had a little dance party with music. All in all, a lot of well wishes and fun.
So my birthday began like any other. I got up at and went to work. I had breakfast served to me at the guest house and watched a Korean soap opera (I've never watched so many soap operas in my life, Korean so far is my favorite).
The strangeness began around lunch time. I received about 5 calls in a row. One from one of my Rwandan language teachers who sang happy birthday to me in Kinyarwandan. Then all the guys I was having lunch with proceeded to sing to me in English once they realized it was my birthday.
Probably the most amusing part was watching people guess my age. I pass as 'youthful' in Rwanda.
Then the next day my coworker Jeanne told me she was having a special guest over for dinner, and that I should attend. After some questionable turn of events, which I gullibly went along with, it was revealed that the special guest was actually ME! It was an impromptu birthday party, with Doritos and everything.
Everyone signed two cards, in front of me. Literally they signed two different cards, the same group of people. Strange but whatever. I received gifts - a box of biscuits. and had a little dance party with music. All in all, a lot of well wishes and fun.
Death
A procession of family and friends walks past my office. They are accompanying the dead body of their deceased loved one. A young girl who had AIDS. I instantly snap out of it. You see, in my previous life I used to get a weekly wake up call. I would volunteer at Ele's Place where kids would go to support groups to grieve over people who have died. (Great nonprofit! Check it out in the Lansing and Ann Arbor areas!) It was my time to refocus, to realize all the small things that we make into big things. Life and death is a big thing. Losing a daughter, a sister, a friend is a big thing. Losing your patience over people staring is a small thing.
I have always been sad about how Americans are conditioned to think about death. While we can't get enough of crime and murder shows on TV and hearing all the gory details on the news every day, we are scared of the real thing. Hollywood version versus life that includes you and me and your circle of existence. I realize I'm generalizing but I feel as a culture we are taught to view death a certain way. We are frightened. We run. We try to cheat death and are frustrated when aging happens. When people reach a certain age they get shoved to the side by mainstream. Lock em up in a nursing home and no one goes to visit. We find the tubes and the memory loss disgusting. All of a sudden seeing a generation as valueless is truly disgusting.
I can't call Rwandans' relationship with death good or bad, just very different. Living through a genocide will obviously do quite a toll on your perspective of life and death. I have seen people react as if death is something completely out of their control, in a sort of stressless way. There is no blame, no crying out. Just this quiet procession I witness. Walking slowly in a loose herd. My sight clings to the mother who is grasping her husband's arm as if it's her life raft. One more life to be grieved over. Death could not be cheated this time.
I have always been sad about how Americans are conditioned to think about death. While we can't get enough of crime and murder shows on TV and hearing all the gory details on the news every day, we are scared of the real thing. Hollywood version versus life that includes you and me and your circle of existence. I realize I'm generalizing but I feel as a culture we are taught to view death a certain way. We are frightened. We run. We try to cheat death and are frustrated when aging happens. When people reach a certain age they get shoved to the side by mainstream. Lock em up in a nursing home and no one goes to visit. We find the tubes and the memory loss disgusting. All of a sudden seeing a generation as valueless is truly disgusting.
I can't call Rwandans' relationship with death good or bad, just very different. Living through a genocide will obviously do quite a toll on your perspective of life and death. I have seen people react as if death is something completely out of their control, in a sort of stressless way. There is no blame, no crying out. Just this quiet procession I witness. Walking slowly in a loose herd. My sight clings to the mother who is grasping her husband's arm as if it's her life raft. One more life to be grieved over. Death could not be cheated this time.
Positive Top Ten
After posting my new "ten things I miss about America" list, I realized that I had become a bit of a Debbie Downer. So I've decided to make a list called,
Ten Things I Will Miss About Rwanda When I Leave (but luckily get to enjoy for another year and a half):
1. Avocados cost so little it is ridiculous hence I eat guacamole an unhealthy amount.
2. People want to meet me and greet me because they think I am important and special. and I usually get special treatment in 99% of situations as if I'm a celebrity. This really helps you get a seat on a bus in front of the 50 other people waiting. Sorry Rwandans.
3. I am instantly an expert English teacher given my mad skills. No one speaks English as well as I do in a 10 mile radius.
4. I can go without make up and almost get away with it. Rwandans still want to know what acne is and why I don't put something on my face. But I have gotten many an offer for free mosquito nets because they think zits are mosquito bites. I guess that public service announcement about the importance of mosquito nets has made it all the way through the community.
5. Having conservations in English, being opinionated about people right in front of them, swearing and all, and not having them understand a word…dangerous. I must stop this immediately or I might get slapped in America.
6. Not having to tip at restaurants.
7. Beautiful, beautiful scenery.
8. (Almost) not being expected to check my gmail every second of every day.
9. Getting more mail than I probably ever received in my whole life. Who doesn't love a letter? Ok for fun, send a letter to someone actually in your country. I guarantee they will love you for it.
10. Want to wear that same outfit two days in a row? Go for it and don't give it another thought.
and 11. I swear reading a book by flashlight makes it feel even more special and covert…plus I feel like I'm 10 years old, scandalously reading past my bedtime.
oh thought of one more 12. I sort of love the schedule of going to bed when my body is tired aka 8pm :) and then waking up at the crack of dawn aka 5am. Plus it is not rude or unheard of to text other people at 7 am. We're all up anyway!
So here's to looking on the positive side of things.
Ten Things I Will Miss About Rwanda When I Leave (but luckily get to enjoy for another year and a half):
1. Avocados cost so little it is ridiculous hence I eat guacamole an unhealthy amount.
2. People want to meet me and greet me because they think I am important and special. and I usually get special treatment in 99% of situations as if I'm a celebrity. This really helps you get a seat on a bus in front of the 50 other people waiting. Sorry Rwandans.
3. I am instantly an expert English teacher given my mad skills. No one speaks English as well as I do in a 10 mile radius.
4. I can go without make up and almost get away with it. Rwandans still want to know what acne is and why I don't put something on my face. But I have gotten many an offer for free mosquito nets because they think zits are mosquito bites. I guess that public service announcement about the importance of mosquito nets has made it all the way through the community.
5. Having conservations in English, being opinionated about people right in front of them, swearing and all, and not having them understand a word…dangerous. I must stop this immediately or I might get slapped in America.
6. Not having to tip at restaurants.
7. Beautiful, beautiful scenery.
8. (Almost) not being expected to check my gmail every second of every day.
9. Getting more mail than I probably ever received in my whole life. Who doesn't love a letter? Ok for fun, send a letter to someone actually in your country. I guarantee they will love you for it.
10. Want to wear that same outfit two days in a row? Go for it and don't give it another thought.
and 11. I swear reading a book by flashlight makes it feel even more special and covert…plus I feel like I'm 10 years old, scandalously reading past my bedtime.
oh thought of one more 12. I sort of love the schedule of going to bed when my body is tired aka 8pm :) and then waking up at the crack of dawn aka 5am. Plus it is not rude or unheard of to text other people at 7 am. We're all up anyway!
So here's to looking on the positive side of things.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
In Response
I recently received a comment on my blog providing additional information about Rwandan weddings and warning me to be careful of generalizing. I do agree. Generalizing can be harmful and hurtful. I try to be vigilant about how I phrase things or portray events to make sure everyone understands that I am just one person, having one specific experience in Rwanda. I do not claim to be an expert. Heck, I'm not even an expert on American culture and that's where I come from.
On the other hand, I don't want to discount my own experience. What I am living in is not some fake reality. I have a right to my own stories and the emotions that they provoked. I try not to make assumptions of the reasons behind certain behaviors so I ask questions. I believe those answers to be true although I'm sure a sampling of a 100 Rwandans would give a spectrum of responses.
Taking the high road. I am left here trying to decipher life and figuring out how to work effectively and productively. This morning I found my gate locked from the outside so I couldn't get out. Luckily I asked my neighbor's 7 year old to run over and unbolt it. By 8 in the morning I have been laughed at multiple times, mocked for my Kinyarwandan skills by coworkers, scoffed for not taking a chair offered to me because only crazy people stand like me and had my outfit readjusted and my top buttoned because apparently I can't dress myself properly. Yet I set that all aside to give the day a fresh look. I drudge up some patience and instead of sinking to their level of mocking and laughter I try to be mature and use every moment as a teaching/learning moment.
When I take the time to blog, I do it as a means of cultural exchange but I also do it as a kind of journal and release for myself. I may lose sight of Rwanda as a whole and only represent my village or my sub sect of coworkers as I tell about my life in Rwanda. Because I am using it to process and rationalize my own behavior I may take a few liberties with it. I can not apologize for this. Most of the posts are written for my family, pertaining to the things that I think my grandma will relate to and be curious about. So when I say that Rwandan weddings are similar to Americans' and boring that is because that is purely my opinion. I found them incredibly similar, considering I traveled half way around the world and weddings reminded me of home. I found them boring because if you know me in real life, you know this is an affliction that I have. I find most weddings appalling/boring wastes of money and time. This is not a judgment against Rwanda; I suppose it is a judgment against the elaborate and hectic events that we call a celebration of love and commitment.
I will try to consistently keep the harm of generalizing in my mind. As always, your comments are welcome.
On the other hand, I don't want to discount my own experience. What I am living in is not some fake reality. I have a right to my own stories and the emotions that they provoked. I try not to make assumptions of the reasons behind certain behaviors so I ask questions. I believe those answers to be true although I'm sure a sampling of a 100 Rwandans would give a spectrum of responses.
Taking the high road. I am left here trying to decipher life and figuring out how to work effectively and productively. This morning I found my gate locked from the outside so I couldn't get out. Luckily I asked my neighbor's 7 year old to run over and unbolt it. By 8 in the morning I have been laughed at multiple times, mocked for my Kinyarwandan skills by coworkers, scoffed for not taking a chair offered to me because only crazy people stand like me and had my outfit readjusted and my top buttoned because apparently I can't dress myself properly. Yet I set that all aside to give the day a fresh look. I drudge up some patience and instead of sinking to their level of mocking and laughter I try to be mature and use every moment as a teaching/learning moment.
When I take the time to blog, I do it as a means of cultural exchange but I also do it as a kind of journal and release for myself. I may lose sight of Rwanda as a whole and only represent my village or my sub sect of coworkers as I tell about my life in Rwanda. Because I am using it to process and rationalize my own behavior I may take a few liberties with it. I can not apologize for this. Most of the posts are written for my family, pertaining to the things that I think my grandma will relate to and be curious about. So when I say that Rwandan weddings are similar to Americans' and boring that is because that is purely my opinion. I found them incredibly similar, considering I traveled half way around the world and weddings reminded me of home. I found them boring because if you know me in real life, you know this is an affliction that I have. I find most weddings appalling/boring wastes of money and time. This is not a judgment against Rwanda; I suppose it is a judgment against the elaborate and hectic events that we call a celebration of love and commitment.
I will try to consistently keep the harm of generalizing in my mind. As always, your comments are welcome.
Queries
Top ten favorite questions of Rwandans
-be prepared to answer these if you ever visit-
Please note: these will be written in Rwandan English. I didn't just start phrasing things awkwardly.
1. How do you find our climate?
2. How do you find our country?
3. How do you find the people?
4. Do you speak French? followed by Why don't you speak French?
5. Do they have _______ (insert produce item) in America? No matter how many times I tell them, they don't seem to believe me that we have every and any food imaginable in the US.
6. Are you married?
7. How old are you?
8. How many children do you have? Please note this is not Do you have children? because it is assumed you do have children if you look over the age of 20.
9. Are you a Christian/Have you been saved/Do you believe in Jesus?
10. What country are you from?
I have to mention here that for every moment a child does something adorable or someone is beyond kind to you or you are awed by this beautiful landscape, there are 5 moments of agony. You get stared at. You get yelled at. Someone demands money from you. Someone doesn't want to learn your name because you are just another white person. You are completely confused because you don't understand the language/cultural norms/history of things. You find yourself being the worst version of yourself because you have reached the end of your rope.
…and then someone asks for your umbrella and without a thought you hand it over. Because they sounded kind and trustworthy, or they just sounded like another human being, who needed something that you had. And once your beautifully functional, American umbrella (so many things here are made the cheapest way possible and break instantly, think dollar store) is gone, you start to wonder if it will actually return. And then you realize you did something selfless. Not because you were consciously trying to be a better person, but because you have been taught it. You have been absorbed into this culture for 8 months, where you give what you can. So all of a sudden, your brain didn't have to rationalize being kind, you simply were kind.
I think it will take my whole lifetime to realize all the lessons I was supposed to learn while living here. In the meantime, I am prepared to be surprised by these little moments that I see myself changing.
Instead of ending in that truly Hallmark fashion, I have to add what happened immediately afterward. I was feeling all warm and gooey inside when I man walks into my office. He tells me a story of a young patient who is an orphan girl. She is been in the hospital many days and her home is far from the hospital. She has no health insurance and no way to go home. He was a relative of another patient but was acting as this young girl's advocate. He was looking to me for money. As I sat with my expensive laptop and my cell phone, I lied through the teeth about being a volunteer and not having any money. I proceeded to direct him to the pastor of the village who might have some charity money available to the girl. I broke my heart as I wished that I had somehow avoided the whole situation. I can't be seen as a piggy bank for anyone who needs it (which is practically everyone) and even if I did give money I would need to be directed through someone else so I'm not giving handouts. I went home, once again questioning everything from the universe to myself. One day I'll learn something, right?
-be prepared to answer these if you ever visit-
Please note: these will be written in Rwandan English. I didn't just start phrasing things awkwardly.
1. How do you find our climate?
2. How do you find our country?
3. How do you find the people?
4. Do you speak French? followed by Why don't you speak French?
5. Do they have _______ (insert produce item) in America? No matter how many times I tell them, they don't seem to believe me that we have every and any food imaginable in the US.
6. Are you married?
7. How old are you?
8. How many children do you have? Please note this is not Do you have children? because it is assumed you do have children if you look over the age of 20.
9. Are you a Christian/Have you been saved/Do you believe in Jesus?
10. What country are you from?
I have to mention here that for every moment a child does something adorable or someone is beyond kind to you or you are awed by this beautiful landscape, there are 5 moments of agony. You get stared at. You get yelled at. Someone demands money from you. Someone doesn't want to learn your name because you are just another white person. You are completely confused because you don't understand the language/cultural norms/history of things. You find yourself being the worst version of yourself because you have reached the end of your rope.
…and then someone asks for your umbrella and without a thought you hand it over. Because they sounded kind and trustworthy, or they just sounded like another human being, who needed something that you had. And once your beautifully functional, American umbrella (so many things here are made the cheapest way possible and break instantly, think dollar store) is gone, you start to wonder if it will actually return. And then you realize you did something selfless. Not because you were consciously trying to be a better person, but because you have been taught it. You have been absorbed into this culture for 8 months, where you give what you can. So all of a sudden, your brain didn't have to rationalize being kind, you simply were kind.
I think it will take my whole lifetime to realize all the lessons I was supposed to learn while living here. In the meantime, I am prepared to be surprised by these little moments that I see myself changing.
Instead of ending in that truly Hallmark fashion, I have to add what happened immediately afterward. I was feeling all warm and gooey inside when I man walks into my office. He tells me a story of a young patient who is an orphan girl. She is been in the hospital many days and her home is far from the hospital. She has no health insurance and no way to go home. He was a relative of another patient but was acting as this young girl's advocate. He was looking to me for money. As I sat with my expensive laptop and my cell phone, I lied through the teeth about being a volunteer and not having any money. I proceeded to direct him to the pastor of the village who might have some charity money available to the girl. I broke my heart as I wished that I had somehow avoided the whole situation. I can't be seen as a piggy bank for anyone who needs it (which is practically everyone) and even if I did give money I would need to be directed through someone else so I'm not giving handouts. I went home, once again questioning everything from the universe to myself. One day I'll learn something, right?
New Top 10
Top ten things I miss:
1. Driving a car
2. The ability to Google things
3. Being able to blend in
4. Having a bathroom inside my house
5. Libraries aka getting my hands on any book I want
6. Seasons
7. Not being out of my comfort zone every day
8. Food delivery
9. American work norms
10. People thinking talking about religion is a taboo
1. Driving a car
2. The ability to Google things
3. Being able to blend in
4. Having a bathroom inside my house
5. Libraries aka getting my hands on any book I want
6. Seasons
7. Not being out of my comfort zone every day
8. Food delivery
9. American work norms
10. People thinking talking about religion is a taboo
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Hallmark
This is inspiration Hallmark would make a commercial about, or even a movie. Young, unwed mother trying to get her life back on track. I'm so proud I could jump up and down. In fact I really I had to suppress that urge, rather than become the even more bizarre American girl. My next door neighbor, Claudette, invited me over for a visit. As usual she wanted me to write a letter in English for her. It is always easier for me just to do the work quickly but less educational, for sure. I encouraged (aka forced against her pouting) her to write her own version and then I would correct her English.
She wanted to write a letter to the headmaster of her old secondary school. She had finished senior level five, specializing in accounting. But in 2008 she had to drop out for 'problems in life'. A year later she was pregnant. A year later she gives birth to a beautiful baby girl.
She's living with her younger sister, her grandmother and her little girl. Her baby is perhaps the cutest baby ever (no offense to my nephew). She literally smiles at anything and everything.
So Claudette is refocusing her life. Life without education isn't much of a life. She is already working on her English which is the not so secret secret to success in this country. It takes some kind of guts to go back to school.
I'm so happy I want to tutor her in every invigorating accounting class she has to take. In case you didn't notice the sarcasm on the word invigorating right next to the word accounting, I'm emphasize it here.
So here's to second chances.
She wanted to write a letter to the headmaster of her old secondary school. She had finished senior level five, specializing in accounting. But in 2008 she had to drop out for 'problems in life'. A year later she was pregnant. A year later she gives birth to a beautiful baby girl.
She's living with her younger sister, her grandmother and her little girl. Her baby is perhaps the cutest baby ever (no offense to my nephew). She literally smiles at anything and everything.
So Claudette is refocusing her life. Life without education isn't much of a life. She is already working on her English which is the not so secret secret to success in this country. It takes some kind of guts to go back to school.
I'm so happy I want to tutor her in every invigorating accounting class she has to take. In case you didn't notice the sarcasm on the word invigorating right next to the word accounting, I'm emphasize it here.
So here's to second chances.
What 26 is like
I am quickly approaching my 26th birthday. As always it's a good time to reflect on life. Especially since a quarter of my life is coming to a close. I've spent a lot of time recently, between the NYTimes article and the 20-nothings blog response, reflecting on what it means to be in my twenties. My mother at this age was almost done having her three children. She was a stay at home mom warrior. My grandmother was running a household with four children. Comparing my life to my grandmother's or my mother's is usually where the shock value comes in. Although I'm sure they would love if I did, my family is not abhorred that I haven't found a spouse and popped out a couple babies by now. Each generation means a different level of expectations and a reorganization of priorities.
Modernity has given me the option of focusing on myself. It is true that some of my fellow twenty somethings are languishing because the concept and stability of 'growing up' hasn't happened yet. Whatever assumptions we had about mid-twenties (of course) didn't happen exactly as planned. Wisdom may still be alluding us. We may be accused of immaturity, being irresponsible and self centered. Well the heck with those assumptions. I have been lucky enough to surround myself with compassionate, driven, thoughtful twenty somethings.
So to me twenty six means feeling more sure of myself…solidifying my next step when I return to the great US of A…pushing myself further than I ever have…and believing that the house with the garden and golden retriever will find me when I'm ready.
Modernity has given me the option of focusing on myself. It is true that some of my fellow twenty somethings are languishing because the concept and stability of 'growing up' hasn't happened yet. Whatever assumptions we had about mid-twenties (of course) didn't happen exactly as planned. Wisdom may still be alluding us. We may be accused of immaturity, being irresponsible and self centered. Well the heck with those assumptions. I have been lucky enough to surround myself with compassionate, driven, thoughtful twenty somethings.
So to me twenty six means feeling more sure of myself…solidifying my next step when I return to the great US of A…pushing myself further than I ever have…and believing that the house with the garden and golden retriever will find me when I'm ready.
Something to be Proud of
Pride is a funny thing. Not only the quantity we exhibit on a regular basis but also what is giving us this pride. Back home it may have been an excellent performance on a work project, a stellar grade in school, excelling at a hobby. In Africa, things have changed ever so slightly. I'll outline two examples to prove my point.
I have now successfully navigated my way onto a bus at rush hour. This may seem rudimentary. I am an adult after all. Anyone can put one foot in front of the other and be able to discern that they are getting onto the correct bus. But I want you to imagine public transportation at 5pm. Everyone wants to rush home after work. Kigali is overpopulated, as is all of Rwanda, with not enough buses to keep up with demand. As you may have heard me reference before, forming lines is really not a Rwandan strong suit. At times lines to enter the bus are enforced but most of the time the crowd of people look like a mosh pit. As soon as the desired bus pulls up, the tight cluster of people sway and claw at each other to get a precious seat. This usually means crowding the door of the bus and barely letting passengers exit. All respect goes out the window. I almost clobbered an old man with a walking stick. Luckily my manners didn't completely vanish, and I did allow him to get in front of me. Although if I hadn't I think "sweet old man with a walking stick" would have become "weapon wielding old man". And I'm thankful that "extremely pregnant lady" didn't even attempt to battle the crowd. I stuck it out this time. Became one with the crowd. I stood my ground, and once I entered the bus I got congratulated by fellow passengers for being strong. But a note for the next time I push my way onto a bus - don't bring squish-able avocados…or bananas…or tomatoes. Even after sacrificing my produce, I'm still proud of my victory.
The second story of pride involves a fellow PCV with a love for chickens. I'm not taking chicken salad sandwich, or barbecued white meat. I mean the real, live clucking chickens. She acquired three of them as pets, who also have the added benefit of laying scrumptious eggs every day. Except, who knew!, that chickens have to reach a certain age before laying eggs. These chickens are just barely six months old. Well, on this particular day, one of the chickens kept trying to fly into the open window that has bars on it. Besides reaffirming her position as 'the dumb one', we didn't really understand what she was doing. She was passed through the bars and attempted to get comfortable on the window ledge. Being the well fed chicken that she is, that was difficult without her butt sticking up into the air. We stared in confusion because this chicken was just being silly. Then we realized, she might be freaking out. Her body was trying to produce its first egg. She required a ledge to lay it on but there was no other ledge available to her except for the window ledge. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, she laid her very first egg. Jen, her human mama, squealed with delight and gave her reassuring words about her accomplishment. To us it wasn't just another day in Africa, it was a day of celebration.
I have now successfully navigated my way onto a bus at rush hour. This may seem rudimentary. I am an adult after all. Anyone can put one foot in front of the other and be able to discern that they are getting onto the correct bus. But I want you to imagine public transportation at 5pm. Everyone wants to rush home after work. Kigali is overpopulated, as is all of Rwanda, with not enough buses to keep up with demand. As you may have heard me reference before, forming lines is really not a Rwandan strong suit. At times lines to enter the bus are enforced but most of the time the crowd of people look like a mosh pit. As soon as the desired bus pulls up, the tight cluster of people sway and claw at each other to get a precious seat. This usually means crowding the door of the bus and barely letting passengers exit. All respect goes out the window. I almost clobbered an old man with a walking stick. Luckily my manners didn't completely vanish, and I did allow him to get in front of me. Although if I hadn't I think "sweet old man with a walking stick" would have become "weapon wielding old man". And I'm thankful that "extremely pregnant lady" didn't even attempt to battle the crowd. I stuck it out this time. Became one with the crowd. I stood my ground, and once I entered the bus I got congratulated by fellow passengers for being strong. But a note for the next time I push my way onto a bus - don't bring squish-able avocados…or bananas…or tomatoes. Even after sacrificing my produce, I'm still proud of my victory.
The second story of pride involves a fellow PCV with a love for chickens. I'm not taking chicken salad sandwich, or barbecued white meat. I mean the real, live clucking chickens. She acquired three of them as pets, who also have the added benefit of laying scrumptious eggs every day. Except, who knew!, that chickens have to reach a certain age before laying eggs. These chickens are just barely six months old. Well, on this particular day, one of the chickens kept trying to fly into the open window that has bars on it. Besides reaffirming her position as 'the dumb one', we didn't really understand what she was doing. She was passed through the bars and attempted to get comfortable on the window ledge. Being the well fed chicken that she is, that was difficult without her butt sticking up into the air. We stared in confusion because this chicken was just being silly. Then we realized, she might be freaking out. Her body was trying to produce its first egg. She required a ledge to lay it on but there was no other ledge available to her except for the window ledge. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, she laid her very first egg. Jen, her human mama, squealed with delight and gave her reassuring words about her accomplishment. To us it wasn't just another day in Africa, it was a day of celebration.
Schooled
Well, I've been schooled. In the best way possible. Even back at home I had a hard time sharing food, but here it is so much worse. Everyone is constantly asking for things, so 'no' rolls off my tongue very easily.
It all started when a neighbor of Edison's became a patient at the hospital. Her name is Mama Kagabo, since her son's name is Kagabo. She is a single mother who never married Kagabo's father. She would greet me every day and would tell me about how she has a sickness in her head. She always remembered my name and was happy to see me. One day she came in and asked for some of the apple juice I was drinking. I didn't even feel bad as I put her in her place and denied her request quickly.
The next day I was sitting outside my office. She came by, greeting me as usual. I asked how she was and once again she told me about her head being bad. She told me she was going to buy tea. Most local stories will serve tea by the cupful that you can buy. She went to drink her tea and came back with a sucker for me. I didn't want to accept it because I had nothing to give her in return, but she insisted that she had bought the candy for me. She just looked me in the eye and said - don't worry if you don't have anything today. One day you will and you can repay me then.
The next day I left my village for a work meeting. I returned two days later to find out the Mama Kagabo had taken a turn for the worst. She was extremely aggressive the next day, fighting nurses, patients, visitors. She tried to escape the hospital, proceeded to pick up a rock and tried to beat people with it. Since I have never seen her with an ounce of violence in her behavior it was very hard for me to imagine. They were forced to give her a sedative and transport her to the national mental hospital in Kigali. It's where the worst cases get sent.
I have not seen Mama Kagabo since, although I visited a neighbor and saw her little boy. Apparently he is being cared for by neighbors.
The only explanation I have heard is that being an unwed mother causes mental problems. Some of the perceptions here…ugh.
It all started when a neighbor of Edison's became a patient at the hospital. Her name is Mama Kagabo, since her son's name is Kagabo. She is a single mother who never married Kagabo's father. She would greet me every day and would tell me about how she has a sickness in her head. She always remembered my name and was happy to see me. One day she came in and asked for some of the apple juice I was drinking. I didn't even feel bad as I put her in her place and denied her request quickly.
The next day I was sitting outside my office. She came by, greeting me as usual. I asked how she was and once again she told me about her head being bad. She told me she was going to buy tea. Most local stories will serve tea by the cupful that you can buy. She went to drink her tea and came back with a sucker for me. I didn't want to accept it because I had nothing to give her in return, but she insisted that she had bought the candy for me. She just looked me in the eye and said - don't worry if you don't have anything today. One day you will and you can repay me then.
The next day I left my village for a work meeting. I returned two days later to find out the Mama Kagabo had taken a turn for the worst. She was extremely aggressive the next day, fighting nurses, patients, visitors. She tried to escape the hospital, proceeded to pick up a rock and tried to beat people with it. Since I have never seen her with an ounce of violence in her behavior it was very hard for me to imagine. They were forced to give her a sedative and transport her to the national mental hospital in Kigali. It's where the worst cases get sent.
I have not seen Mama Kagabo since, although I visited a neighbor and saw her little boy. Apparently he is being cared for by neighbors.
The only explanation I have heard is that being an unwed mother causes mental problems. Some of the perceptions here…ugh.
Racist much?
It is a difficult thing to talk about. No one wants to think of themselves as racist. Or of the possible side effect that Peace Corps is making us more racist. We show up as fresh-faced, openminded Americans. Even if we believe that the US is superior to the developing country we are serving, we still have a respect for the people, and a desire to learn from their culture. It is what has been drilled into our heads from kindergarten on. Don't judge a book by its cover. Don't see color. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
We know what is right and what is wrong. The situation seems very black and white, theoretically. And then you arrive and you get frustrated.
I was having a conversation with a fellow volunteer this weekend and it dawned on us that we were teetering on verge of racism. We have been observing the behaviors of Rwandans for eight months now. We've seen the paranoia amongst them. Every door is locked behind them. Houseboys and girls are not trusted, even when they are family. Close colleagues and friends are not trusted. Every belonging must be behind lock and key, and perhaps even a brick wall surrounding your property with broken glass along the edge. Are they untrusting because they understand that at this level of poverty, people are apt to do what they have to for survival and that may include stealing from a close friend or relative? Is this an after effect from the genocide or does it predate 1994? What allows a people at withhold trust in the majority of their relationships and therefore exist in a shallow reality? Are we also learning to withhold trust from being exposed to this culture? and more importantly, are we now assuming that every Rwandan thinks and acts this way?
What a racist! and yet, there it is. Observation of a culture, assuming you know all the reasons and rationalizations for their collective actions and you are on the yellow brick road to racism. I wish I wouldn't always take the quickest road to an explanation. And yet I may live in this country for two years and still not 'get it'. Will anyone trust me enough to explain why?
We know what is right and what is wrong. The situation seems very black and white, theoretically. And then you arrive and you get frustrated.
I was having a conversation with a fellow volunteer this weekend and it dawned on us that we were teetering on verge of racism. We have been observing the behaviors of Rwandans for eight months now. We've seen the paranoia amongst them. Every door is locked behind them. Houseboys and girls are not trusted, even when they are family. Close colleagues and friends are not trusted. Every belonging must be behind lock and key, and perhaps even a brick wall surrounding your property with broken glass along the edge. Are they untrusting because they understand that at this level of poverty, people are apt to do what they have to for survival and that may include stealing from a close friend or relative? Is this an after effect from the genocide or does it predate 1994? What allows a people at withhold trust in the majority of their relationships and therefore exist in a shallow reality? Are we also learning to withhold trust from being exposed to this culture? and more importantly, are we now assuming that every Rwandan thinks and acts this way?
What a racist! and yet, there it is. Observation of a culture, assuming you know all the reasons and rationalizations for their collective actions and you are on the yellow brick road to racism. I wish I wouldn't always take the quickest road to an explanation. And yet I may live in this country for two years and still not 'get it'. Will anyone trust me enough to explain why?
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