There are 35 days until I fly home and for the past two weeks I've felt like I was sinking in quicksand. Every day has been a mountain I wasn't sure I could climb. I've never felt further from vacation, even though it's staring me down. Sometimes I wish my mood wouldn't be so erratic. I feel like I'm in the bottom of a hole that someone dug as a trap and there is no way out. And then just as suddenly, that begins to seem like the dumbest exaggeration of my existence here. I honestly don't know what is real anymore. I'm hoping vacation gives me back that clarity.
I can't promise that I will write much while I'm home, being in the throes of rest and relaxation. However I will try to jot down all the things I find bizarre coming back, because I'm sure my panic of being reintroduced into society can be spun with humor.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Pineapple Perspective
So I was at the market today, facing a new challenge. Now that I have become buddy buddy with some of the sellers I feel like I HAVE to buy from them. Guilt takes over and the question of whether a single person can eat an entire pineapple is really besides the point.
Couple this with another new realization. I have quite a bit of money, meaning I live quite comfortably. Imagine that picture of Scrooge counting stacks of money and water it down and that's what happened when I finally cleaned my house a bit and found a bunch of money (I never change, says the twenty in my winter coat pocket that I inevitably find every year.) Yes, I get paid a living stipend but considering I live in a village with no chocolate or goodies besides hard candy, and I don't have utility bills (see there is a perk to no electricity or running water - I've been pondering if washing clothes by hand at home would save money - I'll go with a no, a dirty no.) I can accumulate a bit. Back to the point, I started thinking I should buy more stuff here. Old American theme - get out there and shop and stimulate the economy. Seems like the nice thing to do. The market ladies are just a bunch of my neighbors who farm their land and attempt to make a profit each week. So I was thinking of increasing my purchases of produce to help them out.
For the first time, possibly in my life, another thought came to mind. Sure I could buy a lot more produce but the fact is, there is a set amount of produce being grown in this village area. All the people need to be fed off this amount. If I start taking more than I actually need, that would be selfish. Sure, maybe the market lady wouldn't make as much money, but she could give the produce to people who really need it. I never remember being at the grocery store and thinking that the food would ever run out. Or realizing that taking more than my share was selfish. There's that sense of community again.
So, yes, I bought the pineapple that I didn't need. I gave it to Maryanne as a gift. It felt wonderful. I'm not very good at giving gifts. Imagine going to the grocery store every week and buying something you don't really want or need, and then giving it as a gift. Every single week, going out of your way to spread that kindness. A treat that someone would never buy for themselves.
I hope this is something I remember when I've been home for awhile. and I hope you remember this when I show up to your house with a pineapple :)
Couple this with another new realization. I have quite a bit of money, meaning I live quite comfortably. Imagine that picture of Scrooge counting stacks of money and water it down and that's what happened when I finally cleaned my house a bit and found a bunch of money (I never change, says the twenty in my winter coat pocket that I inevitably find every year.) Yes, I get paid a living stipend but considering I live in a village with no chocolate or goodies besides hard candy, and I don't have utility bills (see there is a perk to no electricity or running water - I've been pondering if washing clothes by hand at home would save money - I'll go with a no, a dirty no.) I can accumulate a bit. Back to the point, I started thinking I should buy more stuff here. Old American theme - get out there and shop and stimulate the economy. Seems like the nice thing to do. The market ladies are just a bunch of my neighbors who farm their land and attempt to make a profit each week. So I was thinking of increasing my purchases of produce to help them out.
For the first time, possibly in my life, another thought came to mind. Sure I could buy a lot more produce but the fact is, there is a set amount of produce being grown in this village area. All the people need to be fed off this amount. If I start taking more than I actually need, that would be selfish. Sure, maybe the market lady wouldn't make as much money, but she could give the produce to people who really need it. I never remember being at the grocery store and thinking that the food would ever run out. Or realizing that taking more than my share was selfish. There's that sense of community again.
So, yes, I bought the pineapple that I didn't need. I gave it to Maryanne as a gift. It felt wonderful. I'm not very good at giving gifts. Imagine going to the grocery store every week and buying something you don't really want or need, and then giving it as a gift. Every single week, going out of your way to spread that kindness. A treat that someone would never buy for themselves.
I hope this is something I remember when I've been home for awhile. and I hope you remember this when I show up to your house with a pineapple :)
Claudine's Visit
So I think I should rename this blog - cultural misconceptions. I've been having some great cultural exchanges lately - so yay 2nd and 3rd goals of Peace Corps.
I went to visit my buddy Claudine. She lives down the street from me but is usually at her boarding school an hour away. She happened to be home for a school holiday so we reconnected. Claudine's cousin was also there - Jean Damascene. Unfortunately, as I have witnessed many times, the males in this country seem to have a much better grasp of English than the females. Jean Damascene quickly took control of the conversation. I believe this was mainly because he doesn't often have the opportunity to talk to an native English speaker who lets him fire away endless questions. It was actually quite entertaining to sit back and give him some time, seeing the wheels in head spin, as he formulated his curiosity into English questions.
But first- it's always interesting to see where Rwandans get their knowledge of American culture. Since a lot is from horrendous news stories and rap videos, you can imagine the misconceptions of the everyday, Michigan life I used to lead. During this visit my phone started to vibrate in the pocket of my cargo pants. I reached down to see who was calling. Apparently this triggered something in Jean Damascene's mind about the US having a gun problem. He assumed that every American owns a gun and carries it around all the time. He was relieved to see me pull out a cell phone. I understand the fear he had but I couldn't help but laugh at him. Even if I carried a concealed weapon in the US, I doubt the Rwandan government would let me carry it around Rwanda as well. This conversation segwayed into a discussion of the hunting culture in the US, particularly Michigan since I know it well. All of a sudden Michigan was looking like the primitive culture as I explained that people go out and kill animals and the families eat the meat.
Then I had to adamantly defend proper English. Jean Damascene gets a lot of his English vocabulary from song lyrics. I also had to argue that the word boys isn't spelled boyz. Sometimes I'm seen as the biggest expert of the English language and other times they won't even believe that boys doesn't involve a z.
So a great Rwandan question that you would be hard pressed to find outside of a American geography class is - what do you cultivate there? I often have to scratch my head thinking of what we cultivate in Michigan. Once again I need to defend my answers to Rwandans who clearly think the US is all city and no farm.
I'll end this post with Jean Damascene's explanation of old Rwandan marriage customs. Now I was the one questioning. He says one set of parents go to the next village to another set of parents and arranged the marriage. Then one random night the eligible bachelor hears on the bedroom door. Parents say and that's the end of that. Jean Damascene must have seen the skeptical look on my face because he ended it with this gem - Love goes where it wants but parents often try to orient it.
I went to visit my buddy Claudine. She lives down the street from me but is usually at her boarding school an hour away. She happened to be home for a school holiday so we reconnected. Claudine's cousin was also there - Jean Damascene. Unfortunately, as I have witnessed many times, the males in this country seem to have a much better grasp of English than the females. Jean Damascene quickly took control of the conversation. I believe this was mainly because he doesn't often have the opportunity to talk to an native English speaker who lets him fire away endless questions. It was actually quite entertaining to sit back and give him some time, seeing the wheels in head spin, as he formulated his curiosity into English questions.
But first- it's always interesting to see where Rwandans get their knowledge of American culture. Since a lot is from horrendous news stories and rap videos, you can imagine the misconceptions of the everyday, Michigan life I used to lead. During this visit my phone started to vibrate in the pocket of my cargo pants. I reached down to see who was calling. Apparently this triggered something in Jean Damascene's mind about the US having a gun problem. He assumed that every American owns a gun and carries it around all the time. He was relieved to see me pull out a cell phone. I understand the fear he had but I couldn't help but laugh at him. Even if I carried a concealed weapon in the US, I doubt the Rwandan government would let me carry it around Rwanda as well. This conversation segwayed into a discussion of the hunting culture in the US, particularly Michigan since I know it well. All of a sudden Michigan was looking like the primitive culture as I explained that people go out and kill animals and the families eat the meat.
Then I had to adamantly defend proper English. Jean Damascene gets a lot of his English vocabulary from song lyrics. I also had to argue that the word boys isn't spelled boyz. Sometimes I'm seen as the biggest expert of the English language and other times they won't even believe that boys doesn't involve a z.
So a great Rwandan question that you would be hard pressed to find outside of a American geography class is - what do you cultivate there? I often have to scratch my head thinking of what we cultivate in Michigan. Once again I need to defend my answers to Rwandans who clearly think the US is all city and no farm.
I'll end this post with Jean Damascene's explanation of old Rwandan marriage customs. Now I was the one questioning. He says one set of parents go to the next village to another set of parents and arranged the marriage. Then one random night the eligible bachelor hears
Baby Naming
I'll break the bad news first - they didn't pick my name suggestion, so don't get excited that I named a Rwandan baby. But it's all for the best, really.
On Sunday I went to Christine's baby's naming ceremony. It is a tradition that after about a month, every Rwandan child is given a baby naming ceremony. Before this time - you guessed it- the baby doesn't have a name.
All the family and friends gather at the house. We were served Fanta and ate a meal. The baby made her grand entrance, and then was passed around so everyone could have a look. The children of the family came in and all offered a name, which was quite adorable. I think some of them just recommended their own name, which was a tactic I thought of too. Then one by one the adults each offered a name. At the end the parents proclaim the name to everyone. In this case, they had already decided beforehand. They get to pick a first name and a last name.
So welcome baby Nacia to the world. (Pronounced like Nadia but with a 'sea' in the middle.) Christine can now be called Mama Nacia, which nicely rolls off the tongue.
On Sunday I went to Christine's baby's naming ceremony. It is a tradition that after about a month, every Rwandan child is given a baby naming ceremony. Before this time - you guessed it- the baby doesn't have a name.
All the family and friends gather at the house. We were served Fanta and ate a meal. The baby made her grand entrance, and then was passed around so everyone could have a look. The children of the family came in and all offered a name, which was quite adorable. I think some of them just recommended their own name, which was a tactic I thought of too. Then one by one the adults each offered a name. At the end the parents proclaim the name to everyone. In this case, they had already decided beforehand. They get to pick a first name and a last name.
So welcome baby Nacia to the world. (Pronounced like Nadia but with a 'sea' in the middle.) Christine can now be called Mama Nacia, which nicely rolls off the tongue.
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