It's kind of funny who you choose to go to while making a decision.
I've been thinking of asking people who are out of my immediate universe. The ones who can offer an outside perspective, and perhaps knew me way back when. I pondered how I would phrase the question. Basically I'm looking for reassurance that I'm a great person, this is not contributing to a series of failures or quitting experience that will dictate the rest of my life. I want proof that this is out of character and therefore, a one time incident that will not predict future behavior.
But aren't I really just wanting to hear that from myself. I'm the one that's been here the whole time. I'm the one that is eternally linked to my decisions. Can't I reassure myself that it's okay, no matter what I decide. That I'll still be me. That the people who matter will support me.
Just another day of self doubt in the Peace Corps.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Low Lows
I've been hiding from writing. The truth is I don't want to acknowledge my emotions because that would mean I'd shed light on them and maybe I'd even have to do something about it. I also don't want to worry anyone.
Before coming here I was in a tense place with my parents. We were constantly debating this decision I had made. I remember saying that if I stayed at home, safe and sound, and stationary, then I would lose a part of myself. That the choice was really between staying home and becoming a shell of myself or coming here. A year in, I'm faced with another fork in the road. Some days I feel that if I stay here much longer that I will irreversibly damage myself. That I will become too jaded or lethargic or just plain sad.
Sometimes I have thoughts like this and then I bounce back. I'm happy again. I smile and I laugh and I'm motivated and ideas are pulsing through my head. and then it hits me again. and I'm crying again.
Is this that year mark of dismal depression they talk about? I don't know if I'm willing to find out.
I do know one thing. I will never regret coming here. I will never regret the friendships I made and the adventures I had. I may end up regretting deciding to stay or to leave.
Before coming here I was in a tense place with my parents. We were constantly debating this decision I had made. I remember saying that if I stayed at home, safe and sound, and stationary, then I would lose a part of myself. That the choice was really between staying home and becoming a shell of myself or coming here. A year in, I'm faced with another fork in the road. Some days I feel that if I stay here much longer that I will irreversibly damage myself. That I will become too jaded or lethargic or just plain sad.
Sometimes I have thoughts like this and then I bounce back. I'm happy again. I smile and I laugh and I'm motivated and ideas are pulsing through my head. and then it hits me again. and I'm crying again.
Is this that year mark of dismal depression they talk about? I don't know if I'm willing to find out.
I do know one thing. I will never regret coming here. I will never regret the friendships I made and the adventures I had. I may end up regretting deciding to stay or to leave.
365
I have officially been in Rwanda for 365 days. One place for one year. I have come to learn a little something about commitment since coming here. See I made a commitment to serve…for two years. There have been days, heck even weeks, when I've considered coming home.
But
something brought me here so I'm going to wait it out. As long as I can handle it. It was like a double dog dare. Bet you can't live in Africa for two years. Well I've always been a bit stubborn.
I'm declaring a bit of a veterans day for Peace Corps volunteers today. If you know someone who served in the past or are serving right now - send your love to them, hug 'em, tell them you appreciate them. They probably went through a bit of hell. and who couldn't appreciate a hug?
I know a lot of people don't understand why we do this. I'm going to explain one tiny part of it. You know when you turn on the news and hear about a natural disaster? Let's pick an earthquake. Let's put the earthquake in California. If you live over in Michigan and don't know a single person in California your response will be of this variety- wow that really sucks. Imagine all those people and all that destruction. Now let's imagine that you know one family who lives in California. Your next level of response is calling them to make sure they are alright or checking Facebook to make sure they are okay. Now let's go up one more level - you used to live in California. You know a million people there. You have favorite restaurants and know beautiful places. You keep seeing flashbacks of all these places and trying to imagine them as the middle of all that destruction. You spend days trying to get ahold of all your loved ones.
Now we are going to span out. You hear that a population is trying to overthrow its government and get some rights (Egypt), you hear that your country is using military force halfway around the world (Afghanistan), you hear about a crazy flood that is devastating a ridiculous amount of land (Australia). All of a sudden the world gets a little smaller. You know those places. You know people there. You love people there. You are concerned. You want to do something. You want other people to care.
Now for all those people who think I'm unsafe here for the reason of anti-American sentiment - how would that get better if I wasn't here? I'd like to picture my Rwandan neighbors ten years from now. They are standing around the proverbial water cooler and maybe one of them is throwing around some hateful comments about the US. and then one of them says, hey, remember Kim. She was pretty cool. and she wasn't everything you are calling Americans now. And that, my friends, is what we call soft political power. It's not military tanks. It's not weapons of mass destruction. It's globalization at its best. It is making people realize that citizens of a country are not the same as the government of that country. and its the reason I might just spend another 365 days here.
**This was written a couple weeks ago, which explains the emotional disconnect from the next two posts.
But
something brought me here so I'm going to wait it out. As long as I can handle it. It was like a double dog dare. Bet you can't live in Africa for two years. Well I've always been a bit stubborn.
I'm declaring a bit of a veterans day for Peace Corps volunteers today. If you know someone who served in the past or are serving right now - send your love to them, hug 'em, tell them you appreciate them. They probably went through a bit of hell. and who couldn't appreciate a hug?
I know a lot of people don't understand why we do this. I'm going to explain one tiny part of it. You know when you turn on the news and hear about a natural disaster? Let's pick an earthquake. Let's put the earthquake in California. If you live over in Michigan and don't know a single person in California your response will be of this variety- wow that really sucks. Imagine all those people and all that destruction. Now let's imagine that you know one family who lives in California. Your next level of response is calling them to make sure they are alright or checking Facebook to make sure they are okay. Now let's go up one more level - you used to live in California. You know a million people there. You have favorite restaurants and know beautiful places. You keep seeing flashbacks of all these places and trying to imagine them as the middle of all that destruction. You spend days trying to get ahold of all your loved ones.
Now we are going to span out. You hear that a population is trying to overthrow its government and get some rights (Egypt), you hear that your country is using military force halfway around the world (Afghanistan), you hear about a crazy flood that is devastating a ridiculous amount of land (Australia). All of a sudden the world gets a little smaller. You know those places. You know people there. You love people there. You are concerned. You want to do something. You want other people to care.
Now for all those people who think I'm unsafe here for the reason of anti-American sentiment - how would that get better if I wasn't here? I'd like to picture my Rwandan neighbors ten years from now. They are standing around the proverbial water cooler and maybe one of them is throwing around some hateful comments about the US. and then one of them says, hey, remember Kim. She was pretty cool. and she wasn't everything you are calling Americans now. And that, my friends, is what we call soft political power. It's not military tanks. It's not weapons of mass destruction. It's globalization at its best. It is making people realize that citizens of a country are not the same as the government of that country. and its the reason I might just spend another 365 days here.
**This was written a couple weeks ago, which explains the emotional disconnect from the next two posts.
Age in the Peace Corps
I've been thinking about the age in which one enters the Peace Corps. I entered as a 25 year old and will exit as a 27 year old. It was the right time for me. I had finished undergrad and felt lost, to put it bluntly. I needed a couple years to scratch my head and be confused. So by the time I applied and was shipped off, I was 25.
Questions:
Is there a right or wrong age to serve in the Peace Corps?
Does an older age signify that stronger relationships have been formed, leading to stronger commitments, leading to a stronger chance of wanting to go 'home'?
Is there such a thing as being too qualified for the Peace Corps? Does have a graduate degree make you more likely to get less out of the experience?
Can you grow too old to make a fool of yourself? Can you be too young to truly let go and let flow?
I have no answers to these questions and rightly so, because I don't think there are black and white answers. It just falls into the category of pondering about ages for other life events: marriage, college, kids, buying a house, moving to a new place alone, changing careers…is there a right or wrong time in your life for these events? How much bigger will the learning curve be at different points? What would have been the perfect preparation?
There's your food for thought today.
Questions:
Is there a right or wrong age to serve in the Peace Corps?
Does an older age signify that stronger relationships have been formed, leading to stronger commitments, leading to a stronger chance of wanting to go 'home'?
Is there such a thing as being too qualified for the Peace Corps? Does have a graduate degree make you more likely to get less out of the experience?
Can you grow too old to make a fool of yourself? Can you be too young to truly let go and let flow?
I have no answers to these questions and rightly so, because I don't think there are black and white answers. It just falls into the category of pondering about ages for other life events: marriage, college, kids, buying a house, moving to a new place alone, changing careers…is there a right or wrong time in your life for these events? How much bigger will the learning curve be at different points? What would have been the perfect preparation?
There's your food for thought today.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Exit Signs
Where is the exit sign?
Have you ever been sitting on an indoor roller coaster, and you hear the chug chug chug of the gears as you are being lifted up at an alarming angle? Maybe the fall of the roller coaster will end you up outside and so you see the daylight streaming through a small hole at the very top. All I could keep thinking was - what goes up must come down. Where the heck are those exit signs? Well maybe my 11 year old brain wasn't thinking that…but I remember looking at the black stairs accompanying the track skyward and the discreet doors leading to safe freedom. Sweet escape. Not always worth missing what's ahead, but it's nice to have the option.
This unfortunately has been a topic on my mind lately as I near the year mark of my Peace Corps service. This blog/my personality was made for full disclosure. I promised not to hide my fear or my disappointment or my depression while I was here so I have to say that last Sunday was my worst day yet. One of those awful days where you wake up 'in a mood'. I hadn't slept well. I didn't even feel like eating. In fact getting out of bed at all seemed pretty ridiculous. There were tears, anger and plenty of self pity. I've never wanted to go home more.
And there was a certain beauty to it. I am able to exit the Peace Corps whenever I'd like. I make the call. They book the ticket. Hasta luego. Game over.
After a couple days passed and 'the mood' passed as well, three things came to mind: refugees, old age and marriage, in that order. There are certain things in life where there is no easy way out. Commitments that take more than one phone call to get the heck out of. Things that are out of your control.
So let's play a game I've been really into lately with you the reader. It's called using your imagination. Close your eyes (figuratively blog reader, figuratively!) and imagine you were born and had a family and things were going swell. Not hard to imagine. Let's make you a teenager. You suffer through school. You've got a crush, of course. You love playing (insert favorite sport here). But amidst all of this, you are actually living in a pretty horrendous country. No, it's not the US. I don't care how much you don't appreciate politics and decisions being made. I'm talking really horrendous. People are being targeted, killed. Freedom is squashed. Your life is at risk. You've had a few family members and acquaintances killed or jailed. Your future is looking grim. But then with a stroke of luck you are allowed to flee, as a refugee. Sure you have to start all over in another country and your entire family may not be able to go with you, but you get to be safe from the terror happening in your birthplace. So you get thrown into the United States. You need to learn the language, the customs, the taboos, how to get food, how to get around, how to still go to church, how to make an income especially if your education means nothing here. So time lapse - two years have gone by. You are surviving. You can handle yourself. Life is pretty great compared to where you came from, but some days are rough. You don't want to speak English, you don't want to get out of bed, or prepare food in the bizarre way you have to here. You just want the familiar. The stuff that matches your childhood memories. Your safe place. Well guess what? There's no special phone call you can make to go home. There is no exit. There is just establishing a new normal. Refugees didn't chose to be persecuted. And most are trying their darndest to make this second chance a real new beginning. If not for themselves, then for their children or children's children.
I was just reading a Time magazine article where a futurist was talking about people being a little squeamish about extending life expectancies, saying they don't want to live past 100. It's pretty difficult to sell the allure of aging. Besides the whole physical degradation, I was reminded of a conversation I had with a great uncle of mine. I was wishing him a happy birthday of a particularly high variety. He became uncharacteristically serious and said - you know, it isn't what you think it's gonna be. It's not some marathon race that you are proud to win by being the last one left. All your friends die, the love of your life dies, and it just becomes a big cesspool of suffering. Alright, I added that last part myself. But I bet at some point in aging everyone utters the statement - this isn't what I signed up for.
and if that wasn't a perfect segway into the topic of marriage, I don't know what is. I'm not going to pull the concept of marriage through the mud but I'm imaging that any lifelong commitment leaves you with at least a handful of days where you say - this isn't what I signed up for.
I'm not even going to attempt to wrap this post up after I've gone on my 'flow of consciousness' tangents. I just wanted to rant and make your brain move in the same convoluted way mine does. Wasn't that fun?
As a sign off I will tell you a completely unrelated story of today. After work I ended up carrying my screaming two year old neighbor down the street after she rolled down a couple concrete steps in my front yard. It gave all the people at the water pump something to stare at for awhile. She was fine after I calmed her down and then my three year old neighbor offered her some sugar cane in the best distraction move I've seen yet. My newest plan if I lose my sanity here - just hanging out with the toddlers and eating sugar cane.
Have you ever been sitting on an indoor roller coaster, and you hear the chug chug chug of the gears as you are being lifted up at an alarming angle? Maybe the fall of the roller coaster will end you up outside and so you see the daylight streaming through a small hole at the very top. All I could keep thinking was - what goes up must come down. Where the heck are those exit signs? Well maybe my 11 year old brain wasn't thinking that…but I remember looking at the black stairs accompanying the track skyward and the discreet doors leading to safe freedom. Sweet escape. Not always worth missing what's ahead, but it's nice to have the option.
This unfortunately has been a topic on my mind lately as I near the year mark of my Peace Corps service. This blog/my personality was made for full disclosure. I promised not to hide my fear or my disappointment or my depression while I was here so I have to say that last Sunday was my worst day yet. One of those awful days where you wake up 'in a mood'. I hadn't slept well. I didn't even feel like eating. In fact getting out of bed at all seemed pretty ridiculous. There were tears, anger and plenty of self pity. I've never wanted to go home more.
And there was a certain beauty to it. I am able to exit the Peace Corps whenever I'd like. I make the call. They book the ticket. Hasta luego. Game over.
After a couple days passed and 'the mood' passed as well, three things came to mind: refugees, old age and marriage, in that order. There are certain things in life where there is no easy way out. Commitments that take more than one phone call to get the heck out of. Things that are out of your control.
So let's play a game I've been really into lately with you the reader. It's called using your imagination. Close your eyes (figuratively blog reader, figuratively!) and imagine you were born and had a family and things were going swell. Not hard to imagine. Let's make you a teenager. You suffer through school. You've got a crush, of course. You love playing (insert favorite sport here). But amidst all of this, you are actually living in a pretty horrendous country. No, it's not the US. I don't care how much you don't appreciate politics and decisions being made. I'm talking really horrendous. People are being targeted, killed. Freedom is squashed. Your life is at risk. You've had a few family members and acquaintances killed or jailed. Your future is looking grim. But then with a stroke of luck you are allowed to flee, as a refugee. Sure you have to start all over in another country and your entire family may not be able to go with you, but you get to be safe from the terror happening in your birthplace. So you get thrown into the United States. You need to learn the language, the customs, the taboos, how to get food, how to get around, how to still go to church, how to make an income especially if your education means nothing here. So time lapse - two years have gone by. You are surviving. You can handle yourself. Life is pretty great compared to where you came from, but some days are rough. You don't want to speak English, you don't want to get out of bed, or prepare food in the bizarre way you have to here. You just want the familiar. The stuff that matches your childhood memories. Your safe place. Well guess what? There's no special phone call you can make to go home. There is no exit. There is just establishing a new normal. Refugees didn't chose to be persecuted. And most are trying their darndest to make this second chance a real new beginning. If not for themselves, then for their children or children's children.
I was just reading a Time magazine article where a futurist was talking about people being a little squeamish about extending life expectancies, saying they don't want to live past 100. It's pretty difficult to sell the allure of aging. Besides the whole physical degradation, I was reminded of a conversation I had with a great uncle of mine. I was wishing him a happy birthday of a particularly high variety. He became uncharacteristically serious and said - you know, it isn't what you think it's gonna be. It's not some marathon race that you are proud to win by being the last one left. All your friends die, the love of your life dies, and it just becomes a big cesspool of suffering. Alright, I added that last part myself. But I bet at some point in aging everyone utters the statement - this isn't what I signed up for.
and if that wasn't a perfect segway into the topic of marriage, I don't know what is. I'm not going to pull the concept of marriage through the mud but I'm imaging that any lifelong commitment leaves you with at least a handful of days where you say - this isn't what I signed up for.
I'm not even going to attempt to wrap this post up after I've gone on my 'flow of consciousness' tangents. I just wanted to rant and make your brain move in the same convoluted way mine does. Wasn't that fun?
As a sign off I will tell you a completely unrelated story of today. After work I ended up carrying my screaming two year old neighbor down the street after she rolled down a couple concrete steps in my front yard. It gave all the people at the water pump something to stare at for awhile. She was fine after I calmed her down and then my three year old neighbor offered her some sugar cane in the best distraction move I've seen yet. My newest plan if I lose my sanity here - just hanging out with the toddlers and eating sugar cane.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Commence Mail
So I'm almost positive this will work. But it will take about 3 months to test...
My new address is:
BP 4657
Everything else, the same. It may take me awhile to figure out how to change that little address part of the sidebar.
My new address is:
BP 4657
Everything else, the same. It may take me awhile to figure out how to change that little address part of the sidebar.
Community
Where is my community?
When you move to site it's all about integration, integration, integration. You are supposed to absorb yourself into your community. Know your neighbors, know your local leaders, know your coworkers, know the customs, the way of life, the water sources, the priorities, the taboos.
This will help your safety, will help you feel comfortable, help you get work done, work that is valued and advantageous.
But there's a problem in all of this. I think, personally, as a Peace Corps volunteer I am a bit like a little duckling. I opened up my little baby eyes and saw my community. But it wasn't at my site. It was way before that. See I was trained using a method that is not the community-based training. I didn't live with a host family. I didn't learn the customs or the food or the language that way. I was set in a classroom (which is pretty much my default setting), and put in a house with many, many other volunteers. Hence, community found. I bonded.
Then I moved to site. Sure I love my village. I love the quirks and the coziness. But my number one priority is my original duckling community. I worry about who is taking an emotional hit. I want their work to, frankly, work. I want us to pull through as a group, to lean on each other, to suffer side by side, to celebrate together.
My duckling community has taken a bit of a hit lately. My logical brain knows that everyone chooses what is best for them. They evaluate what they need to evaluate and ultimately are the only ones who knows best. So they make those hard decisions. and some go home. But my emotional brain feels betrayed. I want us to make it together. To link arms and not give up. To be able to fix each other's problems that are beyond out of anyone's control.
Some days I feel like the Titanic captain saying - come on guys. It's worth going down with the ship if we are together. and other times I want us all to buy a group plane ticket out of here.
I don't know how to end this post beyond saying, at this point, I can't tell who is the weak and who is the strong anymore. Nothing is ever that black and white. and everyday I am thankful for the volunteers that I've been able to share this crazy time with. I'll see you at the therapist's office. Maybe we can get a group rate :)
When you move to site it's all about integration, integration, integration. You are supposed to absorb yourself into your community. Know your neighbors, know your local leaders, know your coworkers, know the customs, the way of life, the water sources, the priorities, the taboos.
This will help your safety, will help you feel comfortable, help you get work done, work that is valued and advantageous.
But there's a problem in all of this. I think, personally, as a Peace Corps volunteer I am a bit like a little duckling. I opened up my little baby eyes and saw my community. But it wasn't at my site. It was way before that. See I was trained using a method that is not the community-based training. I didn't live with a host family. I didn't learn the customs or the food or the language that way. I was set in a classroom (which is pretty much my default setting), and put in a house with many, many other volunteers. Hence, community found. I bonded.
Then I moved to site. Sure I love my village. I love the quirks and the coziness. But my number one priority is my original duckling community. I worry about who is taking an emotional hit. I want their work to, frankly, work. I want us to pull through as a group, to lean on each other, to suffer side by side, to celebrate together.
My duckling community has taken a bit of a hit lately. My logical brain knows that everyone chooses what is best for them. They evaluate what they need to evaluate and ultimately are the only ones who knows best. So they make those hard decisions. and some go home. But my emotional brain feels betrayed. I want us to make it together. To link arms and not give up. To be able to fix each other's problems that are beyond out of anyone's control.
Some days I feel like the Titanic captain saying - come on guys. It's worth going down with the ship if we are together. and other times I want us all to buy a group plane ticket out of here.
I don't know how to end this post beyond saying, at this point, I can't tell who is the weak and who is the strong anymore. Nothing is ever that black and white. and everyday I am thankful for the volunteers that I've been able to share this crazy time with. I'll see you at the therapist's office. Maybe we can get a group rate :)
Zuckerberg
I was recently thinking about a story that was played on Voice of America. It was about Peace Corps and how different the experience has been across the 50 years of people serving. They highlighted the program in Rwanda and interviewed our Country Director at the time and a current volunteer. From what I remember the volunteer was happy that she could maintain close contact with her parents. On the other hand, administration were not thrilled that we could complain/panic to our parents and the DC office would quickly receive a phone call. (Sidenote to people who have worked at a university recently: this story could have substituted the words Peace Corps with 'Going to University as an Undergrad').
There's this draw towards being 'authentic' and getting the 'real Peace Corps experience'. These ideas always involve being isolated from anyone who speaks your language, not having access to postal services, internet, telephones. These ideas are about being enveloped into a new society, one that is difficult to reach beyond. Its a romantic vision of touching a society that is incredibly untouched. Back in the day that was natural. Volunteers weren't asking for the unrealistic. Letters were the order of the day.
When we first arrived, many volunteers were disappointed because we are incredibly connected here. They thought that being this accessible would debase our Peace Corps experience. No one was dropped by parachute to their site and left alone for two years. No one anxiously awaits the letter telling of a new birth or a critical illness. We come from a different generation. The concept of not having a computer or even internet is foreign.
My response to this - take a look around. The world is changing. In one ear people are triumphing globalization, how we can build relationships with people around the world, how fast we can travel, how easily we can communicate, the multitude of forums we can interact on. In the other ear they are bemoaning the fact that a government agency experience has changed over the course of 50 years. Look at the military or the CIA. I would be frightened and disappointed if they operated as if they were living in 1961.
The world is a different place, allowing for easier communication. It doesn't mean you have to ram your head against a wall trying to fight progress. It also doesn't mean you have to become the epitome of this age- checking your email on your blackberry, tweeting about everything you do and making sure you always catch a phone call. There is still a thing called relaxation/vacation/taking a break from life. That hasn't become outdated, thank goodness.
There's this draw towards being 'authentic' and getting the 'real Peace Corps experience'. These ideas always involve being isolated from anyone who speaks your language, not having access to postal services, internet, telephones. These ideas are about being enveloped into a new society, one that is difficult to reach beyond. Its a romantic vision of touching a society that is incredibly untouched. Back in the day that was natural. Volunteers weren't asking for the unrealistic. Letters were the order of the day.
When we first arrived, many volunteers were disappointed because we are incredibly connected here. They thought that being this accessible would debase our Peace Corps experience. No one was dropped by parachute to their site and left alone for two years. No one anxiously awaits the letter telling of a new birth or a critical illness. We come from a different generation. The concept of not having a computer or even internet is foreign.
My response to this - take a look around. The world is changing. In one ear people are triumphing globalization, how we can build relationships with people around the world, how fast we can travel, how easily we can communicate, the multitude of forums we can interact on. In the other ear they are bemoaning the fact that a government agency experience has changed over the course of 50 years. Look at the military or the CIA. I would be frightened and disappointed if they operated as if they were living in 1961.
The world is a different place, allowing for easier communication. It doesn't mean you have to ram your head against a wall trying to fight progress. It also doesn't mean you have to become the epitome of this age- checking your email on your blackberry, tweeting about everything you do and making sure you always catch a phone call. There is still a thing called relaxation/vacation/taking a break from life. That hasn't become outdated, thank goodness.
Defining American
I know what an American is.
They are not materialistic. They come here with a single bag. They wear their cargo pants and bandanas. They don't need to shower often to be happy and don't place value on possessions.
They dance provocatively and dress scantily. I've seen all the latest music videos. They must all own big yachts and expensive jewelry.
They all value education because they come over here to teach us and I've never met one without a college degree.
They are all well fed. Never seen a starving one among them.
They must all be rich. They come to my country and throw huge sums of money at us that they call aid. I call it, the way my family eats and gets vaccinated. Also, thanks for the bed net.
They are a little egotistical with never wanting to learn another language other than English. What's with that?
They don't listen to the world news or know anything beyond what happens to them? and why should they? They live at the center of the universe.
White means rich. Wait, there are others besides white people in America? They aren't true Americans though, right?
Ever think about the image we give off? These are all real examples I've heard Rwandans say about Americans. They are given a snapshot of American society and then fill in the blanks as best they can. So are you fighting the image or supporting it?
They are not materialistic. They come here with a single bag. They wear their cargo pants and bandanas. They don't need to shower often to be happy and don't place value on possessions.
They dance provocatively and dress scantily. I've seen all the latest music videos. They must all own big yachts and expensive jewelry.
They all value education because they come over here to teach us and I've never met one without a college degree.
They are all well fed. Never seen a starving one among them.
They must all be rich. They come to my country and throw huge sums of money at us that they call aid. I call it, the way my family eats and gets vaccinated. Also, thanks for the bed net.
They are a little egotistical with never wanting to learn another language other than English. What's with that?
They don't listen to the world news or know anything beyond what happens to them? and why should they? They live at the center of the universe.
White means rich. Wait, there are others besides white people in America? They aren't true Americans though, right?
Ever think about the image we give off? These are all real examples I've heard Rwandans say about Americans. They are given a snapshot of American society and then fill in the blanks as best they can. So are you fighting the image or supporting it?
Chores
So how exactly does one live in Rwanda?
Here are a couple of household chores that have become commonplace for me.
Most importantly, laundry. Since I don't have electricity or a washing machine, it is nothing like the quarter machines I used to use. You can reenact my process very easily. Take a bar of soap. Fill up two to three buckets of water. Get a piece of clothing wet. Rub some soap on the clothing then rub the fabric together with your two hands. Now rinse and repeat. Eventually your clothes will resemble something that is clean. Some Rwandans have an amazing ability to get whites beyond white. I have not come close to this level of expertise. It is time consuming but also a great stress reliever. That is when you have enough water to do laundry.
A lot of people in Rwanda iron their clothes, even if it means putting hot coals in the iron to heat it. Looking impeccable is part of Rwandan culture. I don't abide by those rules. Go figure.
Sweeping and mopping are huge here. You are supposed to mop your floor every day. It is actually really fun, if you're into that sort of thing. They sell squeegees here. Most floors are flat concrete so you just throw soapy water all over the place, move it around and push it out the door. Sweeping is an outdoor chore. You are supposed to sweep dirt. Your yard should be weedless and swept. I'm still buying into this concept.
I do yearn for the days of vacuums and dishwashers but doing chores in any country offers a sort of mental relaxation. and I'm still a slob. Apparently changing continents doesn't change personality traits!
Here are a couple of household chores that have become commonplace for me.
Most importantly, laundry. Since I don't have electricity or a washing machine, it is nothing like the quarter machines I used to use. You can reenact my process very easily. Take a bar of soap. Fill up two to three buckets of water. Get a piece of clothing wet. Rub some soap on the clothing then rub the fabric together with your two hands. Now rinse and repeat. Eventually your clothes will resemble something that is clean. Some Rwandans have an amazing ability to get whites beyond white. I have not come close to this level of expertise. It is time consuming but also a great stress reliever. That is when you have enough water to do laundry.
A lot of people in Rwanda iron their clothes, even if it means putting hot coals in the iron to heat it. Looking impeccable is part of Rwandan culture. I don't abide by those rules. Go figure.
Sweeping and mopping are huge here. You are supposed to mop your floor every day. It is actually really fun, if you're into that sort of thing. They sell squeegees here. Most floors are flat concrete so you just throw soapy water all over the place, move it around and push it out the door. Sweeping is an outdoor chore. You are supposed to sweep dirt. Your yard should be weedless and swept. I'm still buying into this concept.
I do yearn for the days of vacuums and dishwashers but doing chores in any country offers a sort of mental relaxation. and I'm still a slob. Apparently changing continents doesn't change personality traits!
International Community Health Conference
I just returned to my village after attending the first International Community Health Conference. It was exciting to learn again and be surrounded by motivated, diverse, and at the risk of sounding snobbish, educated people. I tried to absorb as much as I possibly could. I will post the link of the conference's information in case anyone is interested. I hope to write several posts about different aspects that stuck out to me. Most will just be small moments that clicked in my head or question marks that may take me very long to ponder, so I thought we'd ponder together.
During the last day of the conference, I had this feeling that just resonated with me. This sense that I was finally beginning to see things more clearly. Thank goodness it only took 26 years and a four day conference to get to that point. But before I really dig in and try to convey this abstract thought process, answer these questions:
1. The age old, what is a 'good death'?
2. What do you see as one thing that society absolutely insists that you achieve in life? What if that one thing almost surely meant death for you?
Do you have your answers? …I'll go on. Amidst the lectures with grisly statistics and a keynote by Paul Farmer about communicable diseases, there was a sense of justice being achieved. Medicine could bring justice. Life can be unfair, just ask anyone, but death can go so much more beyond that. It can strip a person of their dignity, it can turn the finger around and blame the victim, it can make family and friends lose all pride. Even if a person is alive for decades, they can be defined for their act of dying.
She was a fighter.
He always smiled through it, even when all the hair fell out.
She was brave and stared death in the face.
He went for every experimental treatment.
The doctors fought and fought but science just wasn't fast enough with a cure.
She never lost her faith.
There was nothing they could do…
There's the good death. The death where you can be a warrior. You are fiercely fighting and there's an army of medical professionals behind you. But what if your death was nothing like that. What if there's been a cure or a successful treatment for your illness for decades or even centuries? What if you were set up to fail? What if your baby dies because there wasn't a vaccine campaign close enough to your village? Or your husband dies because the health center couldn't transport fast enough? What if you die from a disease because of sheer ignorance or just plain old poverty? Where's the pride in that? How can you ever tell people the story of your mother, who was so strong and fearless, and yet succumbed to a disease that even infants can fight off in other parts of the world? How can you not be angry at someone or something for failing you?
I ask these questions because I only have half answers. I know I'd be out of my mind angry at the circumstances of life, and yet that's just too much to hold on to. There are people who die like this every day. Heck, there's even people in the US dying because they don't have health insurance. One version of poverty looks a lot like the next. One person is deemed more worthy of modern medicine because their pockets are deeper. What if we let everyone be warriors? What if we gave everyone a fighting chance? I think I got a glimpse of what those efforts would look like this week.
The second question struck me more as a woman than anything else. I'm going to try and make it applicable to everyone. Coming up with something off the top of my head, I'm going to say that society expects us all to … learn how to walk in on our two feet at some point in our lives (actually more true than I wanted to make it but let's go with it). Some people will be overachievers and end up running marathons. Some of us will only get to the kneeling position or maybe just crawling. Some will try and try excessively but fail every time and not know why. Then there will be some people who will walk, they really will! and then they will cross the street and get hit by a bus. Society kind of saw this one coming when it dared us to walk but that doesn't make society evil. It knew what would make you more productive and more fulfilled. It didn't mean any harm. Did I mention that not trying is not an option?
Now imagine that you are a woman, especially one in the developing world. Society has told you that you must produce children. Not just one either, we're talking marathon style here. Pick one of these following reasons why multiple pregnancies are in your future: a) you are very poor and you know that a percentage of your children will die so several is better than one. b) any form of birth control is just not an option. c) society puts so much pressure on you that you believe only true happiness comes from having children. Now look around at your village. There isn't a health center within a day's walk for you. You are afraid of the delivery but you have to stay near your fields for as long as possible because your husband likes his beer more than he likes farming (sorry for the jab, men). You can get a midwife to help but everyone knows the chances of hemorrhaging. There is a good chance that just having one baby could be your death sentence. But society isn't just whispering in your ear, it's screaming at you. Babies must be had, and death must be stared in the face.
Pregnancies aren't the same on every continent. For the poorest of the poor, women are literally expected to die in troves just for doing what they were told or rather doing what they couldn't stop in the first place. I think we all need to spend a little more time thinking about maternal morbidity rates. As one lecturer stated, mothers are the greatest indicator of development. They are the greatest stepping stone to progress.
During the last day of the conference, I had this feeling that just resonated with me. This sense that I was finally beginning to see things more clearly. Thank goodness it only took 26 years and a four day conference to get to that point. But before I really dig in and try to convey this abstract thought process, answer these questions:
1. The age old, what is a 'good death'?
2. What do you see as one thing that society absolutely insists that you achieve in life? What if that one thing almost surely meant death for you?
Do you have your answers? …I'll go on. Amidst the lectures with grisly statistics and a keynote by Paul Farmer about communicable diseases, there was a sense of justice being achieved. Medicine could bring justice. Life can be unfair, just ask anyone, but death can go so much more beyond that. It can strip a person of their dignity, it can turn the finger around and blame the victim, it can make family and friends lose all pride. Even if a person is alive for decades, they can be defined for their act of dying.
She was a fighter.
He always smiled through it, even when all the hair fell out.
She was brave and stared death in the face.
He went for every experimental treatment.
The doctors fought and fought but science just wasn't fast enough with a cure.
She never lost her faith.
There was nothing they could do…
There's the good death. The death where you can be a warrior. You are fiercely fighting and there's an army of medical professionals behind you. But what if your death was nothing like that. What if there's been a cure or a successful treatment for your illness for decades or even centuries? What if you were set up to fail? What if your baby dies because there wasn't a vaccine campaign close enough to your village? Or your husband dies because the health center couldn't transport fast enough? What if you die from a disease because of sheer ignorance or just plain old poverty? Where's the pride in that? How can you ever tell people the story of your mother, who was so strong and fearless, and yet succumbed to a disease that even infants can fight off in other parts of the world? How can you not be angry at someone or something for failing you?
I ask these questions because I only have half answers. I know I'd be out of my mind angry at the circumstances of life, and yet that's just too much to hold on to. There are people who die like this every day. Heck, there's even people in the US dying because they don't have health insurance. One version of poverty looks a lot like the next. One person is deemed more worthy of modern medicine because their pockets are deeper. What if we let everyone be warriors? What if we gave everyone a fighting chance? I think I got a glimpse of what those efforts would look like this week.
The second question struck me more as a woman than anything else. I'm going to try and make it applicable to everyone. Coming up with something off the top of my head, I'm going to say that society expects us all to … learn how to walk in on our two feet at some point in our lives (actually more true than I wanted to make it but let's go with it). Some people will be overachievers and end up running marathons. Some of us will only get to the kneeling position or maybe just crawling. Some will try and try excessively but fail every time and not know why. Then there will be some people who will walk, they really will! and then they will cross the street and get hit by a bus. Society kind of saw this one coming when it dared us to walk but that doesn't make society evil. It knew what would make you more productive and more fulfilled. It didn't mean any harm. Did I mention that not trying is not an option?
Now imagine that you are a woman, especially one in the developing world. Society has told you that you must produce children. Not just one either, we're talking marathon style here. Pick one of these following reasons why multiple pregnancies are in your future: a) you are very poor and you know that a percentage of your children will die so several is better than one. b) any form of birth control is just not an option. c) society puts so much pressure on you that you believe only true happiness comes from having children. Now look around at your village. There isn't a health center within a day's walk for you. You are afraid of the delivery but you have to stay near your fields for as long as possible because your husband likes his beer more than he likes farming (sorry for the jab, men). You can get a midwife to help but everyone knows the chances of hemorrhaging. There is a good chance that just having one baby could be your death sentence. But society isn't just whispering in your ear, it's screaming at you. Babies must be had, and death must be stared in the face.
Pregnancies aren't the same on every continent. For the poorest of the poor, women are literally expected to die in troves just for doing what they were told or rather doing what they couldn't stop in the first place. I think we all need to spend a little more time thinking about maternal morbidity rates. As one lecturer stated, mothers are the greatest indicator of development. They are the greatest stepping stone to progress.
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