Blogging is a funny thing. Back in the day (when I was in high school and college) a bunch of people had LiveJournal accounts. They poured out their inner most thoughts and updates (before the CNN feed of Facebook status updates - and I'm not even going to get into Twitter because I don't understand it.) I used to mock it. If I wanted to tell someone about my life, why would I cut out the face-to-face bonding? Why wouldn't I force them to ask me and show interest? And yet, here I am, endlessly and quite compulsively blogging.
This came to the front of my mind yesterday, while writing an email to my aunt. I was saying how I don't have anyone to come home and talk about my day to. See, I come home and read and watch TV. I never rehash the specifics. This sounds pathetic, but it has its perks. Instead of rushing in the door, lamenting every detail and getting the socially appropriate sympathy - I let it ruminate in my brain, cut out the whining negativity, and then I eventually write a stream of consciousness blog post to all of you.
I have a whole new respect for silence. I remember many, many years ago a guy was on Oprah. He had decided, voluntarily, to not utter a word for a whole year. It's an interesting concept (however impractical) to see what you would learn. Observing things you would never had noticed with your mouth jabbering away.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Jetsons
This post was prompted by a text from a fellow volunteer saying - Did you know cars have USB ports now? It's a crazy world.
This is just the tip of the iceberg of a conversation about how out-of-the-loop we are. We've tried to keep up with the price of a gallon of gas and a loaf of bread. Every once and a while a relative tells us about a strange new development at home - pajama pants that look like jeans? What's with that! or the newest humongous drink size at Starbucks. Yep, that was necessary. But let's face it - we are going to be slapped upside the head with about a billion little things that began and no one told us about. This stuff seems minute in the grand scheme of things, but when it all gets piled on at once, you feel like you are living in an episode of the Jetsons.
So I'm opening up a forum right now. Please, please tell me strange things that have developed in the last year. Do the automated checkouts at the grocery store now bag your groceries too? what businesses have closed their doors? does everyone agree that The Office should stop filming when Steve Carell leaves? Lay it on me.
This is just the tip of the iceberg of a conversation about how out-of-the-loop we are. We've tried to keep up with the price of a gallon of gas and a loaf of bread. Every once and a while a relative tells us about a strange new development at home - pajama pants that look like jeans? What's with that! or the newest humongous drink size at Starbucks. Yep, that was necessary. But let's face it - we are going to be slapped upside the head with about a billion little things that began and no one told us about. This stuff seems minute in the grand scheme of things, but when it all gets piled on at once, you feel like you are living in an episode of the Jetsons.
So I'm opening up a forum right now. Please, please tell me strange things that have developed in the last year. Do the automated checkouts at the grocery store now bag your groceries too? what businesses have closed their doors? does everyone agree that The Office should stop filming when Steve Carell leaves? Lay it on me.
New Normal
Soundtrack to this post: The Call, Regina Spektor
I am two short months away from visiting home. (For the sake of my mother, I am going to emphasize the word 'short' there.) I feel so strange. I've been looking forward to this for over a year. I can honestly say, I've never been more excited to see my family. For the first time in my life, flying to Michigan is considered a vacation. I've had a million daydreams of all the fun, relaxing, Hallmark moments that will happen while I am home.
A week ago, it hit me. My normal has altered. The village life is my normal. I'm comfortable in the village. It's like my cocoon. I know what is expected of me in Rwanda, replacing all the social cues of home. I may go home and completely lose my marbles. I've heard the tales - going into Costco and having a panic attack. I've already had some symptoms. When there a lot of English speakers in the background I get supremely distracted. I can understand every word! Drowning out that background noise is really hard. In fact people say that when you go home, all of this feels like a fantasy. That it doesn't really exist, that you weren't really gone for a year, that your mind has a hard time reconciling these two parallel realities. This may be setting me up for the ultimate vacation. Nothing screams escape quite like thinking where you live is not a real place.
Basically I'm just setting the stage for when I reflect on my time at home. And building the case for why Peace Corps should pay for an unlimited amount of therapy throughout my life. Anyone from DC out there reading this? Think about it. You know I've got a point!
I am two short months away from visiting home. (For the sake of my mother, I am going to emphasize the word 'short' there.) I feel so strange. I've been looking forward to this for over a year. I can honestly say, I've never been more excited to see my family. For the first time in my life, flying to Michigan is considered a vacation. I've had a million daydreams of all the fun, relaxing, Hallmark moments that will happen while I am home.
A week ago, it hit me. My normal has altered. The village life is my normal. I'm comfortable in the village. It's like my cocoon. I know what is expected of me in Rwanda, replacing all the social cues of home. I may go home and completely lose my marbles. I've heard the tales - going into Costco and having a panic attack. I've already had some symptoms. When there a lot of English speakers in the background I get supremely distracted. I can understand every word! Drowning out that background noise is really hard. In fact people say that when you go home, all of this feels like a fantasy. That it doesn't really exist, that you weren't really gone for a year, that your mind has a hard time reconciling these two parallel realities. This may be setting me up for the ultimate vacation. Nothing screams escape quite like thinking where you live is not a real place.
Basically I'm just setting the stage for when I reflect on my time at home. And building the case for why Peace Corps should pay for an unlimited amount of therapy throughout my life. Anyone from DC out there reading this? Think about it. You know I've got a point!
Friday, April 15, 2011
This little piggy went to the market
I just got a phone call from my coworker. She wanted to tell me that the market was happening this morning. This was her way to laugh at me. And then it made me realize I hadn't really explained the market to you all.
There are probably about 20 different little shops in my village. Most of them carry exactly the same thing, but very little food stuffs. If I went to a store on Sunday looking for avocados, I may have to stop in 10 of these stores asking for avocados before finally getting tired of this and going home. This is the frustration of shopping here. I like convenience and speed. Enter, the market.
The market equivalent is like if Meijer were only open every Wednesday morning (if you're not from Michigan, insert a grocery store equivalent). Sure you could run to the corner store to grab an apple every once in a while but they don't always have them and that unreliability is frustrating. So when Meijer opens it's doors every Wednesday morning, you are up and out of bed with a quickness. If you arrive at the optimal time between 7:45 and 8:15, you will get the good produce that comes early but not so early that some of the sellers haven't arrived yet.
I have my ritual, my optimal walk through the market. The market is held in an open field in town. As you descend the mini-hill, you'll see about fifty sellers with a tarp of vegetables laid out in front of them. Usually the vegetables are in neat little piles so you can easily decipher prices. Each little pile is 100 francs (ijana). There are also women selling salt, sugar, sardines, some spices, ground up peanut for peanut sauce, flours.
That brings up an important gender perspective. The women is about 97% women. The sellers are almost all women. The buyers are almost all women. The males you find there are from 8-16 years of age. They are looking for a job of carrying the heavy bags of women who are too old, too pregnant or too rich to do it themselves. One time I was having a conversation with my counterpart (a dude) about how I get my food. He was happy to hear that prices were cheaper in the village than in the city where he lived. I encouraged him to fill up on groceries while he was here and travel back with them. He promptly said - that sounds like a market for women. I can't be seen buying there. I thought he was silly but he's kind of right.
So let's get back to my optimal walk through the market. You have to bring your own reusable bag to put things in. I appropriately bring a Meijer reusable bag for all my groceries. After many weeks of squishing my tomatoes and bananas, I am still trying to perfect the order of buying my food and walking it home.
My favorite lady sells passion fruit, carrots and green peppers. I go to her first. Mainly because she always gets so excited to see me. It's a good way to not get too intimidated by the market - start with a friendly face. It also shows the other ladies that I have someone watching out for me. Sometimes she will rally a tomato lady to give me her best tomatoes since I'm her friend.
Lately I have found the perk and downfall of getting good prices at the market. As I said there is the standard pile for 100. But for customers they know, the piles quickly expand with a couple more handfuls. It's like the prices at garage sales. They are optimal but by no means portray the family and friends discount. Since I've lived here for about a year now, and try to put on my sweetest face for the market ladies, they have started giving me more and more food. It's great. They will always say - and more for my friend. It feels wonderful. The problem is I'm only one person! There is only so much food I can eat before it goes bad. At the same time I don't want to decrease the amount of money I spend at the market because I like supporting them. I need to start a food redistribution system…or just start eating A LOT.
So that's my market. There is rarely a week I miss the market, which is why my coworker is laughing at me. Going to the market is a 'villager' thing to do. Most people send their housegirl or houseboy. And none show the enthusiasm I have for the market.
There are probably about 20 different little shops in my village. Most of them carry exactly the same thing, but very little food stuffs. If I went to a store on Sunday looking for avocados, I may have to stop in 10 of these stores asking for avocados before finally getting tired of this and going home. This is the frustration of shopping here. I like convenience and speed. Enter, the market.
The market equivalent is like if Meijer were only open every Wednesday morning (if you're not from Michigan, insert a grocery store equivalent). Sure you could run to the corner store to grab an apple every once in a while but they don't always have them and that unreliability is frustrating. So when Meijer opens it's doors every Wednesday morning, you are up and out of bed with a quickness. If you arrive at the optimal time between 7:45 and 8:15, you will get the good produce that comes early but not so early that some of the sellers haven't arrived yet.
I have my ritual, my optimal walk through the market. The market is held in an open field in town. As you descend the mini-hill, you'll see about fifty sellers with a tarp of vegetables laid out in front of them. Usually the vegetables are in neat little piles so you can easily decipher prices. Each little pile is 100 francs (ijana). There are also women selling salt, sugar, sardines, some spices, ground up peanut for peanut sauce, flours.
That brings up an important gender perspective. The women is about 97% women. The sellers are almost all women. The buyers are almost all women. The males you find there are from 8-16 years of age. They are looking for a job of carrying the heavy bags of women who are too old, too pregnant or too rich to do it themselves. One time I was having a conversation with my counterpart (a dude) about how I get my food. He was happy to hear that prices were cheaper in the village than in the city where he lived. I encouraged him to fill up on groceries while he was here and travel back with them. He promptly said - that sounds like a market for women. I can't be seen buying there. I thought he was silly but he's kind of right.
So let's get back to my optimal walk through the market. You have to bring your own reusable bag to put things in. I appropriately bring a Meijer reusable bag for all my groceries. After many weeks of squishing my tomatoes and bananas, I am still trying to perfect the order of buying my food and walking it home.
My favorite lady sells passion fruit, carrots and green peppers. I go to her first. Mainly because she always gets so excited to see me. It's a good way to not get too intimidated by the market - start with a friendly face. It also shows the other ladies that I have someone watching out for me. Sometimes she will rally a tomato lady to give me her best tomatoes since I'm her friend.
Lately I have found the perk and downfall of getting good prices at the market. As I said there is the standard pile for 100. But for customers they know, the piles quickly expand with a couple more handfuls. It's like the prices at garage sales. They are optimal but by no means portray the family and friends discount. Since I've lived here for about a year now, and try to put on my sweetest face for the market ladies, they have started giving me more and more food. It's great. They will always say - and more for my friend. It feels wonderful. The problem is I'm only one person! There is only so much food I can eat before it goes bad. At the same time I don't want to decrease the amount of money I spend at the market because I like supporting them. I need to start a food redistribution system…or just start eating A LOT.
So that's my market. There is rarely a week I miss the market, which is why my coworker is laughing at me. Going to the market is a 'villager' thing to do. Most people send their housegirl or houseboy. And none show the enthusiasm I have for the market.
Exports
Have you ever had that moment when you went on your first trip without your family? your first plane ride alone? or your first night at college in the dorm? The door closes, the car pulls away and you are alone in a new world. Everything is exciting and different. You want to make new friends, eat new foods, see new things. It's an amazing moment of growth and taking a leap into the unexpected.
I've had a bunch of these moments in my own life - going to DC for a school trip on my first plane ride, moving to college, studying abroad in England, going on volunteer trips with a bunch of strangers, flying to California by myself, moving to Rwanda. It's been exhilarating and life defining. And now I've come to a country where everyone is aching for those experiences. Sure, a lot of Rwandans go to boarding school and get some freedom there but they want to really see the world, see other cultures, go outside of this tiny country - it just doesn't happen often.
My counterpart, Fidele, just got a great opportunity. Out of our whole organization he was chosen to travel to Germany for a conference. It will center around youth empowerment and leadership. People from all over the world will be there to discuss the problems in their specific countries and how to inspire young people to face them head on. Fidele will be in Germany for 2 weeks. It will be the first time he's been out of Rwanda, on a plane, and speaking English 24/7. He's giddy like a kid on Christmas. He wants to take pictures of everything and wanted to make sure they would even let him take pictures on the plane. I'm planning on giving him a plane tutorial before he goes. I don't want him thinking there's no bathroom on the plane! There's a million little things that I want to prep him for, but I know at some point he will have to be confused and look dumb. We've all been there!
It's really difficult for Rwandans/anyone to get visas to the US and Europe, etc. There is a flight risk. And I'm not making blind accusations, I'm speaking from real life. I had a coworker travel to Europe for work. We were all so excited to hear about his experiences and see pictures. And then poof! Gone. I endearingly call him the fugitive, but it's people like him that ruin it for everyone else. People who don't honor their visa's departure date and instead just disappear into the country. Now countries are afraid to let citizens of developing nations visit. Who says they won't run? (I've made some serious threats to Fidele about this, but I believe he'll come back. Being the fourth of eight kids, he gives part of his income back to the family to help support them. I can't see him walking away from that responsibility.)
What's really sad to witness is the expressions of nonchalance surrounding disappearances like this (whether they are just repressed emotion or not). It's like other Rwandans realize this is a rational choice in life. That being illegal will be worth it. There's this strange mixture of sadness, disappointment and hopefulness. I'm still marinating on this feeling because it's nothing I've ever had to encounter, being American. Writing it on paper is difficult but maybe I'll get a better grasp of it in the future.
So I'm basically going to pummel Fidele with questions when he gets back - what was the first thing to surprise him? What was his general impression of Germany? How did it feel to speak English all day long? Did he feel like an outsider? How did he deal with the stress? Does he like flying? I'm fascinated to get his thoughts. Unfortunately he will be flying back in the same day I am flying out. We may pass each other in the air - which I thought would never happen in a million years.
So more about all this later...
I've had a bunch of these moments in my own life - going to DC for a school trip on my first plane ride, moving to college, studying abroad in England, going on volunteer trips with a bunch of strangers, flying to California by myself, moving to Rwanda. It's been exhilarating and life defining. And now I've come to a country where everyone is aching for those experiences. Sure, a lot of Rwandans go to boarding school and get some freedom there but they want to really see the world, see other cultures, go outside of this tiny country - it just doesn't happen often.
My counterpart, Fidele, just got a great opportunity. Out of our whole organization he was chosen to travel to Germany for a conference. It will center around youth empowerment and leadership. People from all over the world will be there to discuss the problems in their specific countries and how to inspire young people to face them head on. Fidele will be in Germany for 2 weeks. It will be the first time he's been out of Rwanda, on a plane, and speaking English 24/7. He's giddy like a kid on Christmas. He wants to take pictures of everything and wanted to make sure they would even let him take pictures on the plane. I'm planning on giving him a plane tutorial before he goes. I don't want him thinking there's no bathroom on the plane! There's a million little things that I want to prep him for, but I know at some point he will have to be confused and look dumb. We've all been there!
It's really difficult for Rwandans/anyone to get visas to the US and Europe, etc. There is a flight risk. And I'm not making blind accusations, I'm speaking from real life. I had a coworker travel to Europe for work. We were all so excited to hear about his experiences and see pictures. And then poof! Gone. I endearingly call him the fugitive, but it's people like him that ruin it for everyone else. People who don't honor their visa's departure date and instead just disappear into the country. Now countries are afraid to let citizens of developing nations visit. Who says they won't run? (I've made some serious threats to Fidele about this, but I believe he'll come back. Being the fourth of eight kids, he gives part of his income back to the family to help support them. I can't see him walking away from that responsibility.)
What's really sad to witness is the expressions of nonchalance surrounding disappearances like this (whether they are just repressed emotion or not). It's like other Rwandans realize this is a rational choice in life. That being illegal will be worth it. There's this strange mixture of sadness, disappointment and hopefulness. I'm still marinating on this feeling because it's nothing I've ever had to encounter, being American. Writing it on paper is difficult but maybe I'll get a better grasp of it in the future.
So I'm basically going to pummel Fidele with questions when he gets back - what was the first thing to surprise him? What was his general impression of Germany? How did it feel to speak English all day long? Did he feel like an outsider? How did he deal with the stress? Does he like flying? I'm fascinated to get his thoughts. Unfortunately he will be flying back in the same day I am flying out. We may pass each other in the air - which I thought would never happen in a million years.
So more about all this later...
What do you do again?
Let's talk about work. What exactly am I doing here? I'm at a good place to describe my work because my supervisor and I are at a sort of hopeful jumping off point.
Technically the Peace Corps describes me as a health and community development volunteer. With a bit of imagination that could encompass a wide range of activities. Community development is just about assessing an area and striving to make it a better place to live. Your goals can be very large or very small because often even the tiniest of actions can have a ripple effect. Health also has the advantage of meaning physical, mental or really anything relating to quality of life. Peace Corps gives me the freedom to be creative and come up with projects concerning these broad, broad themes.
I've been given some advantages as well. I was placed in a hospital setting which is also the hub for community health workers, who go into the community for sensitization, education and low skill medical care. I was also assigned to help a USAID program called Higa Ubeho. It is characterized as a health promotion program and goes about that goal by doing economic development.
Presently I am helping two cooperatives (read small businesses). The cooperatives are comprised of individuals who are HIV positive. By getting them training in a specific trade, helping them with management skills, accounting skills, marketing skills, etc, we accomplish many goals. The individuals themselves will have a better mental state, feel productive and have a reason to get out of bed in the morning. The work will be designed specifically for them - nothing too labor intensive and with a flexible schedule so that their health fluctuations can be accommodated. Once there is a steady income, these individuals can then afford health insurance and medications. Since many of these individuals are widows, they are the breadwinners for multiple children, their own and orphans they have adopted. With the income, they can also buy health insurance for their children and pay school fees. All of that, plus they form an excellent community and support system amongst themselves.
Technically the Peace Corps describes me as a health and community development volunteer. With a bit of imagination that could encompass a wide range of activities. Community development is just about assessing an area and striving to make it a better place to live. Your goals can be very large or very small because often even the tiniest of actions can have a ripple effect. Health also has the advantage of meaning physical, mental or really anything relating to quality of life. Peace Corps gives me the freedom to be creative and come up with projects concerning these broad, broad themes.
I've been given some advantages as well. I was placed in a hospital setting which is also the hub for community health workers, who go into the community for sensitization, education and low skill medical care. I was also assigned to help a USAID program called Higa Ubeho. It is characterized as a health promotion program and goes about that goal by doing economic development.
Presently I am helping two cooperatives (read small businesses). The cooperatives are comprised of individuals who are HIV positive. By getting them training in a specific trade, helping them with management skills, accounting skills, marketing skills, etc, we accomplish many goals. The individuals themselves will have a better mental state, feel productive and have a reason to get out of bed in the morning. The work will be designed specifically for them - nothing too labor intensive and with a flexible schedule so that their health fluctuations can be accommodated. Once there is a steady income, these individuals can then afford health insurance and medications. Since many of these individuals are widows, they are the breadwinners for multiple children, their own and orphans they have adopted. With the income, they can also buy health insurance for their children and pay school fees. All of that, plus they form an excellent community and support system amongst themselves.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Indoor Plumbing
It was the second time this happened, this recurring dream. I'm at my house in Rwanda, getting ready in the morning as if I'm truly awake. I step outside (remember that my 'bathroom' is outside) to get ready for work, and lo and behold, I find a door that didn't exist before. Inside is a full bathroom with excellent water pressure, hot water in abundance, all sparkling white tile. And I think aloud - why haven't I been using this all along. Then an answer comes to me - I didn't want to get it dirty because I didn't want to clean it. Right now it's literally sparkling, like walking into my mother's bathroom. Another perk is that I'm living with my sister, just like before I left home. I get to share the great news with someone. Come check out the bathroom! We're so excited we splash the water around fully clothed as if we're kids playing in a sprinkler.
I wonder how my dreams will change when I come home. I'll probably still be dreaming of clean bathrooms in the midst of my sloppiness. Maybe of vacations and winning the lottery.
I wonder how my dreams will change when I come home. I'll probably still be dreaming of clean bathrooms in the midst of my sloppiness. Maybe of vacations and winning the lottery.
Day of Miracles and Day of Jinxes
This is a story from a couple months ago but I've been hesitating. It seems like the story that you end with - well, ya had to be there. Nevertheless, since I've written a whole blog of - well, ya had to be there - I shall continue.
It was a day like no other. Quite possibly my favorite couple days in Rwanda.
The domino effect all started Thursday night. I was running around the house getting ready for bed. I had a premonition that I had just done something I would regret. It's like visualizing the car crash before it ever happens. But nevertheless, I was carrying my phone around in my shirt since I didn't have pockets in my pants. Plop…right into the bucket of water, a new danger from not having indoor plumbing. I grabbed it as quickly as possible and tried to dry out the battery and number pad. All my efforts were in vain, the phone refused to turn on. I was beyond irate at myself. Not only did I see this coming but now I couldn't receive my weekly phone call from my parents that night, use the only alarm clock I have (on my phone), or buy a new phone until I went into the city in a couple days. I calmed myself down, went to sleep and hoped for a miracle.
And thus, the day of miracles began. I woke up and felt confident as I reached for my phone. Sure enough it was done with its tantrum and worked perfectly. Hallelujah.
I was privileged enough to attend a ceremony for a cooperative of wonderful ladies. Edison had helped them get funding to learn a new skill and they were being awarded certificates for completing the training. What had started as a simple ceremony turned into an elaborate soiree. Rwanda has strict guidelines about etiquette. For example, we had to invite 8 speakers (pastor of the church, hospital administration, person at district level in charge of cooperatives, person at sector in charge of HIV, peace corps rep, etc. etc.) and they must speak in order of ascending power. I needed to serve the water and Fanta because it would have looked tacky to have another more important person play hostess.
I will tell you my two favorite parts of the day. It was my first time wearing an umushanana, which is traditional Rwandan dress for women. Fidele (supervisor) had mentioned to the women a week ago that they should all be dressed to the nines and if they could give me something too, that'd be great. I was so nervous about what I was going to be required to wear. You have to think about skirts and slips and all that. I came prepared. I had a nice Western dress on with the undergarments for whatever was thrown at me. They ushered me into their changing room. I stood there like a helpless child because I didn't know how to dress myself. Luckily Pauline quickly stepped in (a women from the cooperative). They had rented me a beautiful umushanana. I had a white tank top on then two pieces of fabric where tied on. The first was a wrap around skirt. The second gauzy-er piece of aqua fabric was tied over one of my shoulders (can't remember if it was left or right) to signify that I was unmarried. The skirt was a bit long and it was tied so tight I thought I was wearing a corset, but I had no fear that it was going to fall down! I'll have to get my hands on a picture of me so you can see me in my Rwandan finest. (If you happen to be Facebook friends with me, it's my profile picture at the moment…with my favorite mental health patient.) Since the ceremony was inside the hospital, all my coworkers got to see me dressed as a real Rwandan and complimented me on it. It was one of those special days of celebration where its a pure joy and everyone is dressed up and you can compliment them. Just a big upper of a day.
There was an exchange of gifts between Edison and the cooperative. He gave what is quite possibly the most prized gifts to Rwandans, photos. In return they gave him some wall decorations, fabric (the skill they learned) and a chicken. No joke there was a chicken inside of a box. It was so excited to see some daylight that it was crazily flapping around. I'll admit it scared the crap out of me. In the words of Fidele - you give what you have. This was a special gift from these poor women.
So there was dancing, Fanta and certificates - per the usual celebration. I went home feeling happy and proud.
I had to get up super early to catch the 6:40 am bus into the city. We had some visiting to do. Two months earlier a coworker had been married but a bunch of us missed the wedding for various reasons. I'd like to claim the best excuse of all - a last minute training taking place the same day as the wedding - and it was the truth. So I left my house at 6:15 to catch the 6:40. If it sounds brutal - it is! The only time I need to use an alarm clock here is trying to catch that first bus. In the darkness of my bedroom you will usually hear a screeching - WHHHHHHYY?!? Which is probably what a neighbors think after they hear it every time. So I'm speed walking to the bus and it's still sitting there, with barely anyone inside - score. Or so I think. It turns out one of the secondary school's sports teams bought out the whole bus, which left the rest of us wandering around confused and half asleep, since I usually spend the hour long bus ride waking up. As a group we demanded that another bus driver be called. Money could be made…and we had to get places quick. So soon we see a sleepy-eyed bus driver emerge from his house and we very quickly fill the whole bus. Everything was back on track - or so I thought. Next thing I know the bus stops half way to our destination telling us we all have to hop on another bus for the rest of the way. My first sign of this day being a bit off.
We met up for lunch with my African coworker being an hour late - even she admits that she's a true African, always late. We went to buy a last minute wedding gift on our way to the house. Nothing like quick shopping. We bought a wall decoration for the house. The dark clouds were rolling in but I didn't worry. In fact I was cocky about it. Well, if it rains, it'll last an hour at most! HA! I jinxed it.
I also happen to be blessed with the pride of America. When it began raining I insisted that I didn't need to huddle inside a store like the herd of Rwandans. I would stand outside under my umbrella so that I could more effectively catch the bus. And with vengeance did I stand, as people scoffed at me. My pants' legs became soiled with the bouncing dirt from the paver sidewalk. My umbrella couldn't stand the hurricane style winds so I was partially drenched by the end of it. (This may have been the moment when I finally gave into the rain and started acting Rwandan in every future event, by letting the rain sequester me and my plans of action. Refer to recent post of me succumbing to a rainy Monday morning.)
During a break in the precipitation, we took a bus to the other side of town. Often visiting people for the first time must include them coming to the main road on foot to get you and direct you the rest of the way. There aren't really street signs or addresses or easy ways to give directions. So Felix came down the mountain to get us. I'd like to put some emphasis on the term mountain because this will come up later. We followed him back to his house and it was beautiful. Nice decorations, comfy, new furniture. We got fed cheese and sausage until we couldn't swallow another mouthful. All the while watching their two-plus hour wedding video and looking at the photo albums.
I should back up a bit because the first five minutes of the visit were awesomely culturally awkward. We were introduced to Felix's wife. She was beautiful and kind and they made a great couple. Edison innocently asked - so how did you two meet? I nodded right along. Great American question but apparently not such a great Rwandan question. They were stunned and slightly offended. We had to back pedal and explain how this was a common query for couples at home. The next question, seeing that his wife was pregnant, was how many months pregnant are you? Considering she was six months pregnant and we had come on their second month wedding anniversary, an awkward silence commenced. This visit was off to a great start.
The rain just kept coming down, and coming, and coming. Hours had passed and I had plans! Plans to get out of this city. But rain often dictates life here, or I should say, dislike of rain dictates life here. It's difficult to get a Rwandan to elect to walk in the rain unless absolutely necessary. As the hours passed, we were stuffed with even more food, and then Rwandan hospitality took over. New sleeping arrangements were made. Edison was to spend the night here at Felix's house and I would sleep at Jeanne's house after Fidele walked us to the bus stop. It was still raining but darkness was coming so we had to make a move. I was so frustrated. I wanted to get to my friend's house, as planned. I wanted to be eating American food and watching trashy TV. I wanted my weekend. But I succumbed. Staying in the city would be the smart thing to do. Ugh.
So Jeanne, Fidele and I started our trek down the MOUNTAIN. This thing was steep, and I never seem to be wearing the proper footwear. Although I also haven't decided what is the perfect footwear for these situations. We had borrowed coats from Felix since it was freezing and sharing two umbrellas between the three of us. I was trying desperately to keep my laptop dry and attempting not to make this hike down turn out like my childhood Slip N Slide memories. We were descending a different path than we had gone up because Fidele swore he knew the way. I generally trust Fidele's sense of direction, but three dead ends later I was over that. Luckily Fidele doesn't have that male gene that stops him from asking for directions so we kept stopping at houses to pathetically ask for help. I could tell we were getting close to the main road below. Just one more jaunt down and we'd be golden. Fidele had been pointed to the right so to the right we went. All of a sudden I couldn't hear anything over the sound of a waterfall. I could see Fidele pointing down to the fast flowing river as if this was a proper path to walk down. This was our way down. You've GOT to be kidding me! Inch by inch I made it, only having to touch my hands into the mud a couple times to steady myself.
Once we were walking down the main paved road to the bus stop, we were all laughing hysterically. We had simply and utterly lost our marbles. We even took a couple photos in the rain to commemorate this misadventure (I'll try to get my hands on the photos.) To top it all off Jeanne and Fidele were laughing about how, unbenounced to me, we had been invited to stay at Felix's house for the night and descend in the pristine dryness of morning. Why oh why had they not accepted the offer!? I don't care how socially awkward it is to sleep on someone's couch.
So Fidele, not being the boy scout he could have aspired to become, did not come to rainy season prepared. He was quite umbrella-less. I sent him on his way with my beautiful hot pink umbrella until we met again. Jeanne and I huddled waiting for the bus. Of course, Rwanda and Kigali being like a small town, we ran into a couple people Jeanne knew. They had just come from a garden wedding. Horrid day for such a thing. I believe there was a 20 minute window of sunshine that day. We all crammed ourselves onto the bus, 5 across the seat instead of the allotted 4. To my delight a secondary student was moving home from boarding school and seemed to have all his earthly possessions on the crowded bus with us. His rolled up foam mattress was being balanced on his head, unsuccessfully. But, alas, the helpfulness of Rwandans. No one seemed to mind the 3.5 heads it took to balance the foam without using hands. At this point it seemed as if the delirium had afflicted the entire bus.
I went to sleep chuckling. I had been filled to the brim with tea and was able to watch the Rwandan nightly news. They had busted a group of men for marijuana possession. One man is quoted as saying it gave him a sensation that is indescribable. Then as a punishment, the police made this gaggle of men stand beside a pile of their stash as it was burned.
Two days to remind me of the humor and lack of predictability of Rwanda, and life.
It was a day like no other. Quite possibly my favorite couple days in Rwanda.
The domino effect all started Thursday night. I was running around the house getting ready for bed. I had a premonition that I had just done something I would regret. It's like visualizing the car crash before it ever happens. But nevertheless, I was carrying my phone around in my shirt since I didn't have pockets in my pants. Plop…right into the bucket of water, a new danger from not having indoor plumbing. I grabbed it as quickly as possible and tried to dry out the battery and number pad. All my efforts were in vain, the phone refused to turn on. I was beyond irate at myself. Not only did I see this coming but now I couldn't receive my weekly phone call from my parents that night, use the only alarm clock I have (on my phone), or buy a new phone until I went into the city in a couple days. I calmed myself down, went to sleep and hoped for a miracle.
And thus, the day of miracles began. I woke up and felt confident as I reached for my phone. Sure enough it was done with its tantrum and worked perfectly. Hallelujah.
I was privileged enough to attend a ceremony for a cooperative of wonderful ladies. Edison had helped them get funding to learn a new skill and they were being awarded certificates for completing the training. What had started as a simple ceremony turned into an elaborate soiree. Rwanda has strict guidelines about etiquette. For example, we had to invite 8 speakers (pastor of the church, hospital administration, person at district level in charge of cooperatives, person at sector in charge of HIV, peace corps rep, etc. etc.) and they must speak in order of ascending power. I needed to serve the water and Fanta because it would have looked tacky to have another more important person play hostess.
I will tell you my two favorite parts of the day. It was my first time wearing an umushanana, which is traditional Rwandan dress for women. Fidele (supervisor) had mentioned to the women a week ago that they should all be dressed to the nines and if they could give me something too, that'd be great. I was so nervous about what I was going to be required to wear. You have to think about skirts and slips and all that. I came prepared. I had a nice Western dress on with the undergarments for whatever was thrown at me. They ushered me into their changing room. I stood there like a helpless child because I didn't know how to dress myself. Luckily Pauline quickly stepped in (a women from the cooperative). They had rented me a beautiful umushanana. I had a white tank top on then two pieces of fabric where tied on. The first was a wrap around skirt. The second gauzy-er piece of aqua fabric was tied over one of my shoulders (can't remember if it was left or right) to signify that I was unmarried. The skirt was a bit long and it was tied so tight I thought I was wearing a corset, but I had no fear that it was going to fall down! I'll have to get my hands on a picture of me so you can see me in my Rwandan finest. (If you happen to be Facebook friends with me, it's my profile picture at the moment…with my favorite mental health patient.) Since the ceremony was inside the hospital, all my coworkers got to see me dressed as a real Rwandan and complimented me on it. It was one of those special days of celebration where its a pure joy and everyone is dressed up and you can compliment them. Just a big upper of a day.
There was an exchange of gifts between Edison and the cooperative. He gave what is quite possibly the most prized gifts to Rwandans, photos. In return they gave him some wall decorations, fabric (the skill they learned) and a chicken. No joke there was a chicken inside of a box. It was so excited to see some daylight that it was crazily flapping around. I'll admit it scared the crap out of me. In the words of Fidele - you give what you have. This was a special gift from these poor women.
So there was dancing, Fanta and certificates - per the usual celebration. I went home feeling happy and proud.
I had to get up super early to catch the 6:40 am bus into the city. We had some visiting to do. Two months earlier a coworker had been married but a bunch of us missed the wedding for various reasons. I'd like to claim the best excuse of all - a last minute training taking place the same day as the wedding - and it was the truth. So I left my house at 6:15 to catch the 6:40. If it sounds brutal - it is! The only time I need to use an alarm clock here is trying to catch that first bus. In the darkness of my bedroom you will usually hear a screeching - WHHHHHHYY?!? Which is probably what a neighbors think after they hear it every time. So I'm speed walking to the bus and it's still sitting there, with barely anyone inside - score. Or so I think. It turns out one of the secondary school's sports teams bought out the whole bus, which left the rest of us wandering around confused and half asleep, since I usually spend the hour long bus ride waking up. As a group we demanded that another bus driver be called. Money could be made…and we had to get places quick. So soon we see a sleepy-eyed bus driver emerge from his house and we very quickly fill the whole bus. Everything was back on track - or so I thought. Next thing I know the bus stops half way to our destination telling us we all have to hop on another bus for the rest of the way. My first sign of this day being a bit off.
We met up for lunch with my African coworker being an hour late - even she admits that she's a true African, always late. We went to buy a last minute wedding gift on our way to the house. Nothing like quick shopping. We bought a wall decoration for the house. The dark clouds were rolling in but I didn't worry. In fact I was cocky about it. Well, if it rains, it'll last an hour at most! HA! I jinxed it.
I also happen to be blessed with the pride of America. When it began raining I insisted that I didn't need to huddle inside a store like the herd of Rwandans. I would stand outside under my umbrella so that I could more effectively catch the bus. And with vengeance did I stand, as people scoffed at me. My pants' legs became soiled with the bouncing dirt from the paver sidewalk. My umbrella couldn't stand the hurricane style winds so I was partially drenched by the end of it. (This may have been the moment when I finally gave into the rain and started acting Rwandan in every future event, by letting the rain sequester me and my plans of action. Refer to recent post of me succumbing to a rainy Monday morning.)
During a break in the precipitation, we took a bus to the other side of town. Often visiting people for the first time must include them coming to the main road on foot to get you and direct you the rest of the way. There aren't really street signs or addresses or easy ways to give directions. So Felix came down the mountain to get us. I'd like to put some emphasis on the term mountain because this will come up later. We followed him back to his house and it was beautiful. Nice decorations, comfy, new furniture. We got fed cheese and sausage until we couldn't swallow another mouthful. All the while watching their two-plus hour wedding video and looking at the photo albums.
I should back up a bit because the first five minutes of the visit were awesomely culturally awkward. We were introduced to Felix's wife. She was beautiful and kind and they made a great couple. Edison innocently asked - so how did you two meet? I nodded right along. Great American question but apparently not such a great Rwandan question. They were stunned and slightly offended. We had to back pedal and explain how this was a common query for couples at home. The next question, seeing that his wife was pregnant, was how many months pregnant are you? Considering she was six months pregnant and we had come on their second month wedding anniversary, an awkward silence commenced. This visit was off to a great start.
The rain just kept coming down, and coming, and coming. Hours had passed and I had plans! Plans to get out of this city. But rain often dictates life here, or I should say, dislike of rain dictates life here. It's difficult to get a Rwandan to elect to walk in the rain unless absolutely necessary. As the hours passed, we were stuffed with even more food, and then Rwandan hospitality took over. New sleeping arrangements were made. Edison was to spend the night here at Felix's house and I would sleep at Jeanne's house after Fidele walked us to the bus stop. It was still raining but darkness was coming so we had to make a move. I was so frustrated. I wanted to get to my friend's house, as planned. I wanted to be eating American food and watching trashy TV. I wanted my weekend. But I succumbed. Staying in the city would be the smart thing to do. Ugh.
So Jeanne, Fidele and I started our trek down the MOUNTAIN. This thing was steep, and I never seem to be wearing the proper footwear. Although I also haven't decided what is the perfect footwear for these situations. We had borrowed coats from Felix since it was freezing and sharing two umbrellas between the three of us. I was trying desperately to keep my laptop dry and attempting not to make this hike down turn out like my childhood Slip N Slide memories. We were descending a different path than we had gone up because Fidele swore he knew the way. I generally trust Fidele's sense of direction, but three dead ends later I was over that. Luckily Fidele doesn't have that male gene that stops him from asking for directions so we kept stopping at houses to pathetically ask for help. I could tell we were getting close to the main road below. Just one more jaunt down and we'd be golden. Fidele had been pointed to the right so to the right we went. All of a sudden I couldn't hear anything over the sound of a waterfall. I could see Fidele pointing down to the fast flowing river as if this was a proper path to walk down. This was our way down. You've GOT to be kidding me! Inch by inch I made it, only having to touch my hands into the mud a couple times to steady myself.
Once we were walking down the main paved road to the bus stop, we were all laughing hysterically. We had simply and utterly lost our marbles. We even took a couple photos in the rain to commemorate this misadventure (I'll try to get my hands on the photos.) To top it all off Jeanne and Fidele were laughing about how, unbenounced to me, we had been invited to stay at Felix's house for the night and descend in the pristine dryness of morning. Why oh why had they not accepted the offer!? I don't care how socially awkward it is to sleep on someone's couch.
So Fidele, not being the boy scout he could have aspired to become, did not come to rainy season prepared. He was quite umbrella-less. I sent him on his way with my beautiful hot pink umbrella until we met again. Jeanne and I huddled waiting for the bus. Of course, Rwanda and Kigali being like a small town, we ran into a couple people Jeanne knew. They had just come from a garden wedding. Horrid day for such a thing. I believe there was a 20 minute window of sunshine that day. We all crammed ourselves onto the bus, 5 across the seat instead of the allotted 4. To my delight a secondary student was moving home from boarding school and seemed to have all his earthly possessions on the crowded bus with us. His rolled up foam mattress was being balanced on his head, unsuccessfully. But, alas, the helpfulness of Rwandans. No one seemed to mind the 3.5 heads it took to balance the foam without using hands. At this point it seemed as if the delirium had afflicted the entire bus.
I went to sleep chuckling. I had been filled to the brim with tea and was able to watch the Rwandan nightly news. They had busted a group of men for marijuana possession. One man is quoted as saying it gave him a sensation that is indescribable. Then as a punishment, the police made this gaggle of men stand beside a pile of their stash as it was burned.
Two days to remind me of the humor and lack of predictability of Rwanda, and life.
So Those Yankees...
The benefits of entertainment are two-fold, possibly three-fold. First there is the escapism, pure relaxation perk. Secondly, the arts//intellectual side, if the particular piece of entertainment allows it. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, it allows you to become part of a conversation. Whether at your workplace, your book club, your dentist's office, the one sided conversation of radio. By watching, listening or reading certain things you are making yourself accessible for social interaction. You now have an avenue to connect to your coworkers, friends, classmates, strangers. Entertainment becomes like the weather.
So it's interesting to think of the cultural conversation in Rwanda. I'll use my block as an example because none of us have electricity. There is no TV show to talk about. We talk about the weather, the water station, sports that we listen to on the radio, and more often than not, the drama of our lives. The pieces of life shift a bit to fit different cultures, that's for sure. If you subtract the TV/movie piece, what do you put in it's place? If water is an inevitable resource in your life, what conversation fills its place? What's the common denominator in your culture?
So it's interesting to think of the cultural conversation in Rwanda. I'll use my block as an example because none of us have electricity. There is no TV show to talk about. We talk about the weather, the water station, sports that we listen to on the radio, and more often than not, the drama of our lives. The pieces of life shift a bit to fit different cultures, that's for sure. If you subtract the TV/movie piece, what do you put in it's place? If water is an inevitable resource in your life, what conversation fills its place? What's the common denominator in your culture?
The Chicken, The Egg & BBC
I was just watching the BBC Special - How Many People Can Live on Planet Earth. Which was made in 2009.
It talks about family planning and attempting to decrease birth rates for fear that we can't sustain the rate of population growth that is predicted. It's a doomsday tale of us not having enough food or enough water. It's terrifying.
But on a more constructive level it talks about the programs that are constantly talked about here in Rwanda - family planning. Giving people the choice to have a small family. Perhaps, more accurately, giving women the choice to have a small family. It has been proven that birth rates will naturally fall as quality of living improves. It seems a bit counterintuitive. After all, if you could guarantee your children a better life, wouldn't you want to have more children? Not so much. Most poor people are overcompensating. They are realistic about the fact that many of their children will die an early death. Therefore they have many children so they can remain with a couple.
So along with offering women birth control methods (birth control pills, implants in their arm that last five years and release hormones the same as the pill, etc), offering education has a great effect too. The more educated a woman is the longer she waits to get married, the longer she waits to have babies, and when she does, she will have less babies. Promoting female education is a great way to reduce population growth.
There are many efforts in Rwanda to decrease birth rates. Its estimated that the population is about 12 million at this moment. This country is overcrowded - there is no doubt about that. And the population is growing in leaps and bounds. The health services, schools and food production just can't keep up.
Like most things in Rwandan development, instead of choosing one way to get at the problem, they are doing twenty things at the same time. At times I see it as a spastic approach but other times I applaud them covering all the bases. So family planning is a big thing here. So is female education. So is raising the quality of life with electricity, hygiene, sanitation, water, food, etc. Instead of waiting for quality of life to increase and then birth rates to gradually decrease, they are attacking it from all angles. Are they trying to put the chicken before the egg? Will lower birth rates expedite raising the quality of living? are they trying to dupe logic? or will everything work out in simultaneous success?
It talks about family planning and attempting to decrease birth rates for fear that we can't sustain the rate of population growth that is predicted. It's a doomsday tale of us not having enough food or enough water. It's terrifying.
But on a more constructive level it talks about the programs that are constantly talked about here in Rwanda - family planning. Giving people the choice to have a small family. Perhaps, more accurately, giving women the choice to have a small family. It has been proven that birth rates will naturally fall as quality of living improves. It seems a bit counterintuitive. After all, if you could guarantee your children a better life, wouldn't you want to have more children? Not so much. Most poor people are overcompensating. They are realistic about the fact that many of their children will die an early death. Therefore they have many children so they can remain with a couple.
So along with offering women birth control methods (birth control pills, implants in their arm that last five years and release hormones the same as the pill, etc), offering education has a great effect too. The more educated a woman is the longer she waits to get married, the longer she waits to have babies, and when she does, she will have less babies. Promoting female education is a great way to reduce population growth.
There are many efforts in Rwanda to decrease birth rates. Its estimated that the population is about 12 million at this moment. This country is overcrowded - there is no doubt about that. And the population is growing in leaps and bounds. The health services, schools and food production just can't keep up.
Like most things in Rwandan development, instead of choosing one way to get at the problem, they are doing twenty things at the same time. At times I see it as a spastic approach but other times I applaud them covering all the bases. So family planning is a big thing here. So is female education. So is raising the quality of life with electricity, hygiene, sanitation, water, food, etc. Instead of waiting for quality of life to increase and then birth rates to gradually decrease, they are attacking it from all angles. Are they trying to put the chicken before the egg? Will lower birth rates expedite raising the quality of living? are they trying to dupe logic? or will everything work out in simultaneous success?
Monday Monday
Sometimes when Rwandans make a statement, it is so direct and clear and simple and informative. I'm not sure if it's a mixture of speaking English as a second/third/fourth language and their culture. Regardless, it stuns me and impresses me at times. I'll get back to this in a moment, but let me back up first.
It was one of those mornings that would have made my skin itch with impatience just a month ago. At some point I realized, I let go and my definition of time has become more African. I still love being early for events or meetings but if the universe doesn't let me be on time, I don't stress. So this morning I had the best of intentions to leave the capital and get back to work early. I'm talking, leave for the bus at 6:15 and be back at work around 8 am. Like clockwork, as soon as I put one foot out the door, the rain began. I succumbed to the allure of staying a dry, warm place with electricity.
Because of this I ended up waiting for my bus to fill (for an hour) with Jeanne's dad, Deo. I believe I introduced you all to him before. I probably described him as a yoda-like figure who loves God and loves to talk about God. It was time well spent.
We generally stuck to a geography theme. This season we are in right now is considered Rwandan winter. Even he found the humor in that. I'm still running around in cargo pants, T-shirt, and sandals. A better term for it is the long rainy season. The frequency of the rain is almost daily. You would love this season if:
1. You don't mind your toes being perpetually damp.
2. You enjoy the absence of water shortages and being able to wash your whole house, all your clothes and your long hair all in the same day.
3. You have a reliable umbrella permanently in your bag.
We then discussed the presence of mountains and lakes in the US. It is always so hard to describe the sheer size of the US and how many different climates/cultures there are. But Deo understands that Rwanda is tiny (not so much in relation to the US but in relation to the border countries). He gave me a history lesson about how Rwanda used to be a much larger land mass (he even quoted the current square feet stat of how big Rwanda is but I didn't sear it in my memory), encompassing parts of all the surrounding countries. I tried to put a happy spin on territory wars by mentioning how it is easier for Rwanda to develop now that it is so tiny. And that perhaps the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) is much too large. Deo agreed that the DRC has a retched administration, although a plethora of resources. And nodded along with my assessment that resources are usually married to conflict.
Then comes that Hemingway type quality of blunt candor. Deo stated: "If you are an African in politics you end up in one of three places: jail, exile or dead." I wish I could have softened the statement. But there it stood in all its divine truth.
Deo and I discussed my year left in this country. I tried to convey my confusion in ascertaining how to help the Rwandans surrounding me. He jumped right in, explaining that I have channels to get funding. Then he back pedaled a little bit. He himself have been trying to help his neighbors. He owns a bit of land, with a successful farm and a load of animals. He has been encouraging his neighbors to raise pigs, even giving them the pigs free. But they complain that pigs cost too much to feed. They are unwilling to acknowledge that pigs take less time to raise than say, goats, which is their preoccupation. Deo wound back around to discerning that behavior change is the struggle with a person's mind as the ultimate obstacle.
Deo places most of his hope for the future in education. The cultivating of one's mind as the ultimate goal. He loves to say how educational achievement is truly an individual accomplishment, that no one can earn it for you. His ultimate goal (after his last born gets through school) is to build a nursery school that will eventually grow into a full fledged school and perhaps a cultural center. A man with a big dream.
Then we spent the rest of the time in glorious silence, each reading our respective books. Great start to the day.
It was one of those mornings that would have made my skin itch with impatience just a month ago. At some point I realized, I let go and my definition of time has become more African. I still love being early for events or meetings but if the universe doesn't let me be on time, I don't stress. So this morning I had the best of intentions to leave the capital and get back to work early. I'm talking, leave for the bus at 6:15 and be back at work around 8 am. Like clockwork, as soon as I put one foot out the door, the rain began. I succumbed to the allure of staying a dry, warm place with electricity.
Because of this I ended up waiting for my bus to fill (for an hour) with Jeanne's dad, Deo. I believe I introduced you all to him before. I probably described him as a yoda-like figure who loves God and loves to talk about God. It was time well spent.
We generally stuck to a geography theme. This season we are in right now is considered Rwandan winter. Even he found the humor in that. I'm still running around in cargo pants, T-shirt, and sandals. A better term for it is the long rainy season. The frequency of the rain is almost daily. You would love this season if:
1. You don't mind your toes being perpetually damp.
2. You enjoy the absence of water shortages and being able to wash your whole house, all your clothes and your long hair all in the same day.
3. You have a reliable umbrella permanently in your bag.
We then discussed the presence of mountains and lakes in the US. It is always so hard to describe the sheer size of the US and how many different climates/cultures there are. But Deo understands that Rwanda is tiny (not so much in relation to the US but in relation to the border countries). He gave me a history lesson about how Rwanda used to be a much larger land mass (he even quoted the current square feet stat of how big Rwanda is but I didn't sear it in my memory), encompassing parts of all the surrounding countries. I tried to put a happy spin on territory wars by mentioning how it is easier for Rwanda to develop now that it is so tiny. And that perhaps the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) is much too large. Deo agreed that the DRC has a retched administration, although a plethora of resources. And nodded along with my assessment that resources are usually married to conflict.
Then comes that Hemingway type quality of blunt candor. Deo stated: "If you are an African in politics you end up in one of three places: jail, exile or dead." I wish I could have softened the statement. But there it stood in all its divine truth.
Deo and I discussed my year left in this country. I tried to convey my confusion in ascertaining how to help the Rwandans surrounding me. He jumped right in, explaining that I have channels to get funding. Then he back pedaled a little bit. He himself have been trying to help his neighbors. He owns a bit of land, with a successful farm and a load of animals. He has been encouraging his neighbors to raise pigs, even giving them the pigs free. But they complain that pigs cost too much to feed. They are unwilling to acknowledge that pigs take less time to raise than say, goats, which is their preoccupation. Deo wound back around to discerning that behavior change is the struggle with a person's mind as the ultimate obstacle.
Deo places most of his hope for the future in education. The cultivating of one's mind as the ultimate goal. He loves to say how educational achievement is truly an individual accomplishment, that no one can earn it for you. His ultimate goal (after his last born gets through school) is to build a nursery school that will eventually grow into a full fledged school and perhaps a cultural center. A man with a big dream.
Then we spent the rest of the time in glorious silence, each reading our respective books. Great start to the day.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Hello, Goodbye
I went into today with some trepidation. Goodbyes are never easy. And often times in the Peace Corps you put more emphasis and support on certain parts of your life and don't even realize it. It can fall like a house of cards with one small change. Edison's last day in the village. For the last month, every time he traveled somewhere I was barraged with questions about where he was. Everyone was worried they would miss their moment to say goodbye. The day has finally come. Just on my walk home I had to tell two more people that he was gone for good. They were shocked that two years had already come and go and then in the next breathe wanted to make sure I was still staying here. Oh faeew, we will be together for another year.
We had a lovely going away party at work - fanta and sambusa were present, of course. And ample time for picture taking. We had a few criers. I guess Rwandans really do cry. Once one person got going, most of the women were hiding their faces. My favorite part was Paster Jerome (who recently returned from China) saying that he just spent 15 days in China and was bored stiff. He has no idea how Edison lasted 2 years! Hilarious. I love Rwandans who have traveled. Makes them more sympathetic about leaving your entire family and every familiar thing in life.
So a new chapter begins in my Peace Corps experience. The chapter with no sitemate. In happier news, the school break has begun. My old friend Claudine is back from her boarding school and I get to fill my days with great African tea and visits with karaoke. Good distractions as I step into yet another beginning.
p.s. Contemplating making a video to show everyone when I get back. Is there anything I need to make sure I include? If you have suggestions, let me know.
We had a lovely going away party at work - fanta and sambusa were present, of course. And ample time for picture taking. We had a few criers. I guess Rwandans really do cry. Once one person got going, most of the women were hiding their faces. My favorite part was Paster Jerome (who recently returned from China) saying that he just spent 15 days in China and was bored stiff. He has no idea how Edison lasted 2 years! Hilarious. I love Rwandans who have traveled. Makes them more sympathetic about leaving your entire family and every familiar thing in life.
So a new chapter begins in my Peace Corps experience. The chapter with no sitemate. In happier news, the school break has begun. My old friend Claudine is back from her boarding school and I get to fill my days with great African tea and visits with karaoke. Good distractions as I step into yet another beginning.
p.s. Contemplating making a video to show everyone when I get back. Is there anything I need to make sure I include? If you have suggestions, let me know.
Dance Dance Revolution
The one thing I can honestly say I did not expect to find in Rwanda is dance parties. Sure, maybe I'd learn some traditional dancing - but I'm talking DANCE PARTY. And we have them in abundance. I dare say I've never had this many dance parties in a one year span, and that's counting me jumping around in my pjs in the privacy of my own home.
I just came from one great dance party- to mark the departure of my sitemate. It's quite surreal. Every few months is like a different phase of life here. Changes are so sudden and constant. I'm sure it will truly hit me after a couple weeks of Edison being gone. Right now, I'm just happy we could celebrate his service in such a great way.
I just came from one great dance party- to mark the departure of my sitemate. It's quite surreal. Every few months is like a different phase of life here. Changes are so sudden and constant. I'm sure it will truly hit me after a couple weeks of Edison being gone. Right now, I'm just happy we could celebrate his service in such a great way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
