Confessions of a Traveloholic...

Community Newspaper: Phase II

2012-02-11T00:10:00.001-08:00

The translated stories finally arrived, and the wait was definitely worth it. Finally being able to read them was like opening a present I carried around in wrapping for a long time, always wondering what it was. Well, I found out what it was, finally, and it was packed full of little insights into the lives, hearts, and minds of children in Rwanda.

I found the stories to be quite… diverse… which is perhaps why I am having such a hard time describing them to you as one large group. Some spoke about the hardships of their lives and the great opportunity the chance to attend school was. Others spoke about their experiences while at school- different teaching methods they’d encountered, their participation in extra-curricular activities, like clubs and sports. And still others were messages and calls to action for their fellow sisters, reminding them of the importance of women in society, their duty to make their parents proud, and their role in building their country… all possible because of their success in school.

I learned a lot about the struggles that children in Rwanda, specifically girls, face in their lives and school. Of course, I knew that poverty caused many children to have difficulty paying for school fees and necessary uniforms and materials. But, the authors of these stories unpacked it further, giving a frank and eye-opening assessment of the reasons behind the poverty of their families- things like the loss of their parent/s, too many children, lack of land, unemployment and sickness.

In school, girls face the problem of being propositioned by their teachers and male peers for sex in exchange for items. There is a huge “sugar daddy” and “sugar mommy” culture here, in which adults coerce children into having sex, taking advantage of their vulnerability in age and poverty, with money and other items. It is so common that the Rwandan government launched a public campaign against the “sugar daddies” and “sugar mommies” with large billboards depicting a child rejecting money from a sugar parent, denouncing the practice.

Although the girls wrote to offer encouragement to their sisters, there was an underlying plea to the stories. The girls asked for guidance and support to make good decisions in their lives, so they could succeed in education and careers, and achieve their goals. Not only did they speak about a society in which women have equal opportunity, they spoke of one that catered to the specific needs of the women in it. It was pretty forward-thinking for a group of girls in the equivalent of 10th grade in America! I was very impressed.

Now that the stories were translated, I had to read through them in order to select the best ones. What a difficult task! How do you compare one child’s ideas to those of another when they are all impressive, like I mentioned, but also containing a similar mix of great statements and entertaining inconsistencies? It’s like comparing apples and oranges, which I am told can’t be done. Plus, if I had it my way, every child would get the space necessary for their voice, regardless of what that voice was saying, so the whole selection process worked against my natural inclination.

In the end, I read and re-read the stories, taking note of their message. I established a sort of criteria in my head based on the aim of the newspaper. From my understanding, the newspaper was meant to be a vehicle of exchange for girls attending school. I felt that, as such, the stories should contain positive messages that the girls wanted to share, some sort of direction or encouraging thought. I read the stories again, with this aim and criteria in mind, facilitating the difficult selection process, and selected the final stores that would eventually make up the newspaper.

Although the most difficult step was complete, I was far from being done. I read through the translated stories again, this time with the purpose of editing them. The translator did a great job translating them, but there were still some mistakes in English and sentences or paragraphs that didn’t make sense, but from which I could get the general idea. I corrected the mistakes, and took a strong hand to shaping the sentences and paragraphs into understandable and meaningful ideas while still maintaining the original touch of the author. Again, not an easy task, because how much of the original text, mistakes and all, do you sacrifice in the name of proper English and understanding? Especially when the publication in question is a newspaper for youth, by youth. In retrospect, I believe I did the job well. I retained the natural voice of the authors in the final version of the articles that were free of mistakes and easy to understand.

Now, we are moving into the final phase of the project. We have collected the stories, translated and edited them. We have already returned to the schools and helped students take pictures to accompany their selected stores. Now, all we need to do is format the stories and pictures into the final product- the newspaper. We are hoping to also involve youth in this process, so some youth get valuable computer formatting experience. I’m not sure if this is still the plan or how it will work out, but that’s the idea- a newspaper for youth, written and formatted by the youth themselves.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go

2012-02-10T05:26:00.000-08:00

I am going to do some very public pondering and invite you to participate in the discussion currently taking place in my head.

Are you ready?

The question is: should I stay or should I go? (The song with that title by The Clash just came flooding into my head.)

I feel that the answer to this question will be one of the most difficult decisions of my life.

Let me lay out the details.

Option One: Should I stay?

Okay, Peace Corps service in Rwanda is not without its due share of difficulties. But, it is also amazing and fulfilling in many ways. Although I face periods when the challenges seem quite overwhelming, the big picture is, I am happy here and proud to be participating in this surreal experience. I love the work I am doing and when I look around, I can’t help but think, “Wow, this is so…cool.” This is the time in my life where I can do something like, be a Peace Corps Volunteer.

I also think that I have come to understand Rwanda. To help me describe my confusing and sometimes conflicting emotions, I am going to share a passage from the book I am reading. Although written about a journalist in Iraq, I read it and couldn’t help but realize our similar sentiment.

“No, it was in the leaving that I felt the essence of the place. As much as I hated arriving, I hated leaving more. After so long I’d become part of the place, part of […] the bad food and the heat and the sandy-colored brown of it. I felt I understood its complications and its paradoxes and even its humor, felt a jealous brotherhood with everyone who was trying to keep it from sinking even deeper. […] From the thought of leaving the world, the big, wide, only world, and moving to the next one. The two worlds. There was nothing in between, no way station, no purgatory, only this world and the other. […] Tightened mouths and grim faces, nobody smiling and nobody whooping for finally getting out. We’d become [Rwanda], […] become so much a part of it that we worried about our place in the other world to which we were now returning. And from which we were now so estranged.” Dexter Filkins, The Forever War 147-148

I have accepted the way the system works here and I am now able to work within it successfully to produce results. I feel like, now, two years later, I am finally getting into my groove. Unfortunately, two years later is also when my service is ending and I am due to leave.

I am homesick, yes. I miss family and friends from home and can’t wait to see them. I can also admit that I am eager to be back in the land of 1000 grocery stores, showers, washing machines, and toilets, instead of the land of 1000 hills. But, I could visit with people for a short time, get my fix of these amenities, and return to Rwanda rejuvenated for the second round.

Peace Corps offers the option of extending volunteer service for an additional year. Volunteers who extend do get some benefits, like a month-long vacation home. That break would be sufficient to suppress my homesickness and longing that have affected my experience of my service and are the roots of many of my personal ailments.

If I decide to stay for another year, there would be some changes that would take place. First, I may not continue working with Plan Rwanda or living in my village. I may work with another organization, doing something different, and probably living in a larger city. This is an important point, because I am having difficulty determining if my happiness is linked to Plan Rwanda, my work, and my village. Then again, working in a city with an organization that I can be more physically involved in could alleviate some of the challenges I face working as a lone volunteer in a village removed from my organization’s office.

Then, I just think that I am crazy for even considering this option.

So, now I am going to discuss the second option.

Option Two: Should I go?

This is obviously the typical and easy option. Service is over- time to pack it up and fly it home.

Sure, I am scared to go back to a world that from a distance seems very overwhelming. I feel more in my element in Rwanda that America seems like the strange and unfamiliar place. I am going to go through a huge cultural shock and adjustment upon my return. It is a daunting realization. Plus, family and close friends are going to have to re-socialize me, from bringing me up to date on popular media, to reminding me to shower more than I am now accustomed to.

I’m not sure what I would do if I went home, and this also adds to the stress of returning. Here, I have a job, if you can call it that... at least a purpose, something to do. Why would I give that up for… nothing? I am not the type of person who flourishes when I have nothing to do. In fact, it can be detrimental to my development. I am also an expert at entertaining myself, so I have no fear that I would not be able to find something to do. But, that’s what I do here when work is slow, so what’s the difference?

I do have a list of personal projects I want to undertake upon my return. I’ve enjoyed writing this blog and would love to explore the idea of making it into something more. I want to improve my skills in French and Spanish. I would love to learn to ride a motorcycle and start practicing for my inevitable motorcycle tour around South America. And then, there is always sewing, taking the hand-sewn designs I’ve made here and making them into wearable clothes. See, I would never be bored of things to do, here or home.

There are also some professional considerations, too. I need to take the exams necessary to pursue further education. I can’t wait to return to school. I love learning and have often joked that if I had things my way (and all the money in the world) I would spend my life in school. After two years of eye-opening experience, I finally feel that I have the direction and motivation to do what I want to do. But, I could easily complete these exams during my vacation home and apply to schools during another year serving in Rwanda, and return in time to attend school the following year.

So, as you can tell, I am a bit conflicted. I am constantly changing my mind. One moment, I am determined to stay, and the next I am waiting impatiently to return home. I’ve been pondering this decision alone for the last month. I have sorted through my own thoughts and feelings free of any external influence, but found that I have become so completely inundated with these thoughts and feeling it is difficult to see clearly. I am opening the doors to insight and thoughts from you. I know that ultimately, this has to be a decision I make on my own, but that doesn’t mean I can’t listen to what others have to say. If you feel so inclined, and I know the people who read my blog habitually are very close family and friends, write me an email and share. I would be happy to receive encouragement, thoughts, and even potential opportunities for my return. As I’ve learned here in Rwanda, the individual is important, but sometimes it takes a community. Put on the Clash, Should I Stay Or Should I Go, and think about what you would do if you were in my shoes…

The Story of the Toad and the Snake… Continued

2012-02-06T04:12:00.000-08:00

I am sorry to keep returning to the sighting of the toad with the snake emerging from it. I have a phobia of snakes- I had it before I arrived and it has continually concerned me the length of my stay. The current sighting has only exacerbated that phobia. Plus, it was just weird. It is still unsettling. Now, I make sure to close all my windows at night, because I fear that the snake will crawl through and attack me in the night. If I hang a limb over the edge of my bed, it begins to tingle in apprehension of the beast that may reside under it. And I am constantly aware of potential hiding places for snakes in my house. I am convinced that the beast that lives in my roof is no longer a dancing iguana, but a menacing snake. Sometimes, I wonder what I would do if I were bitten by a snake here in Rwanda. What could you do? I haven’t thought about this snake at all, obviously. This is the last post about it... I promise.

I met the most interesting Rwandan the other day. First, he is not like other Rwandans. He lived in Canada and understands where I am coming from. Plus, any Rwandan who lives in Canada automatically gets some serious kudo points in my book for dealing with the cold and snow. I asked him how he handled it, and he replied, “There were many days I called in to work sick because it was too cold to go outside.” Okay, I get that, any Canadian could say that. But, hearing that statement from a Rwandan gave it a new life. I felt like I could discuss things with him that I could not discuss with, say my neighbors.

We were chatting about things in general and somehow I was telling the story of the toad and the snake in my garden- obviously not an uncommon topic to discuss in my company. Like most Rwandans, and any Americans for that matter, his eyes widened in fright. And then he chastised me, “What were you doing in your garden at night!?!” He explained, “No sane Rwandan would venture into their garden at night. No matter what, under any circumstances.” I replied, “I arrived home late from work and I was picking lettuce for dinner.” He shook his head in disbelief. Okay, maybe he doesn’t understand everything about where I am coming from.

He is originally coming from Burundi, and he told me a story from his home country. “In Burundi,” he said, “there were two tourists who went swimming in a lake at night. They ignored all the signs on the shore that warned: Beware of crocodiles! Don’t swim after dark. The tourists disappeared, never returned, never seen again. Everyone was convinced they were eaten by crocodiles.” The moral of his story- don’t gamble with the wildlife in Africa!

“That’s a great story,” I replied, “but there are no signs in my village warning: Beware of snakes. Don’t go in your garden at night!” I laughed, and continued, “People always assume I know the most basic things about living life here. They don’t think to warn me. I don’t know these things. I have never lived in places where snakes are abundant.” It’s true- sometimes, my colleagues comment, “You don’t know?!” “No,” I reply, after the incident, “I don’t know that if I eat cassava root without preparing it correctly, I may get cyanide poisoning.” Thanks for telling me… NOT! Needless to say, I’ve never prepared cassava root.

He said, “Okay, well now I am telling you- Don’t go in your garden at night.” I didn’t need much convincing. “Don’t worry. I am never going to do it again.”

Time went on and I found myself in my garden during the day. After three weeks of family visiting and travel, my garden was overgrown with weeds. I spent Saturday afternoon working in it, weeding, composting, and planting. A couple of hours into my work, I noticed my neighbor standing outside her house, staring at me. When she didn’t stop, I pulled out my earphones and greeted her. She responded to my greeting, but still did not stop staring. In addition, she began to shuffle closer. It was obvious she wanted to talk to me, but didn’t want to interrupt me, so I stopped my work and walked over to the middle of our yard to join her.

She said, “There is a snake there. The children saw one. Be careful.”Apparently, getting its head stuck in a toad did not suffocate it. I looked shocked and replied, “What do I do?” I didn’t know what to do. Again, I’ve never lived somewhere where dangerous snakes also inhabit. Do I continue gardening or abandon my garden to snake territory? “Just be careful,” she repeated. “Keep your eyes open.” Not very helpful.

I cautiously resumed my work, slowly and carefully. I peered through weeds for any possible hiding place or sign of the snake. I still wasn’t sure if the family thought I was insane for continuing to work in my garden, but couldn’t tell me because I am a muzungu. This happens often. People are afraid to tell me what to do or criticize me, because I am a muzungu. They don’t want to tell me something they think I don’t want to hear, so they tell me something they think will please me. But, it makes it difficult to “weed” out the truth.

Then, I was assaulted by another thought- How did I end up with the one family in Rwanda that doesn’t kill any animal that moves? I’ve seen it before in villages- groups of people with hoes and machetes chasing after a snake down the street, eventually catching up with it and slicing it to pieces (that might actually be their next meal). That is why animals, like snakes, are not common in villages. Again, how did I end up with the one family in Rwanda that doesn’t kill any animal that moves, like a snake?

Needless to say, I was not bitten by a snake that day. I hope that the clearing of weeds from my garden encourages the snake to move on to greener pastures. I wonder if it is still alive, if it is hanging around my garden, if it is plotting its revenge. If I will ever see it again. I hope not. The end.

Finishing Strong

2012-02-06T02:01:00.000-08:00

I am back from vacation and feeling great! After three weeks of family visiting and vacation, I have a lot of catch up to do, and I’ve been working hard to do it. Like I mentioned, my vacation was crucial- it gave me the opportunity to temporarily escape the reality of my life and refreshed me for the next stage of my service, the last three months until it is finished.

One of the tasks I have been working so hard on is reporting. Every year, I have to complete a report for Peace Corps on my activities. I have many reports due throughout the year, but this is the biggest and most important one. It takes a lot of time and effort, but it can also be a good tool for reflection and empowerment.

As I’ve been putting my activities to writing, I’ve realized everything I’ve done in the past two years. It’s a lot, much more than I acknowledged. Sometimes, Peace Corps Volunteers feel guilty because we think we are not being productive or doing what we are supposed to do. Our everyday realities are of slow village life, and our work comes in bursts of activity that disrupt our constant. Our great accomplishments are interspersed with periods of slower activity. This is not the pattern we are accustomed to. We forget to look at the big picture.

Here is a simple list of my accomplishments in two years:
- Established and managed Isangano Youth Center
- Organized 2 national and 1 regional leadership and development camps for youth
- Facilitated procurement of 22,000 books to start libraries in 15 communities
- Supported Community Health Workers in prevention, care, and other activities
- Trained and empowered groups of people living with HIV/AIDS in skills to improve their lives
- Provided administrative, logistical, and technical support to projects executed by Plan International Rwanda and partner organizations, including the Village Savings and Loans Project, Girls Scholarship, and School-to-School Linking
- Built the capacity of coworkers in participatory analysis for community action (PACA); project design, implementation and management; planning and organization; proposal and report writing; English language; and technical skills.

And that is just the simple list. I don’t mean to brag, but it feels good to accomplish so much, against the greatest odds and challenges I have faced. I am proud of my accomplishments. Like I said, if I was this successful during my two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer, what CAN’T I do? It is an empowering realization.

I also had a visit from a team at Peace Corps in Washington, DC. They came to Rwanda to do a program review. My site was selected for one of the few they visited. I am an exemplary volunteer and my site is a model site. They were impressed by what I’ve been doing, and it was greater confirmation of my pride and accomplishments.

I am getting ready to go home. I am incredibly homesick. But, my homecoming is bittersweet. I am also going to miss Rwanda. A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer friend said to me once, “As much as we complain about our service in Rwanda, we will still always have some attachment here. We have gone through such an emotional spectrum, such conflicting, extreme emotions. When we look back, years from now, we aren’t going to remember all the difficult, petty things. It is going to be the things that made this experience amazing that we are going to remember.” I couldn’t agree more.

I wonder how I am going to return to America. Life in Rwanda feels normal now. I am going to experience an intense reverse culture shock. I think about my previous experiences in JFK International Airport and I am intimidated. I wonder, “Am I going to be able to do it?”

That is one of my biggest concerns. I’ve been living the slow-paced village life for so long. As frustrated by it as I’ve been, I’ve also adjusted to it. When I return to America, I am returning to the fast-paced life. It will be overwhelming and I am scared.

What will life be like in America? I’ve missed so much at a time when my country is going through some great changes. Even though it is my country of origin, at this moment in my life, I feel like America is as foreign to me as Rwanda once was.

And then there is always the concern of WHAT WILL IT BE LIKE TO LIVE IN A PLACE WHERE WE HAVE WATER AND ELECTRICITY ALL THE TIME, EVERYTHING WE NEED, WORKING SHOWERS AND TOILETS, AND WASHING MACHINES AND DISHWASHERS? Compare that to where I am living now. Just today, I went to the gas station and they were out of petrol so I can’t cook on my stove, a situation that once resulted in my eating a raw potato. Electricity has been out at my house for two days. My sister called yesterday and I had to tell her we’d talk another time because I wanted to save the last of my battery in case of an emergency. And it hasn’t rained in weeks, so we are beginning to run out of water and my water boy has started to venture further and further away from the house to fetch water. All I could say is “It is going to be one of those weeks, isn’t it?” By those weeks, I am referring to normal.

My Own Brew

2012-02-05T00:04:00.000-08:00

Read through the following list:
•Youth development
•Children’s issues
•Empowerment
•International law
•Social policy
•Health care reform
•Politician
•Advocacy
•Journalism
•Human rights
•Global public health
•Community health systems
•Project management
•Graduate school

All these ideas have been percolating in my mind lately. Each one is like an individual grain of coffee, steeping in hot water, adding its own flavor. I wonder, “What kind of brew will it make?” Will it be strong or weak? Appealing or not?

Ugly Christmas Tee-shirt: Rwanda Version

2012-02-02T03:13:00.000-08:00

I used to scoff about the tee-shirts I saw people wearing in Rwanda. The messages on many were quite comical, downright absurd, or just plain wrong. The other day, I looked down at my own tee-shirt and had a rude awakening. My own tee-shirt depicted a heart made out of two candy canes with a sprig of holly in the middle. I had to laugh at myself. Christmas season, when such a shirt might pass as appropriate, was over long ago. I am not living in an environment where the weather allows the season to extend. The “winter” months are the time of the hot, dry season in Rwanda, so it feels more like the middle of summer with the sun and heat bearing down upon me, than anytime close to Christmas. Further, candy canes and holly don’t exist here making the shirt almost irrelevant to Christmas to begin with.

Oh, how Rwandan I have become in my sport of tee-shirts! And clothes in general for that matter, as my clothes are constantly dirty and full of holes, just like the villagers I live among. My coworkers would definitely not call me “smart” on a typical day of field work in the village! You might be thinking to yourself, “Why would she dress inappropriately at work?”, but actually it’s a strategy for work. By wearing nice clothes, I alienate myself from the people I am trying to help. This way, I look like one of them (well, as close as I can). There is no distinction. I integrate. And I am more successful in teaching and empowering the people as one of their own.

This definitely brings up a suspicion of mine. I’ve received quite a few comments from colleagues and villagers lately, as they find out about my fast-approaching departure date, along the lines of, “Ah, you will not leave. You will get your citizenship and stay in Rwanda. You are just like a Rwandan now.” It makes me wonder what they are really trying to say. Are they really talking about how I look, my clothes? In Rwanda, you wear what you’ve got- including ugly Christmas tee-shirts- and there is no excuse. Oh, how Rwandan I have turned out to be.

Serious and Smart

2012-02-02T02:39:00.000-08:00

There are two things that I am going to take from Rwanda. Well, there are many things, but these two things are expressions that may somehow find their way into conversations with people when I return home.

“You are serious.”

As I’ve mentioned before, “You are not serious!” is a huge insult in Rwanda. You are fat… No insult. You are not serious… HUGE insult (no pun intended).

In my opinion, “You are serious,” describes the determination and hard work that one must exhibit to do anything in Rwanda. For example, you must even “be serious” to order (and get) food in restaurants, places with the sole purpose is providing food, because it involves tracking down the waiter, ordering, ensuring your order is recorded correctly and remembered, monitoring the kitchen’s progress (and sometimes personally visiting the kitchen), and hassling every employee until your food actually arrives. Or your food just won’t come. (Now, can you understand the ruthless attitude one must adopt in order to manage a youth center?)

“You are serious” implies determination and hard work. It also involves a touch of confidence. In order to be serious, you must be willing to commit yourself, completely, to your pursuit, and pursue it with nothing to lose. This is not a passive position, but requires one to adopt a do-whatever-it-takes approach. In numerous pursuits in Rwanda, I have learned this lesson the hard way, resulting in failed attempts. “Being serious” had become the strategy to accomplishing my goals in Rwanda.

I like this new concept. I like to describe myself as “being serious,” and not in the same way we define it back home. Not only will “being serious” remain my strategy in Rwanda, but I see it becoming my strategy for pursuits in my future after Rwanda. “Being serious” describes one of the greatest changes I have probably undergone as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Rwanda, from a passive participant to a successful leader.

“You are smart.”

Again, not a statement that necessarily makes sense in an American context, but is widely popular and used here. An American would never walk up to another and say, “Hey, you are smart!” Maybe it is our competitive relationships towards one another. And the fact that when we use the word “smart,” we immediately think of intelligence.

In Rwanda, “smart” does not refer to intelligence or the brain. Most of the time, it refers to clothes, and then, what clothes represent. Strange, right? Let me explain. If I walk into my office and I am dressed in black slacks and a white button-up for a group of visitors, my coworkers immediately comment, “Ah, you are so smart!” It is a superficial assessment of a person- can you depend on them, trust them, or not?- based on their clothes.

I don’t necessarily support the superficiality of the concept, but I still like to use it. I can give no better compliment to my coworkers than, “You are smart!” (Maybe, “You are serious.”). I like that I can tell people they are smart on a daily basis and it is not strange. I like that we can celebrate smartness, something I value of utmost importance, even if the reasoning behind the use of the term is a bit amiss.

So, when I return home, be ready for a serious person telling you, “You are very smart today.” That’s not strange at all.

Developing World Jungle Gym

2012-02-02T01:43:00.000-08:00

I saw the funniest thing today on the way to work that depicts the different world I am living in.

I live out in the village, down a long dirt road from town. I like it better that way- I’m outside of the busy town where people constantly pursue and torment me. The village is nice, quiet, and people tend to give me some space. As a result, I have to walk to get to town and work every day. I don’t mind the walk. Actually, I like it.

Out in the village, there is little electricity coverage. My house has sporadic electricity, but it is the exception, not the norm. My neighbors outside of our compound live in mud huts with no electricity. Recently, a project began to bring electricity to the village. I don’t know the specifics, but what I do know is that there is a crew working to erect electrical towers in the village that look anachronistic next to the mud huts.

This morning, I walked past one of these towers on my way to work. The tower stands outside of a primary school compound and the students were on recess. A large group of children crowded around the tower, while five began climbing quickly in a race to the top. They were agile and comfortable as they effortlessly swung between the crossbeams. In their brown uniforms, they looked like monkeys in trees. They were grinning and laughing in healthy competition while the crescendo of children below cheered them on.

I couldn’t help but absorb some of their energy and I smiled and laughed as I passed. I thought it ironic that the electrical tower had become the primary students’ new playground, especially because the same would never be allowed in America where we are constantly concerned with safety, safety, safety! Okay, maybe once the tower is “hooked up” and electricity is traveling through it on route to the houses, climbing it won’t be the safest activity and it will stop. Children here are very good as assessing risks and keeping themselves safe and unharmed- in this context, they have to be! But in the meantime, while the tower stands as a jungle gym in a world of have-nots, we’ve got to make do with what we have. As always, I am amazed at the creativity of these children in finding untraditional ways of entertaining themselves, from soccer balls made of plastic bags, to old tires pushed by sticks, to, yes, even watching the bizarre muzungu. This is just another example to add to the list.

$40 in a Day

2012-01-31T00:07:00.000-08:00

I can’t remember the last time I spent $40 in a day. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I don’t make much of a salary- actually, as a volunteer, they don’t even call it a salary… it is a stipend, basically the bare minimum needed to survive.

I recently received some money for Christmas- not much, mind you, but an extra $100 in the hands of a Peace Corps Volunteer is a fortune. I hate to admit it, but I held the money up to the sky, admiring it, with a grin across my face. Myyyyy… preeeee…ciousssss… “Hehehe,” escaped my lips, and I shook the bill in a fit of joy, as I thought about all I could do with $100. I decided I could do the sensible thing…save it…boring. OR, I could be a bit irresponsible and spend it… defy sense…not think…have a little fun… add some excitement…treat myself. I’ve been a Peace Corps Volunteer for two years now, subjecting myself to extremely basic living conditions. Sometimes, I just need a moment to escape my life, pretend I live another way, get back in touch with my person. Honestly, what would you do?

I chose to spend the money. I had a lovely day in Kigali, pretending I didn’t live in a house with no running water and electricity only some of the time. I treated myself to an ice cream sundae… yes, ice cream, meaning it came from a freezer, even a step up from a refrigerator, which is a rarity in this part of the world. Then, I went on a shopping spree. Okay, not a $5000 or even $500 shopping spree like you see on TV or in the movies. I’m talking a meager $30 dollar shopping spree.

But boy, can $30 dollars go a long way in Africa. I bought myself a new bag. I desperately needed a new one, but couldn’t afford it on my Peace Corps stipend. My old bag was falling apart- it was almost embarrassing actually (and this is coming from someone who, at this point in my service, accepts the presence of holes in all her clothes). My old bag didn’t look so out of place in the village, but once I attended meetings or traveled to Kigali, I was ashamed. I bought my new bag, immediately transferred my possessions to it, and staged a quick, but meaningful (We have been through so much together!) good-bye ceremony for my old bag on the side of the road before leaving it behind for the next person to tote.

I also bought a new pair of shoes. My sandals were worn down, finally broke, and I threw them away. I was forced to wear my second line pair of shoes, specifically an old pair of flats that were falling apart in public and a pair of sandals with the sole peeling off around the house. New shoes were also a must.

Finally, I bought a new outfit. It all started while shopping for my new bag. I visited a new cooperative store in Kigali. Cooperatives make handicrafts to sell, but vendors refuse to go below a price agreed upon by members. That way, they band together and consolidate their strength to demand a fair price for their items. I love shopping at the cooperatives, more than shopping at the markets for second hand items, because I like to support local business and find one-of-a-kind, special handicrafts.

At this new cooperative, I found a pair of earrings I loved, so in accordance with my mandate of the day, I bought it. At the next cooperative, I found two shirts that would look great with the pants I was wearing, so I bought them, too. As I was crammed in the shop behind a sheet strung across the back functioning as a dressing room to try the shirts on, I spotted a jacket. Everything came together – earrings, shirt, jacket- perfectly, and voila… I had a new outfit … to wear for my special evening that was also just coming together, inspired by my new outfit.

I took myself on a date. I took a shower. I dressed up in my new outfit. I put on make-up. I went out for a night on the town. I bought myself a good, expensive meal, including a glass of wine. And I felt great, in my new outfit, with my stomach full of food.

I know it may not seem like much, but that day did wonders for me. I needed it. I was worried that I would feel lonely and homesick when my family left after the holidays. I think my personal day of treating myself prevented that. Of course, I miss them, but I will be home in only a couple months, so seeing them is not so far in the future. After my day, I felt like a person again, not limited by my meager living allowance or run down by my extremely basic living conditions. For once, I didn’t think about those things and just let myself enjoy a few small pleasures.

It was the best $40 I’ve ever spent on myself.

Project Updates

2012-01-30T04:34:00.001-08:00

Like all projects in Peace Corps, Rwanda, and Africa as a whole, the community newspaper is behind schedule. We are moving on to a new phase of the project. The stories have finally been translated from Kinyarwanda to English and are due to arrive in the village for me to proof-read this week. The funny thing about this whole situation is- throughout the project, as I’ve been facilitating and coordinating, I’ve had absolutely no idea what’s been written in the stories. I helped collect them, sat through the selection process, and returned to the schools to take pictures for the selected stories, but I’ve had no idea what they contain. It feels a bit like I’ve been carrying around a wrapped gift in my bag… picking it up, shaking it, looking at it, wondering… always wondering… what can it be? For the past couple months, I’ve been so ... so… so…patient. When those stories arrive and I have the ability to read them, it is going to feel like I am finally able to unwrap that gift and discover what it is. How exciting! Then… I am going to have to get down to the real work of editing and formatting the newspaper. More on that later.

As for the youth center. Always the youth center. I live the youth center. It is my baby of a project. Honestly, when I sit around in my neighbor’s living room with a group of mothers, discussing baby care, which I know very little about, I think of the youth center so I have something to contribute. Sometimes, the substitution works, and sometimes, it really doesn’t (You can’t complain about the inability of your baby to connect to outer space satellites, can you?). The point is, I care for that project like those mothers care for their babies, because here in Rwanda and everywhere else in the world, it is the closest thing I have to a baby.

For the past two years, the youth center has been sharing a building with the Village Savings and Loans (VSL) Project field office. In the beginning, when the project was just getting started and we had no funding, this arrangement worked fine. Both parties benefited from the shared space. Now, it is becoming a problem. The space is small, and has been the limiting factor in activities planned at the youth center. The VSL project has expanded beyond anything my colleagues or I could have imagined. As a result, there are more people using the office space. In addition, and probably most importantly, the community is aware of the VSL project and know that the building serves as their office. They view the space as an office, and offices are serious places, the complete opposite from how you want the community to view a space that is used for a youth center.

For these reasons, we’ve decided to move the youth center to a building donated by the local government for the purpose. The building used to serve as the post office in Kiramuruzi, but has been abandoned since the post decided to leave years ago. The building is still bright yellow and a bit run-down, requiring reparation. The local government has agreed to undertake this reparation, and I even suggested the possibility of dedicating an umuganda, the one day per month of mandatory volunteer community service in Rwanda, to fixing it up in order to get the community informed and involved in the youth…community… center. Like… ah hum… other projects, the reparation is running behind. We planned to move into the new space by the New Year. The reality is that we may be in there sometime next month.

It’s all fine by me. Two years of work and it finally feels like this project is happening and will probably survive after I am gone (I was a bit concerned that once I left, the project would collapse since I was the only one holding it up). It is a shame that I‘ve worked so hard for this, only to leave when it finally gets space and funding, two challenges I have expressed over and over again through my reports and presentations. C’est la vie. That’s just the way things work out. TIA- This is Africa. Development work. Non-governmental organizations. Sigh.

Supernatural Powers I do NOT have...

2012-01-30T04:20:00.000-08:00

There are two supernatural powers my coworkers, time and time again, assume I have. And I don’t. Who does?

My coworkers think I have the supernatural power to read minds.

They inform me, “We had a meeting yesterday. You were not there.”
I reply, “I didn’t know you had a meeting yesterday.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, you never told me.”
“Ah.”

Unfortunately, I have this conversation and siblings of it, frequently. One would think my coworkers would get the hint that they should inform me of meetings before and not the day after. But they haven’t. The only conclusion I can come to is that they believe I somehow possess the ability to read minds, as well as teach English, show them computer tricks, and give presentations.

My coworkers think I am Superwoman.

“Muhorakeye, you can do this… and this…and this… and this… all before tomorrow.”
“Well no, I can’t produce a major grant…build a school…travel to the other side of the country... and make it back in time for the visitors…all before tomorrow.”
“Oh and you can also be involved in this…and this… and this…”
“How am I going to be involved in all those things? They happen at the same time."

I guess I should be flattered that they think I can do all these things and honored that they have such confidence in me and my abilities. But sometimes, I feel guilty when I remind them that I am not Superwoman. Guilty that I am not Superwoman… Hey, that’s a lot of guilt in the basic human incapability.

Good Sign/Bad Sign... Hey, at least something is happening!

2012-01-30T04:18:00.000-08:00

You know the toad with the snake emerging from it that I saw in my garden? Well, when my headlamp illuminated the mythical creature and after my mind registered and overcame the initial shock, I thought, “That can’t be a good sign!” As it turns out, the shamanistic sighting was not a bad omen at all; in fact, it brought some amazing news.

The day after the evening of the event, I was sitting in my house as usual when I received a phone call from my colleague at Plan’s country office in Kigali. As usual, my colleague assumed I already knew the good news- that we had received a huge grant with funding allocated specifically for the youth center. He forgot that I work alone in the village, with little access to internet or email, and fairly independent of the goings-on around the office. He invited me to a workshop with the donors to present the grant and make action plans for the use of the money…The workshop began later that day. Of course, I dropped everything I was doing or planning to do, packed an overnight bag (who knows how many days I would be staying- I didn’t ask), and pushed my way on the next bus to Kigali, arriving in the city, changing from my village shirt to a clean button-up on the side of the street, before rushing to the hotel of the workshop on time to meet the donors.

This was the news I had been waiting for, the grant I have been working on, for the past two years! At times, I questioned whether it would ever happen, whether the youth center would survive. On the day it happened, it was like a dream come true. At least I felt like I was in a dream and had to restrain the grin that wanted to stretch across my face and the tune that wanted to escape my lips and the jig I wanted to dance, because alas, a workshop with the donors is serious business.

Over the course of the day, I found these things harder to restrain until I was nearly bursting with a smile, tune, and jig. I had to escape several times from the meeting, just to give myself a break (and do all these things by myself in the mirror of the bathroom). Representatives from PAJER and I sat in the sun and discussed what needed to be done in the near future and implementation plan. Learning from my previous experience, I guided PAJER through the process, now with a more accurate idea of our goals and capabilities. I was overjoyed and giddy as I presented the consensus of our discussion to the donors.

Let’s talk a little bit about the grant- It’s from Plan Norway, which has a program called Operation Days Work. Basically, youth involved in the program work for one day, but instead of paying them, their employers give the equivalent of their wage to the Operation Days Work fund. In this way, the fund raises quite a bit of dough, in a pretty quick and painless way. A team of youth in charge of Operation Days Work selects a cause, program, or project to support. This year, they chose a spectrum of three Plan Rwanda projects, one of which was the youth center.

The aim of my part of the project supported by the funding is to strengthen young people’s abilities to participate in media groups, discussion and debate forums, and information and communication technology, as well as provide training in life skills, reproductive health, and specific vocational skills. Our goal is to reach 900 youth in the three years from 2012-2014.

During my meeting with PAJER in the sun on the lawn outside the workshop, we came up with a plan for our plan. Our exigent action was to have a planning workshop in which we would develop the real plan, analyze the activities we were expected to complete, and ensure that they were aligned with our capabilities, target youth, and budget. Then, we would hire a manager (thank goodness) and begin organizing and faciliating trainings. I suggested that for this plan, based on the aim of the project and funding, we should break down our target youth into activities and those activities into the budget for proper assessment. I reminded our colleagues that our long-term plan should involve sustainability and community management, and that we should start working towards those things from the very beginning.

Here’s a bit of the story of how this grant came about. About a year and a half ago, my colleagues informed me that a team from Plan Norway would be visiting later that day. They wanted to know if I would be available. A little late notice, I thought, but I agreed. At that point, I was used to this and still enthusiastic about every opportunity that presented itself. The team arrived, mostly interested in the Village Savings and Loans project, to which I give more capacity building than actual on-the-ground support. As usually happens with donors when they visit the field, they were surprised to see me. I don’t think they were told I would be there. What was this other muzungu doing?

We began talking. I spoke a bit about the youth center project I was managing. They were interested and I gave an informal, on-the-spot presentation, hinting at the fact that one of our greatest challenges was lack of funding. Hey, what could it hurt right? Later, I received an email from two members of the team, asking for more information. Although we were still in the planning phase of the project, and many things still had to be decided and approved, I put together a brief information packet and shared it. At the time, it seemed nothing would become of it.

A little while later, the group came to visit again, only this time their aim was different. They wanted to learn more about the youth center project, and had even brought a team of youth from Norway to visit. I was informed in advance and scheduled one of the life skills and health education classes so the team could observe. We welcomed them into our classroom and I remember mentioning what a great job my students did impressing them with what they were learning. They observed and took notes, as well as photos and movie recordings. At the time, I entertained the visitors, but didn’t see where this all was going.

I found out that we were working on receiving a grant from Plan Norway through their Operation Days Work program. Suddenly, all these past events fell into place. I realized what was going on, the direction we were headed. I worked tirelessly with my team to make sure it ended successfully.

The third visit from the team was an acknowledgement and confirmation of all this hard work. We were granted the funding and the donors arrived to speak about the funding and plan for it in greater detail.

Finally, I have funding for the youth center! I have been operating the youth center as best I could with almost no funding. That’s okay- it’s what I expected when I became a Peace Corps Volunteer; to be teaching with no resources- but it’s hard when you want to be productive and results are still demanded. Remember the story of the 10 chairs and blackboard so I could teach one class? It took me many months to procure these simple items, simply because we did not have the money.

As I sit here thinking about what it means to finally have funding, what all that money will do, I am lost in my imagination. This means a bigger building, larger classroom, more students and supplies, Internet… the possibilities seem endless. But then I am reminded about something that IS ending. My service…I am completing my service in May, only three months away. The rude truth is that for the last two years I have been working on a grant, waiting for funding, that finally arrived, only too late for me to be around to enjoy it. Although I am disappointed, I anticipated this. I knew it would work out this way based on where I came into the project and the amount of time it takes for these things to happen.

So, I guess I could say that the toad and the snake was not a good or bad sign, but a little bit of both- a message that long-awaited funding is going to come my way,- good- but that I won’t be around to see it used- bad.

WHAT AM I SAYING? The youth center finally has funding! Now, all I can do is make sure the people around me are as prepared as they can be to use it. Bringing me to my next realization- the next three months before I leave are going to be filled with organizational capacity building and planning. I am going into this mode, full power forward. Look out, starting this New Years and ending my Peace Corps Service strong!

Emotional Spectrum

2012-01-29T00:43:00.001-08:00

I have felt a spectrum of emotions, good and bad, during my Peace Corps service. Here are the most common.

I’ve felt…good.

Optimistic. Changes are being made. People’s lives are improving. What I am doing is helping. Projects have a positive effect. Things just work out.

Ebullient. There is so much to do in so little time. Some of the things to do so are cool and interesting. I’m a passionate person. I throw my whole self- body, mind, heart, and soul- into everything I do with a smile and positive attitude. Sometimes, I just get on a roll and nothing can stop my forward movement.

Confident. I can, I can, I CAN. If I can succeed in my Peace Corps service, against great odds and obstacles, what CAN’T I do? I have been put in trying situations, ones where I either sink or swim. I have floated. It is a great confidence boost.

Learned. Not only have I come here to share my knowledge, but I have learned so much in the process. They do say that, during Peace Corps, the teacher often becomes taught. Not only have I learned from the people I live among, but I have had time to research, read, and think. I feel like my knowledge and understanding has grown in huge leaps and bounds over the past two years.

Fulfilled. I look around at what I am doing and I feel satisfied. It is incredibly rewarding to know that the work you are doing is helping someone improve his or her life.

Fortunate. I live among the unfortunate have-nots of the world. I think about what I have, the access and opportunities, and I can’t help but feel blessed. I don’t feel proud, but I appreciate that I have these things, and the realization justifies my efforts to share my fortune.

I’ve felt…bad.

Guilty. Because of the contrast between the fast-paced American way and the system in Rwanda, I feel guilty because it seems like I am not doing anything or enough. People don’t always understand me or my position, and I feel guilty. When someone comes to me and I can’t help them, I feel guilty. When I think of my indulgent ways, I feel guilty. There are a lot of reasons to feel guilty here.

Incompetent. I’ve been exposed to a whole new world and learned that I actually don’t know anything at all. Not a great realization when my duty is to build capacity and advise.

Despair. The world is so complicated. The problems so large. The system so embedded. Is there any hope we can change it, improve it? Sometimes, I don’t feel like it can be done.

Lost. I live in a small village in the middle of Rwanda, Africa. I am halfway around the world from my family and friends, and everything familiar. I have limited connection to the outside world. Physically, I am lost. I have lots of time, few social distractions, to think. I ponder, dream. Mentally, I am lost. Emotionally, I am also lost, unsure what to feel about this surreal experience I have had.

All these emotions have been a part of my experience in Rwanda. They are woven together, difficult to distinguish from the others. I don’t think I would want it any other way. They are all necessary; my service would not be complete without each and every one.

Overall, I would say my experience in Rwanda has been surreal. There is no other word I can think to describe it. To return to the age-old Peace Corps mantra, “It is not good, it is not bad- it is just different.”

GONE...Zanzibar

2012-01-27T10:13:00.000-08:00

I’m back- from vacation in Zanzibar with my dad and sister. And boy, have we GONE… Zanzibar. Let me tell you.

After backpacking through Africa from Rwanda to South Africa, I said Zanzibar was somewhere I wanted to return to in order to explore more for longer. And I got my wish. Santa Claus was sure good to me this year, bringing my dad and sister to Africa, as well as granting my wish to return to Zanzibar (Although I must admit, this year, he seemed to have shed the weight and beard and taken on an uncanny resemblance to my blond hair, blue eyed mother). Family together again, we spent a lovely vacation in Zanzibar. We’ve GONE…Zanzibar. Here’s what we did.

GONE… Stone Town

My sister and I arrived in Zanzibar first on the day before New Years. My dad was not due to arrive until the day after New Years. So, we celebrated New Years the two of us in Stone Town, Zanzibar’s main town. Stone Town is a unique place- an eclectic combination of cultures… African, Asian, Arab, and European, narrow streets that twist erratically, ancient architecture that whispers history, an ocean gleaming like turquoise jewels, and dhow boats reminiscent of the days of pirates silhouetted against the sky.

The streets follow no plan and serve as the perfect maze for the tourist with no destination, just the aim of exploration, since tourists are quite literally lost, swallowed up by their surroundings. We spent the day walking through the streets, experiencing Stone Town. Shops selling tourist souvenirs and handicrafts, as well as food and drink. Stalls displaying small piles of mangos and other fruits. Buildings squeezed together, leaning together, each a unique fortress with white walls smudged by time. Carved and embellished doors. Hidden scenes matching our imaginations of ancient Arabia. Children playing with bottle caps, running and shrieking, and following us. Mothers standing or sitting in groups and gossiping. Men removing their shoes and washing their feet in doorways of mosques. The call to prayer at midday and in the evening. The smell of spice wafting through the streets and mixing with the putrid scent of fish and waste. Bikes fitted with baskets carrying baby coconuts weaving through the pedestrians on the narrow streets.

We called to the bike rider and he stopped, dismounted, and came towards us. We ordered two coconuts and watched as he removed the top with a swift swipe of his machete, handing each of us a shell filled with clear liquid. We stood in the street and sipped straight from the bowl. When we finished, he handed us a spoon fashioned from the top of the coconut he had removed. Using the spoon, we scooped the fresh coconut from the edge and ate the tender meat. When we tried to pay, the old man shrugged our money away, wishing us a “Happy New Year!” before riding away and disappearing around the bend in the street.

New Year’s Eve in Stone Town was very special. My sister and I chose not to attend the wild party on the island’s north coast. Instead, we wanted to spend it together and do something we would remember. While wandering through the streets during the day, we came upon a restaurant that advertised a traditional Zanzibari band. It sounded like a wonderful way to spent New Year’s Eve. When we arrived, we were directed to remove our shoes, and barefooted, we were seated on cushions at a table in a large hall. Some chairs were set in the middle of the room. We ordered a feast of fresh fish and spicy sides, accompanied by red wine. The band consisted of three members, their instruments resembling a bongo drum, harp, and sitar. The result was an Arabian harmony with a strong African beat. The drummer ended the performance with a banging solo that set a new high standard of drumming in my book.

We didn’t bring the New Year in sitting on cushions listening to music. When the band ended, we made our way out of the enchanting restaurant and onto the lively streets. Midnight was still a couple hours away, so we returned to our hotel room to drink and chat before entering the celebration. My sister and I have not seen each other in over two years and we had a lot to catch up on and share. Before midnight struck, we again made our way down to the beach, sat in the sand outside the bar, looked up at the stars and moon, and listened to the waves crashing at our feet. When midnight struck, we wished each other a “Happy New Year!” before making it back into the dance party.

We quickly discovered that sunset in Stone Town was an event. Each evening before sunset, we walked down to the beach, sat at one of the beachside restaurants, and enjoyed a drink while the sun lowered. Livingstone’s was the place to be. Now a restaurant that used to be the house where the famous explorer Livingstone resided while in Stone Town. The beach was crowded with tourists and locals alike. The tourists sat watching while the locals made the event by gathering in large circles and performing flips and dance moves in the sand. The sunsets in Stone Town, like everything else, were magical. The sun blazed red, the ocean churned blue, and the dhows resembling pirate ships transported me back to a time of mystery and intrigue.

By the time my dad arrived, my sister and I were ready to get out of Stone Town. It is a cool place, but crowded with tourists and souvenir shops, giving it the feeling of an African Disneyland. My dad, sister, and I had plans to make it to Jambiani. In order to get there, we had to navigate the bus park with our backpacks. After much negotiation and one false alarm in which we threw our backpacks onto the roof of a truck only to climb up to remove them when we found a bus that was leaving earlier, we found ourselves on a dalla-dalla, a local Tanzanian bus similar to a matatu in Rwanda, crammed among passengers and bags and stopping every few minutes to pick up passengers, let them off, throw loads off the roof, or load sacs onto the roof. Once, we stopped for five minutes while the men on the roof threw jackfruit after jackfruit down and left them in a large pile on the side of the road.

GONE… Jambiani

Jambiani is a small town on the south east coast of Zanzibar island. It is off the beaten tourist track, making it a perfect place to disengage and relax. We stayed at a small resort right on the beach. The beach is white sand, stretching in small coves in both directions. I have never seen water so royally turquoise. It is beautiful. The town is small, but unique, with huts made from what appears to be coral and cement. As a result, they have a pink tinge. The streets that separate the houses are made of sand, so the town has the appearance of emerging from the sand.

GONE… Diving

My dad is a very active person and is always the catalyst to do organized activities on vacation. That’s fine by me! There is a little dive shop at the resort. We decided to go diving. I completed my diving certification when I was 14 on Utile Bay Island when I was backpacking through Honduras with my mom. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to use it since. I became obsessed with the underwater world, not because my name is typically associated with a mermaid princess, but because the sea wildlife I saw were so different and colorful, and I was able to escape to a silent world where I was no longer expected to be an active member (in fact, that is frowned upon), but simply an observer. My dad also has his diving certification, but for my sister, it was her first time diving.

I must say, diving in Zanzibar was an experience. The dive shop was small, and as a result, everyone who was diving that day, regardless of skill level, went out on the same boat. Can you see where this is heading? Some men who were getting their advanced certification were going out the same day so our captain took us outside of the protected reef and to the open water. I don’t think they anticipated the waves. In order to make it out of the reef, we had to break through the parade of waves that pushed us back. It was a bumpy ride. It was no better on the other side, with four foot rollers thrashing the small dive boat. I don’t normally get seasick, but on this ride, I could feel my stomach rising. Not a great way to start a dive.

Like I said, it was my first dive in a very long time. The bumpy ride and my seasickness didn’t help. We put on our equipment and entered the water by tipping backwards off the boat. Our guide paired with my sister since it was her first time and my dad and I were partners. Together, the guide and my sister began to descend using the anchor rope to pull them down. The churning water tossed the boat, jerked the line, and pulled my sister back and forth. She began to go down, but was uncomfortable. She came up. I could see the panic in her eyes. Dad and I were waiting on the surface, waves and boat crashing over our heads. The whole situation was a bit unnerving. Finally, she went down and continued. Dad and I followed after. Once we got below the wild surface, we entered the calm and silent world I longed for.

The reef in Zanzibar was surprising well-preserved. I guess you expect conservation to be of little concern in Africa, but actually they have done a great job of keeping this reef healthy. The coral was a spectrum of bright colors. Fish and sea animals abounded. Unlike Honduras, the fish were small, tropical species, without the daunting Barracuda lingering nearby. Our guide took us to an underwater desert where we disturbed rays hiding in the sand and they rushed away.

After our dive, we all felt more confident than we had in the beginning. We rose to the surface and climbed into the boat, overflowing with delight. On our second dive, we moved inside the reef. We saw all sorts of fish- all sorts of fish I don’t know the name of, but that made me smile. After a rocky start, I can say we have gone diving. I was especially proud of my sister, who showed her toughness because she could have given up at any moment, but didn’t.

GONE…Dhow Sailing

My dad took an interest in the traditional dhows of Zanzibar- not surprising since he is a sailor in America. Dhows are narrow sailboats with extensions on both sides that help them remain upright. Obviously, they are made of traditional materials, like carved out tree trunks and bamboo. The finished product looks something like a water insect, skipping across the ocean from a distance. He wanted to ride in one.

We negotiated with a dhow caption to take us on a short sailing cruise and snorkeling. Our captain was great, even putting on a smile while posing for the oh-so-cliché pictures on the beach. He gave us everything we asked- a nice sailing trip to somewhere we could snorkel and then drop us off half way to Paje. His boat was anchored in the shallow cove and we had to walk out to it. Unfortunately, Jambiani is a site of seaweed harvesting and with seaweed comes urchins. The ground in the cove was littered with them. As we walked out to the boat, we had to search and step around them. It felt like a real-life game of Minesweeper- one step out of place and Ba-boom (in other words- OUCH!). Fortunately, we all avoided all the urchins and made it to the boat sans spikes.

We sailed out to sea on the dhow. We sat in a row on benches or the side of the boat while the captain steered and his lieutenants raised the sail. Every tack, they would unravel the lines and throw them across us to the other side, warning us to be careful. How the boat was put together and worked was a mystery to me, but one of the great skills and arts of traditional people. Again, I can’t express how turquoise the ocean was, except to say that it made me want to drink the entire thing.

GONE… Snorkeling

The captain sailed to a snorkeling site and we went snorkeling. The site was shallower than our dive site, but still teeming with life. There was a coral rock below the surface. I swam away from the boat and positioned myself over the rock and just observed life as the current moved me across it, like a 3-D movie before my eyes. Again, the reef was well-conserved, the coral brightly colored, and the animals abundant. What a paradise.

GONE…Walk along the Beach

One day, we went for a long walk along the beach. Actually, I ended up running the length of the beach, which felt great. I miss running, as I don’t have the opportunity in my small village because of all the children and the lack of a good running path. Our destination was Paje, the next town north of Jambiani. We could see the town in the distance, but it was still a long walk.

The sun in Zanzibar is strong because it is so close to the equator and you are at ocean level (and also probably spending a lot of time in a bathing suit at the beach). Halfway on our walk to Paje, we realized that we were burning. We took a break and reapplied sun block. When we reached Paje, we sat down at a restaurant for a drink and snack, and realized our skin was radiating. By the time we returned to Jambiani, we felt scorched! The African sun sure can sneak up on you, and despite our preventative measures, we still got fried. We all knew that tomorrow would be a day of avoiding the sun. It’s a funny thing- I used to love the sun, but after living in Africa for two years, I have become African and I avoid the sun like the plague, one touch and you’re dead. There are so many things that I once doubted that now hold to be inevitable truths.

GONE…Paje

Paje was the next town north of Jambiani. Our walk on the beach led to Paje. Paje is the site of kite boarding, and as we neared the town, we could see numerous kite-boarders riding the waves. Dad and I were interested in trying it, but unfortunately, we didn’t have the time as we were due to return to Rwanda in a couple days. We made a pact to learn to fly the kite-boarding kite when I return home, so the next time we are in such a place, we can kite-board.

GONE…Eating

We had some great eating experiences in Zanzibar. First, I was finally at home by the ocean where I was able to eat fish. The night market in Stone Town is an attraction, although not necessary the best seafood. One night, my sister and I browsed the stalls and picked out skewers that were grilled and served with salad and sauce. We ate sitting on the benches on the boardwalk, with the ocean spraying around us. We also found this great, cheap café in Stone Town that served amazing falafel and salads. On the beach, vendors sold bags of cashew nuts. The hotel served spicy meat samosas for breakfast on our last day. I had a real banana Popsicle from an ice-cream bike. The fresh baby coconuts I already wrote about.

The most memorable eating experience was in Jambiani. We found out on our first time that our resort did not offer the best food. Every night thereafter, we ate at neighboring establishments, mostly local restaurants. We heard about Kim’s by word-of-mouth. It was a walk up from the beach, a quaint restaurant that could serve 10 people at most and required one to order hours in advance of their dinner reservation in order to provide without a long wait. We sat on tables in the sand, under a thatched hut or the bare sky. I ordered fish curry, the chef’s famous dish, and it arrived, too good to be true, but too much to eat. I ate the whole thing. We could have returned each night to Kim’s, but decided to try something new after our second dinner.

We walked in the opposite direction, looking for another restaurant recommended to us. Instead, we stumbled upon a different, but still local restaurant. The owner welcomed us into his home not wearing a shirt and distributed menus. His wife and children lingered nearby. We spoke about the menu, even taking small tastes from the waiting dishes of customers due to arrive for lunch, before placing our order. I ordered fish, always fish, in coconut sauce.

We arrived at our scheduled time for dinner in his home. It was a traditional Zanzibari house made of concrete and stone with small openings in the walls and dirt floors. Tables were set in a small room and we squeezed around as he served our meal. It was also fabulous. We complimented his wife, who lay on the floor by the kitchen, as we left. When we walked out his door, we were encircled by a group of village kids. We gave them a small moment of joy by suspending and swinging them between two people.

GONE… Massage

I am going to admit the truth about being a Peace Corps Volunteer- one thing about being a PCV is that you miss human contact. You live alone in a small village. As the only white person around or that people have seen, villages are scared to touch you. Only innocent children boldly break the magical boundary that seems to encircle you everywhere you go. My coworkers and friends hug me in greeting, but it is a formal hug, a pat on the shoulder and quick embrace, very different from the enveloping hug we Americans are famous for. Over time, you become used to the lack of human contact and pull away, but still crave it.

One of the things I miss most about home is my mother’s backrubs. I tend to hold the stress of my life somewhere between my neck and shoulders. And you have probably realized from blogs or chats that my Peace Corps service has been the most stressful period of my life (Not always bad stress, but a new, different stress). Only here, there is no one like my mother to give me backrubs (Pause for Aww! moment). All that stress remains pent up in my neck and shoulders. Not to mention I sleep on a mattress that over the past two years has crushed together until I can feel the supporting boards beneath. Exercise and stretching helps, but nothing compares to a massage.

I treated myself to a fabulous, amazing, wonderful, great, awesome, …shall I continue?... massage at our resort. When my sister and I traveled in Bali, we quickly discovered that a full-hour professional Balinese massage cost only 5 bucks. We had the time and money, so we had a massage almost every day (Spoiled much? I know). Okay, the massage I got in Zanzibar did not compare to those massages, but it was still good, and more than good, necessary. It was not as relaxing, but the masseuse had strong hands and she worked out two years of muscle tension. I’d say that’s pretty good. I know my neck and shoulders thought so.

GONE… Vacation

I got to spend time with my family, which I have not done in two years. My mom visited in May and that was wonderful, but before then and since then, I have missed and not seen my dad or sister. I got to spend Christmas and New Year with them and that is a gift worth more than anything in the world.

The best part of vacation is the vacating itself. I needed it. I’ve been serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Rwanda for two years. Everyone says Africa is a hard place to work in humanitarian and development aid and it is true. True beyond anything anyone, even I, could comprehend. Most aid workers travel every three months or so, to vacate themselves. Peace Corps Volunteers, with our limited salary and commitment to a village, don’t have that escape. Sometimes, traveling is the best cure for our stresses, frustrations, depressions, and ailments. Now, I am sitting alone in my village writing this (my dad has gone home to America), and I feel rejuvenated and enthusiastic about the next few months of Peace Corps service. I honestly feel Zanzibar was a lesson learned in vacationing. I have never appreciated a vacation as much as I did then. When I continue in this career path of mine, I know that a regular vacation from the place I am trying to serve is the key to positive continuation and forward movement.

All I want for Christmas is... YOU! And this year, Santa is bringing it!

2011-12-18T10:35:00.000-08:00

It is the week before Christmas…and I can’t say that all through the house, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. In fact, I’ve had some mystery animal living in my ceiling for the past year and it makes lots of noise. As long as it stays up there and doesn’t bother me down here, I don’t mind so much.

Christmas in Rwanda doesn’t feel like Christmas. In fact, most holidays here don’t feel like holidays. First, Rwandans don’t decorate for Christmas, so if you look around, there are no clear markers of Christmas fast approaching. There is no lead up to Christmas like what we get back home with decorations and carols and Christmas shopping. Further, the weather in Rwanda is pretty constant all year. Yes, we have periods of dry and wet, but there is no large, evident change like what we get back home between summers and winters. There is definitely no snow. If I didn’t have a calendar I would never know it is almost December 25th, and it is easy to get lost in time and forget that it progresses at all out in the village.

Since no one in my village decorates for Christmas, I thought I would take decorating into my own hands. I am such a Christmas fanatic, I can’t live without some decoration or semblance of Christmas. Obviously, Christmas decorations are not on the shelf in the stores, so I looked around my house for resources. I found a package of sparkly pipe cleaners that were sent in some package. I imagined a light bulb appear above my head as I got an idea and inspiration. I would make a Christmas scene on one of the many blank walls of my house out of pipe cleaners. I played Christmas tunes on my Ipod and immediately set to work. I drew a fireplace on my wall out of charcoal (Whoever said charcoal was a bad thing never lived in Rwanda, where A) charcoal is incredibly useful for drawing on walls, and B) receiving charcoal would actually be a better than some random toy- it’s really valuable here). I shaped a fire out of gold and purple pipe cleaners. On the mantle, I hung holly and ribbons, also out of pipe cleaners. Above it, a stocking (real). To the side, I drew a window of charcoal. Through the window, I shaped a winter scene of pipe cleaners with a Christmas tree and snow man. As the sun shown bright and hot on the banana trees outside in my yard in Rwanda, I was transported to a cold winter scene with snow, a crackling fire, and Nat King Cole singing, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”

Even if my countdown to Christmas in Rwanda has been weak or failed, my countdown to what is happening around Christmas this year is not. What I am talking about is my family coming to visit. My sister is arriving on Christmas Eve day. I can’t wait. I have not seen my sister since Christmas two years ago. We are not only sisters, but best friends. This time apart has been incredibly difficult. And not only difficult, but frustrating. We are both young and our lives are busy. Whereas I get to talk to my parents almost every week, my sister and I rarely have the opportunity to talk, not because we don’t miss each other and have lots to talk about, but because it is hard to find the time out of our schedules, especially with the time change that puts me in the middle of my work day when she is off and her in the middle of her workday when it is a good time for me to talk. Alas, this holiday season will not be spent alone, but catching up on so much with my sister and best friend.

I’ve thought about what my reaction is going to be when I meet my sister at the airport. I am almost sure I am going to start crying the moment I see her. I am so nervous and excited! I feel like a little girl again, waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Only this time, of course, he put my gift on an airplane to Rwanda. He could not bring me a better gift.

My dad is also coming, but after New Years. I have what I’ve been referring to as a family flip-flop on my hands. First my sister and I will spend a week in Rwanda, then we will travel to Zanzibar and meet my dad for a week, last my dad and I will return. I am happy to revisit Zanzibar, a destination I traveled to on my last adventure in Africa and where I wanted to spend more time, but didn’t have any. Now, I am fulfilling that wish. I’ll be sure to write more about our adventures and explorations there.

I am so fortunate to have my family visiting this late in my service. I am happy in Rwanda, but as my service has progressed and is nearing its end, I’ve realized how homesick I am. It will be nice to have a dose of family time to get me through the next three months. I’m sure it, and my upcoming vacation, will give me the stimulation necessary to complete my service. We will miss my mom this year- she already visited- but we’ve already made plans for an over-the-top Christmas upon my return next year.

As for my sister and my dad, I’m sure they will get a lot out of the experience, too. It’s both their first time in Rwanda, in Africa in general. It’s such a different and surreal experience. I know that if I weren’t here, they would probably never have the motivation or opportunity. I am happy to be able to give that to them.

As far as everyone else out there, I hope that you, like me, get to spend some quality time with your loved ones, friends and family, during this holiday season. You don’t know what you are missing until you live alone in an isolated village halfway around the world. Happy holidays!

Animal Sightings

2011-12-15T05:00:00.000-08:00

I’ve had two strange animal stories recently that I am going to share.

First, I was walking to my pit latrine when I startled a lizard outside the door. He ran into the latrine, erratically around the edges, and finally straight into the hole. It was a few moments before I heard an unfortunate plop, indicating the lizard had reached the unpleasant contents on the bottom. It was one of those moments I couldn’t help but talk to myself. I said, “Oh, poor guy. What a terrible way to die!” Needless to say, I left and returned later to use the latrine. I couldn’t bring myself to pee on him, and I hoped he found a way to escape in the meantime before sinking into the quick mess.

Later that week, I ventured out to my garden at dusk to pick some lettuce and basil for a salad for dinner. I heard a rustling among the plants and quickly pointed my headlamp in the direction of the sound. I saw a large toad hopping towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief. I am still a bit fearful of the animals and insects in Africa, their enlarged sizes and unknown characteristics, even though I have lived here for two years. I’ve either seen most things or realized that others are rare and should not be concerned about. I went back to harvesting. Then, I realized that this toad was not alone. He hopped out of the plants and onto the bare path. I saw that the toad was attached to something else, a black snake that had obviously meant to make this toad its dinner, but had ended up biting through the toad’s thin membrane and getting its head stuck inside. The snake’s head had completely disappeared in the toad’s body and interior, but they were both still alive. It was a most bizarre sight and as I stood a few feet away on the path, highlighting the figure with my headlamp and investigating it as close as I dared, it started to move towards me. I was immediately pulled from the awe and shock that kept me crouched on the path and staring. I ran towards my house with the creature in uneven pursuit. I went inside and shut the door and the creature out. I heard the strange noise of its jump and slither combination movement past my door. I couldn’t help but think its sighting was a bad omen. I was shaken by the creepiness of the toad and snake creature. It was like something out of a fairy tale or horror film. Now, I do believe that monsters exist in Africa. They are not always elephants and water buffalo, but creatures you would never expect to exist, like say a toad with a snake emerging from it. It is still giving me shivers thinking about it now. Fortunately, it didn’t turn out to be an omen (yet), but a sign of luck as I have received some wonderful news lately (more to come).

An Argument for Cultural Exchange for World Peace

2011-12-15T04:51:00.000-08:00

During my service, I’ve realized that it is so much easier to focus on the difference. It is much more difficult to embrace the love. Perhaps this is one of the main problems with the world today. I think that is why Peace Corps came up with the belief that cultural exchange leads to peace. I constantly need to remind myself to embrace the love in order to maintain a positive image of myself in the community and achieve the goals of Peace Corps and service.

Let me explain.

The other day, I came home from work to find my neighbor’s daughter and umucozies (domestics), pulling open the curtains and peering through the windows of my house. The moment they saw me walk through the gate, they shrieked and ran away to hide. I know you are probably thinking, “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I’m sure there are far worse things in this world.” And you are right, but, and here’s the big but, my house is my place of peace and escape. Being a muzungu living in a small village in Rwanda, Africa, I don’t get much of either of those things. Creating this space is necessary to my survival. I view my house as more than just a concrete block structure; it is my sanctuary.

I thought my neighbors understood that. You see, we’ve been living opposite each other for over a year now. When I first moved in, they were overbearing as expected. Over time, they are no longer interested in me. They have accepted my strange ways and need for personal space, which is not shared by them. They are a family of seven, and often more, living in a house only slightly bigger than my own. In other words, they are accustomed to living in close quarters. Or at least I thought they accepted my personal space.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. When I walked through the gate and caught them peeking through my windows before running away, I felt immediately violated. What did they see and what were they going to report to the rest of their family, probably the entire community? I know they talk about me, discuss my strange ways, and puzzle over my state of living. You see, they can’t shake their dogma that all white people are rich, but yet, I present a case against it, without all the social markers of wealth- quality house, nice clothes, umucozis to cook and clean for me. In that respect, they are always investigating, waiting to discover some clue or for me to let something slide. Unfortunately, I haven’t given them anything to break either argument- I am a muzungu, but I live just like them.

Despite my understanding and justification of their actions, I still felt violated and angry. I unlocked and entered my house. I sat down in my chair and stared at the blank wall, weighing my options. How do I deal with this situation? Rwandans are non-confrontational. Any dispute that arises is ignored or dealt with behind people’s backs or in deceptive ways. This is one of those areas where Rwandan and American cultures clash. Americans are straightforward, explicit, and we like to confront our problems. We are not very good at keeping our mouths shut or brooding over issues. I can call myself very American in that way.

There have been other instances of invasions of personal space during the past year and I have kept my mouth dutifully shut. My neighbors seem very comfortable with this situation because it is normal for them. For me, it is hard to get past the issues and I have to find unorthodox ways to deal with them myself, instead of with the problem, which seems counterintuitive. For example, I lent my volleyball to my neighbor’s daughter and she poked it with a stick and popped a hole in it. Then, she handed it back to me without explanation or apology. Second, someone broke the door off my latrine and never fixed it (and they should not be in there to begin with because it is my latrine- they have their own). And there is a steadily growing list of little things like these. Not the end-of-the-world deals, but frustrating enough.

I know they seem petty, and I’ll admit they are, but think of how situations like these would be dealt with in America. My neighbors would approach me, apologize, explain what happened, and offer to help. In Rwanda, no one says anything until I discover the problem myself, am surprised, and then no one steps forward to apologize or help. It can be maddening.

So, after this situation, I sat in my house pondering what to do. Either I could ignore what just happened, pretend nothing is wrong, and eventually get over it (but, look how well that worked out for me?). Or I could confront them, in which case they would probably be shocked, more angry than understanding, and their anger would be motivation to do it again, retaliate. Further, I’ve found kids in this country really like to antagonize me and delight in the rise they get out of me. If they get a response, they are more likely to continue doing it, so my best way of dealing with these situations is not to do anything, to act uninterested or bored.

I decided to embrace the love… I could be angry and resentful, but instead I took the difficult path. Instead of ignoring the situation (not good for me) or confronting my neighbors (not good for them), I decided on a path somewhere in the middle. I walked outside. The girls were cowering in the kitchen area. They spoke in hushed voices as I approached, unsure of what I was coming to do. I think they expected some sort of reprimand, but instead, I invited them into my house. They followed me quietly and timidly. They were still unsure, waiting for a trap to appear. There was none. Instead, they entered my house and sat for a moment, realizing there was nothing unusual or really that exciting about it.

I am not sure, but I hope my strategy worked. I am content with how I managed the situation. I do not feel like my anger is pent up with no escape anymore, but I also wasn’t culturally-insensitive by acting like the frank American I am. And cultural exchange produced peace, conquered all, albeit on a small scale, but isn’t that the global approach of Peace Corps?

Photos from Camp GLOW Eastern Province 2011!

2011-12-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

Here is a post of images from our recent Camp GLOW Eastern Province 2011! Enjoy!

And Camp GLOW begins... before the girls arrive on the first day.

Campers were divided into cabins, named after a female hero or role model, and participated in cabin bonding activities. Here is Cabin Mother Teresa.

Decorating our notebooks and journals on the first day while introducing ourselves and getting to know each other.

On the first day of camp, we had each girl write their goal for the week on a "brick" and together we built a strong house.

Team-building exercises on the lawn on the first day... The human chair.

And the human knot...

Time to study. Camp GLOW is not only about fun and games. We also need to learn.

Our approach to teaching at camp was interactive, employing a variety of strategies to engage the girls, such as skits.Here a group presents good communication skills during the class on communication.

A fellow volunteer explaining what HIV and AIDS stand for to a class.

In HIV/AIDS biology class... a skit demonstrating how the HIV virus attacks the immune system causing AIDS.

The sex web, an exercise in our prevention class demonstrating how sexually-transmitted diseases spread in a community.

A fellow volunteer gives some small group attention during a class on peer pressure and decision-making.

During our self-esteem class, girls cut out flowers and wrote something they liked about themselves on each petal. Then, they shared with the class. Here is Joy sharing what she wrote. I love how proud she is!

And the whole garden of flowers, planting self-esteem in every girl.

The girls just getting into tie-dye, or in other words... American igitenge. They were a little hesitant at first, but I think the colors finally won them over.

Beautiful tie-dye, all in a row. Look at all the bright colors!

The beautiful results of our tie-dye. I was amazed!

On carnival night, I made an impulsive decision to dress up as a clown. I borrowed a floral jumper from a fellow volunteer, crafted a nose out of a balloon and a sponge, a wig out of tape and streamers, and allowed myself to be painted. We called me Flora the Clown, and I was the games keeper. The campers were surprised, but didn't know what I was meant to be. Instead, they called me a princess.

We all had a blast during our carnival night and this cabin group shows off their smiles.

The clothes relay at our carnival night. Girls had to run down, pick a piece of clothing, put it on, run back, and pass it on to the next girl... just for laughs!

At our carnival night, we painted the faces of the girls. They loved it and became very creative in their requests. I thought it looked beautiful- how the bright colors stood out against the shade of their skin.

My favorite "I can't" funeral bonfire. Obviously, this is before the chanting and dancing began, because I could not take pictures then because I was a part of the movement.

Tassy, during her speech at our career panel, engaging with the girls, asking, "Who wants to have a career, feel valuable, be secure?" The girls loved her and so do I.

The whole camp- campers, Rwandan facilitators, and Peace Corps Volunteers- in their Camp GLOW tie-dye tee-shirts on the last day.

My girls and I. I selected three girls from my life skills and health education course at the youth center to attend camp- Sylvie, Jacky, and Joy.

Our closing ceremony, a moment of happiness and accomplishment, but also sadness as we said goodbye.

Camp GLOW Eastern Province 2011

2011-12-08T02:54:00.000-08:00

I meeeeeeeaaaant to write a blog called “Gearing up for GLOW. “In fact, I started writing it- there it is, right in my documents folder, a word document called “Gearing up for GLOW.” I wanted to write all about the preparations we were doing for GLOW. Unfortunately, the preparations ended up overshadowing the writing about them. Alas, gearing up quickly just became GLOW, and here I am writing reflectively about it.
You may remember that last year, I was involved in the organization of two national leadership camps for youth- Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) and Camp BE (Boys Excelling). These camps are global Peace Corps initiatives, undertaken by Peace Corps Volunteers serving in countries around the world. My participation was fun and empowering, perhaps one of the most fulfilling activities I have been involved in since I began working as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Rwanda.
There were some changes to how we organized the camps this year, in order to make them, well, more Peace Corps-y. In the Peace Corps, we value community grassroots development, and holding camps managed by Peace Corps Volunteers at the national level with little local involvement hardly fit this approach. In an attempt to mitigate this breech, Peace Corps administration required that the camps be organized differently this year.
The biggest change was the shift from national to regional level camps. This enabled more participants, both youth as well as adults to act as facilitators, increased local image, awareness, and involvement in the project, as well as allowed us to address specific issues relevant to each region.
The second biggest change this year was that, since it was our first year organizing regional camps, my fellow volunteers in my region and I opted to only have a GLOW camp, with plans to expand to a BE camp the following year (although I won’t be here to see those plans through, but will have to place my faith in the succeeding group of volunteers). Admittedly, I was a little disappointed by this decision, because it is my belief that you can’t pursue the goal of girls’ empowerment without the participation of boys, and the two camps were necessary compliments, but sometimes, in the name of good team work, you learn to choose your battles, compromise, and ultimately accept when to surrender. And that’s what I did, pouring my energy into making our regional Camp GLOW the best it could possibly be.
Third, Peace Corps Volunteers from the education program were much more involved in the project this year. Last year, the project was primarily undertaken by health volunteers, like me, because the focus of the camp is on HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention, among other health topics. Peace Corps Rwanda just received a large influx of education volunteers with more than 70 arriving in one group. This was the biggest group of volunteers Peace Corps Rwanda has ever accepted (may I remind you that I was one of the first groups to come to Rwanda, my group consisted of only 35 members, and we are now down to about 20). Naturally, this large group of education volunteers seems to invade every corner of Rwanda and overtake every project here by sheer numbers. It is not a bad thing, but their presence creates a different dynamic. Whereas health volunteers are trained and experienced in teaching health topics in Rwanda, the education volunteers offer insight into teaching, targeting youth audiences, and maintaining a school environment at camp (with the added funships of camp, of course). The result is a balance of two different sets of knowledge and skills that combine to make a camp that is of better quality.
My role this year was also different, but that was an individual change. Last year, I was Activities Facilitator, and I spent the camps running different afternoon activities- what we refer to in development jargon as income-generating activities, meaning activities that could be used to generate an income, as the name implies- including beeswax candle making; paper mache; lip gloss, lotions, and scrubs; etc. I was also being trained by a preceding health volunteer to overtake her responsibilities as Activities Coordinator at next year’s national camp when she would be back in America (unbeknownst to either of us that camp would undergo such changes that rendered this training, not useless, but less useful) This year, my role was Program and Scheduling Coordinator. My responsibilities included making the curriculum for camp, developing the schedule and agendas, and general administrative and logistical duties about running camp. Given the nature of these duties, most of my responsibilities and contribution took place before camp even began, hence the reason I never had the opportunity to write the Gearing up for GLOW blog I had planned.
Let me lay out the big picture of Camp GLOW Eastern Province 2011. Our camp took place at Ecole Secondaire in Rukara (or ESR), about a 20 minute ride down the (only) road from my home village of Kiramuruzi. Rukara is a rural town, isolated from the road in the mountains, but surprisingly developed (granted this is coming from a girl who has been living in Africa for the past two years). Approximately 50 girls from the Eastern Province were invited to participate, about 3 girls from 18 different schools across the province with some connection to a Peace Corps Volunteer. Some volunteers worked as teachers at these schools, while others were associated with the schools in other ways, such as me with my life skills and health education course. The girls were in secondary school and less than 18 years old, with a working level of English. They were selected via application asking them to write an essay about why they would benefit from camp. The applications were conducted by volunteers at their schools and then presented to a selection committee of all members of the region. I conducted the application with the 10 girls from my life skills and health education course at the youth center. Three were selected to attend camp at the selection committee.
Our regional themes of camp were healthy relationships, HIV/AIDS, and career planning, the overarching issues identified by the participatory needs assessments undertaken by volunteer at their respective sites. Camp lasted a total of 5 days. On the first day, campers were told to arrive at the nearest bus park and we shuttled them to the camp site. We estimated it would take two hours. Instead, I ended up waiting at the bus stop in the blazing sun for more than four hours. Of course, the girls were later, the bus took longer, and the logistics of transporting over 50 girls were more complicated than we expected. Once all the girls had arrived at camp and were registered, we began the opening ceremony, during which we introduced the camp and its staff, taught the camp cheer to campers, and gave an overview of the logistics, program, and schedule. After dinner, the campers were divided into six cabin groups named for a female leader, such as Wangari Maathai and Mia Hamm. For the next hour, cabin groups did bonding exercises and came up with cabin cheers that they then performed for the rest of the group before bed.
Camp really started on the second day. Every day, three groups of students consisting of two cabins rotated through three lessons of an hour and a half. On Day #1, the overall theme was healthy relationships and the three lessons were communication, decision making and peer pressure, and love and sex. On Day #2, the theme was HIV/AIDS and the lessons were HIV/AIDS biology, HIV/AIDS facts and myths, and HIV/AIDS prevention. And on Day #3, career planning, the lessons were self-esteem, goal setting and planning, and a career panel, which campers attended as one large group. One of my primary responsibilities before camp was developing the curriculum that was used during these lessons.
The lessons were taught by Peace Corps Volunteer paired with Rwandan facilitators. Most were conducted in a mixture of English and Kinyarwanda, used especially when students did not understand or needed clarification. The Peace Corps Volunteers teaching each lesson had worked with their Rwandan partners during the training of trainers prior to camp in order to ensure their understanding of the material, incorporate their perspective and insight, as well as introduce the interactive nature of the activities contained in the lessons. This training of trainers was one of the most important preparatory components of camp for this reason.
Campers attended their first lesson in the morning, shortly after breakfast and morning announcements, and moved to their second lesson after a short break. After lunch, students returned to their third lesson, finishing early in the afternoon. For the next couple of hours, students attended afternoon activities. Afternoon activities were fun and active. On the second day, half of the campers (3 cabins) were selected to tie-dye their Camp GLOW tee-shirts. Sticking with my roots at Camp GLOW, I organized the tie-dye activity. It was a blast- a good healthy mess! We poured fabric dye into bottles with holes punched in the tops to sprinkle. We taught the girls how to fold and rubber band their tee-shirts, and then we let them go to work with the dye. At first, they were hesitant, but once they got over their initial reservation, they began to get into it, squeezing the bottles empty until their tee-shirts were more than soaked and waterfalls of dye ran from the tables onto the floor. Despite the clean-up, their tee-shirts turned out awesome and we had a ton of fun! The other half of campers chose between sports and making friendship bracelets with beads rolled from recycled paper. The next day, the groups switched.
Every night, after dinner, we planned an evening activity. On the first night, we organized a carnival of different games, such as musical chairs, bean bag toss, and relay race. We even had face painting. In an impulsive decision fitting with the carnival theme, I decided to dress up as a clown. My fellow volunteers observed with disbelief and giggles. Using the limited resources available, I borrowed a bright floral jumper from another volunteer, made a clown nose by cutting off the end of a red balloon and stuffing it with a sponge, and a wig from streamers and tape pinned in my hair. My fellow volunteers painted my face with rosy cheeks and a grin. We decided to name me Flora the Clown, in reference to my jumper, but most of the campers thought I looked like an African princess. I suppose in their eyes, the decoration in my hair and the painted face must have symbolized royalty. The only thing that threw them off was the red, bulbous nose.
The next evening’s activity was the “I Can’t” Funeral Bonfire. It was probably the most moving moment of camp, and perhaps my whole service in Rwanda. Here is Rwanda, fires are a symbol of funerals, but what is camp without a bonfire and S’mores? In an attempt to merge the two, we came up with the “I Can’t” Funeral Bonfire. The idea was that girls would write something they had always been told they couldn’t do on a piece of paper and throw it into the fire representing its funeral. Unfortunately, on the planned evening, a heavy downpour started after dinner that forced us to remain in the large hall. We sat in a large circle, took a moment to write our “I can’t”s, and then began sharing. Girls stood up and moved to the center where a metal barrel rested. They said things like, “I can’t speak in public,” “I can’t get an education,” and “I can’t become an astronaut,” before tearing up their paper sand throwing them into the barrel. Their revelations were so basic, their limitations so expected in our own culture, that I felt a sense of guilt as realization of my privileges washed over me. When I stood up to share my own “I can’t…” the girls cheered in understanding and acceptance of our communal struggle as women in the world. I was able to relate to them, forage a bond, even if in my heart, I knew that my struggle did not equal what they experienced. When we finished, we lit the fire of our communal “I can’t”s, and as the flames destroyed their existence, the unexpected occurred. Suddenly, the girls started dancing around the fire chanting, “I can, I can, I CAN.” The smoke from the fire dimmed the light it radiated and rose in a haze over the group, causing the scene to appear as if in a dream. I felt like I was caught somewhere between two worlds- the real and the fantastic, American camp and Rwandan tradition. I joined in the group of girls, stomping my feet, and my voice merged with the collective. “I can, I can, I CAN,” pulsed into the empty night air. That night, I knew I had been a part of something special, perhaps a moment of change, at least a memory that will stay with me forever.
The evening activity for the last night of camp was a talent show and dance. Unfortunately, I had a headache and the cacophony of cheering and clapping during the performance caused me to abscond to the quiet of our dorm. I meant to return, but as soon as I lay down, the exhaustion of preparing and the week’s events of camp overtook me and I fell asleep, awaking the next morning still fully clothed. Alas, I missed part of the talent show and the dance, but I was fully rested. As far as I saw, the performances were comical skits demonstrating the lessons and skills the girls had learned throughout the week. They seemed entertaining.
The last full day of camp before the girls went home, the day of career planning, was also special. We held a career panel consisting of a nurse, a bank manager, a teacher, and a development worker to talk about their careers- what they do, how they got there, the education and skills they need, etc.- in order to inspire and empower the girls to pursue their own education and careers. I had the pleasure of inviting and hosting a colleague of mine who is the Sponsorship Manager at Plan Rwanda. Her name is Tassy, and if I were to describe her, I would say she is like my adopted mother in Rwanda. She always has a smile and a laugh to share. She is caring, the one to call me on Christmas to wish me merry. She has opened her arms to me, accepting me into her life and family like her own daughter. I was excited to have her speak with the girls, because I knew she would be an inspiration to them, and I was right.
Let me explain a little bit about Plan Rwanda and my experience working for them. I have not had the traditional Peace Corps experience working for a local NGO, because Plan is a large, international NGO. As a result, I don’t face the same typical challenges of volunteers in these positions, but rather ones that are unique to my situation. My colleagues speak fairly fluent English, are habituated to interacting with Westerners, and make high salaries relative to the average Rwandan (and me, which is a bit of an oxymoron and disbelief in their eyes). Tassy arrived at camp, at a run-down school in an isolated town in the middle of the Rwandan countryside, wearing a white suit and red and leopard peep-toe heels, unperturbed by the rain and mud. She took her seat next to the nurse, clearly distinguished from the green coat and mud shoes of her neighbor.
Tassy stood up to talk, and the girls were rapt with attention and awe. She began speaking, about her life, and even I learned some new and impressive things. Here is a summary of what she said- She grew up in Uganda. After she wrote her exams from secondary school, she was looking for a job. Her brother-in-law tricked her in marriage by taking her to visit the home of a potential employer who locked her in the house until she agreed to marry him. She was scared to leave and return home because she thought she would be disowned because she might be pregnant. They were married and her husband treated her well, but because he was a doctor and she had only a secondary school education, she felt inferior and as if she had no control in their relationship. She did not like it, and after she gave birth to her children, she decided to return to school, against the wishes of her husband, in order to continue her education and pursue a career. She knew that money was the key to power and control in her relationship and life, and she vowed to achieve a better-paying job. She succeeded in school and was employed by Plan in an entry level position. She worked her way up until she reached the managerial position she holds today. She shared the motivation behind her participation that day- that she enjoyed sharing her story because she wanted to teach her lesson. She didn’t want young girls to fall into the same trap she did. She wanted to encourage young girls to continue with their education and get jobs. She wanted women to have power in their relationships, control over decisions in their lives. The girls hooted and hollered to show their support throughout her speech. They stood up, clapped, and cheered at the end to show their appreciation. I stood in the back, observing and listening with warm pride filling my heart. I couldn’t help but think, “What a strong woman she was. What an inspiration!”
We were also given an opportunity to meet with the girls we had invited to attend camp, from our own schools or community, to discuss and make an action plan for post-camp activities. I met with the three girls from APECOM College who were selected from the group that participated in the life skills and health education course at the youth center- Joy, Jackie, and Sylvie. Joy is a beautiful, but frustratingly shy girl. She doesn’t talk much, avoids attention, and I felt she could benefit from the confidence instilled at camp. Jacky is a powerful young woman, an exponent for women’s rights at her school. She is the only girl on the debate team and I loved how she organized her application essay on what she would gain from Camp GLOW into talking points and arguments. Sylvie is also very strong, especially in English, and was very empowered by what she learned at camp. She is in Senior 5, a grade below the other two girls, which means she will be at APECOM next school year, unlike the other two who wrote their exams in November and will not return if they pass. Therefore, my attention was on Sylvie, because she will be my facilitator next year when we set up GLOW Clubs at APECOM. First, we spoke about what we had learned at camp, the important topics. Then, we identified the steps that needed to be taken to set up a GLOW Club, who would be responsible for undertaking these actions and when they would do it. Much of the responsibility fell on Sylvie, who seemed eager to take on the project. Jackie even asked if it was possible to set up a GLOW Club in her neighborhood in Kigali, and I responded, “Yes, of course. You can start a club with your friends and peers, who would gain from learning the information you have learned.” As I slid a piece of paper with my phone number written on it over to their side of the table, I promised to help.
Talking about GLOW Clubs and creating action plans were new activities at this year’s camp. More importance was placed on sustainability this year. Instead of having a limited number of girls attend camp for a short period, we wanted to pursue a more comprehensive goal. The girls who attended camp would then be responsible for returning to their schools and setting up clubs to teach the information they learned to others- a system of peer education. They would receive help and resources from us. In this way, the information would be spread further and more people would benefit, plus the project was more sustainable overall.
This posed a small problem for me, because I will be leaving in only 5 months, shortly after students return to school. I will not have time to help establish and manage a GLOW Club at APECOM. I solved this problem by introducing my students to a health volunteer who just arrived in Rwanda and whose site is closest to mine. Hopefully, he will be able to continue in my absence.
Our last day was a half-day, filled with camp evaluations, a question-and-answer session, and the closing ceremony. I brought the question box that I had made for my life skills and health education course to camp and throughout the week, girls wrote questions that were not answered in session or which they did not feel comfortable asking on small pieces of paper and slipped them in the box. I partnered with a few Rwandan facilitators to lead the answer period. We began by emphasizing the importance of the questions, of listening and not laughing. Two questions were especially noteworthy. First, we spent the majority of the session discussing vaginal discharge. The girls asked what it was and what its purpose was. They wanted to know the advantages and disadvantages of it. They asked about the practice of drying vaginas, why and how it is done. In Rwanda, some men prefer women with dry vaginas, but dry sex increases the risk of transmitting STIs, specifically HIV/AIDS. Second, they asked about the practice of stretching women’s labia. Again, in Rwanda, some men prefer women with stretched labia, and will leave their wife if their labia are not stretched. We spoke about the practice, emphasizing that the decision to undergo the procedure should be a discussion between partners before marriage or engaging in sex. Most importantly, the man should respect the woman’s position and decision.
During our closing ceremony, we recognized the students, awarding them with certificates for their participation. Certificates are greatly valued in Rwanda, and you would think the moment you mentioned certificates that you had mistakenly told them you were handing over a million dollars instead. The closing ceremony was filled with cheer s and clapping, the walk to the waiting matatu with sad sentiments of departure and hugs.
As I walked through the door of my house after camp ended, I felt myself deflating from the energy of the week. It seemed strange to be alone, quiet, after a week of activity and excitement. My head felt disoriented and overtaken by exhaustion. I had barely set down my backpack and slumped into a chair when my neighbors arrived at my door, demanding where I’d been. I told them and they seemed pleased. They complimented me on my tee-shirt with the logo from Camp GLOW and I explained, “American igitenge,” for the tie-dye. I ran to my bedroom, tearing off my shirt and replacing it with another, and returned, handing the shirt to Bijoux. She pulled it over her head and it settled on her small body like a dress. She smiled up at me and said “Thanks.” That night, I went to bed early, awaking the next day still a bit disoriented but refreshed. I had been gone for over a week and I had a lot of catch-up chores to do. As I sat weeding my garden, Bijoux appeared, still wearing her tee-shirt, which she pointed out. I exclaimed, “What a beautiful empowered woman you will grow up to be.” If only she knew what that shirt represented. Maybe one day she will be a GLOW camper, and that will make me very happy.

Health Binge- Being the Change

2011-11-18T04:09:00.000-08:00

Gandhi once said “Be the change you want to see in this world.” I have that quote stickered to my wall, as a constant reminder to myself to lead by example. Let me share a story: “During 1930′s, a young boy had become obsessed with eating sugar. His mother was very upset with this. But no matter how much she scolded him and tried to break his habit, he continued to satisfy his sweet tooth. Totally frustrated, she decided to take her son to see his idol – Mahatma Gandhi; perhaps her son would listen to him. She walked miles, for hours under scorching sun to finally reach Gandhi’s ashram. There, she shared with Gandhi her predicament. “Bapu, my son eats too much sugar. It is not good for his health. Would you please advise him to stop eating it?” Gandhi listened to the woman carefully, thought for a while and replied,
“Please come back after two weeks. I will talk to your son.” The woman looked perplexed and wondered why had he not asked the boy to stop eating sugar right away. She took the boy by the hand and went home. Two weeks later they revisited Gandhi. Gandhi looked directly at the boy and said, “Boy, you should stop eating sugar. It is not good for your health.” The boy nodded and promised he would not continue this habit any longer. The boy’s mother was puzzled. She turned to Gandhi and asked, “Bapu, Why didn’t you tell him that two weeks ago when I brought him here to see you?” Gandhi smiled, “Mother, two weeks ago I was eating a lot of sugar myself.”
I am a community health volunteer in Rwanda, therefore to heed Gandhi’s words of wisdom and example, and do my job properly, I must be healthy myself. As a result, I have been on a health binge in Rwanda.
Living in Rwanda requires one to become close and comfortable with one’s body and all its processes. First, comforts of life in America, like say, uh-hum, running water and toilets, do not exist here. Second, being sick in a country where these amenities are nonexistent is no fun. After it happens once, you want to avoid it at all costs, even refusing your favorite foods in restaurants and giving yourself a kick in the butt to do a workout. Thus, staying healthy becomes an even greater concern and pursuit.
Part of my health binge is eating. It is easy in Rwanda to get sucked into the typical Rwandan diet, because, well it is what is available, everywhere. Easy. But, the Rwandan diet is not necessary healthy, nor does it make my body feel good. And let’s be honest, feeling good is what eating is all about. It consists of a pile of heavy starches- rice, potatoes, plantains, cassava- will a spoonful of beans and a taste of vegetables, if you are lucky. My fellow volunteers and I refer to a typical Rwandan plate as a “volcano” because of its resemblance, literally overflowing. I quickly learned that a sort of lava erupts from my stomach as well when I consume a Rwandan volcano. Not to mention, the food just sits there, stuck for hours, making me feel yucky. Further, I have explained my relationship with meat in this country on a few occasions. Sometimes, it is a bit too realistic and in your face to enjoy, so I have become quasi-vegetarian and not by conscious choice. I can barely talk about dairy, because without proper refrigeration, it is also not really an option. A Rwandan speciality is milk that has been left out in the sun for hours to and begin to ferment, becoming chunky in the process. Actually, the thought of it is a lot less appealing than the reality, as it resembles something close to yoghurt, but it still makes my stomach turn. Rwandans are also not big fans of cheese, with a strong cultural preference for milk, so cheese products are not often available. In fact, I haven’t thought about dairy in a long time, making my quasi-vegetarian diet into an unconscious vegan one.
Over the last two years, I have moved further away from Rwandan food and embraced my own creations using Rwandan ingredients, and a few extra from the city or my garden. Rwanda produces a wide variety of tropical vegetables and fruits that I enjoy and want to take advantage of while I am here. I am so thankful that I didn’t end up spending two years in some barren desert, surviving off old rice. I mean, come on, at what other point in my life and I going to be able to say, “I could go to the market and purchase three avocados for only 15 cents, or three mangos for slightly more!” I could live happily between the alternating seasons of these two fruits. Typical ingredients in my kitchen are: tomatoes, onions, green peppers, carrots, avocados, beets, green beans, dodo (no translation other than “green leafy vegetable,” like spinach), bananas, pineapple, seasonal mangos, and any other vegetables and fruits that arrive at my market unexpectedly. I also have lettuce, snow peas, basil, and cilantro growing in my garden. In addition, these are grown organically. I can get many random ingredients from Kigali, including coconut milk, chickpeas, lentils, couscous, spices, and other. My mom sends me packages full of spices, sauce packets, soup mixes and other specialties and treats that augments what I can find here.
I have established a few habits for easy cooking (and eating) in Rwanda- 1) I eat a cooked meal only once a day, for dinner. I have trained by body to adapt to this schedule. It is an incredibly large meal, not going to lie, since I must get all my daily calories in one sitting, but it must be this way because cooking takes a few hours and I don’t have the time to do it three meals a day. The rest of the day, I fast or snack. Rwanda has some easy snacks for the person on the go- chapatti (a flat, round bread, similar to a pita), sambusa (small triangle pastries filled with meat, potatoes, or vegetables), and biscuits (a mix between a cracker and a cookie)- that cost only ijana (100 Rwf, or 15 cents). Further, Rwandan tea is a spicy, milky blend that satisfies the stomach. These items are perfect for tiding me over until my evening meal. I know this is not healthy, but it is necessary for my life in Rwanda. 2) All my meals are cooked in one pot. I have only one stove. And I have only one pot. I cook by adding different ingredients to the pot in different ways, but in the end, I use only one pot. And I have to clean only one pot, one bowl, one fork or spoon. I did invest in one blender, an expensive purchase that I determined was worth every penny because of the variety of options it allowed- soups, sauces, smoothies. Especially smoothies.
Common meals in my Rwandan kitchen are: stir-fries (of all types), carrot-ginger-coconut soup (one of my favorites), dodo and a wicked peanut sauce (peanut flour is common and cheap in my market), sweet-and-sour vegetables made with pineapple, fajitas with chapatti, salads (of course), pesto and hummus, banana and other fruit smoothies (I know this is controversial, but I love banana-papaya smoothies). All and all, I’d say I am living pretty well, eating pretty healthy, and feeling great. It is amazing how much my body brightens, how much energy I have, when I eat well, lots of vegetables and fruits.
I also take vitamins every day. I never used to, but here I do. It is so much more important in a place where our diets may not be complete, lacking nutrients like iron and calcium. I can tell the difference between days I take them and days I don’t. Peace Corps prescribes our vitamins and we actually take pre-natals, because our diets lack iron and vitamin A, which pre-natals supply. The downside to these vitamins is they make your hair and nails grow exceptionally fast, because they are used to help new babies grow. I arrived in Rwanda with hair barely to my shoulders. It is now down to my waist (albeit, split ends included. Conditioner is a rarity in Rwanda). Further, I have to cut my nails almost every week to keep them at a reasonable and workable length, and a length that doesn’t entice constant mosquito-bite itching. Isn’t that just bizarre? I laugh at how my hygiene practices have changed.
The second component of my health binge is working out. I am a work-out-aholic. I work out almost every day. And not just a little work-out. Oh no. I do an intense workout, lasting at least an hour or two. It is great for my wellbeing, my physical health, my immune system, but also my mental health, relieving stress and providing a sense of accomplishment when sometimes everything else fails. I wish I could go running, but that is not an option in my village. I would be dragging a parade of children behind me in a very Pied Pipper-esque sort of way. Instead, I resort to exercising in an open space in my house. Before I left, my friends laughed at me when I told them that two things I chose to expend a good portion of my 80-pounds-to-live- in-Africa were on weights and a yoga mat. It was definitely worth the struggle of carting them around the world and to my remote African village. Now, I can do my workouts, using weights, and without hurting myself on the concrete floor. I am a huge fan of workout videos. My workout videos kick my butt and catapult me into shape. I watch the videos as I go through the workouts, and I can’t help but notice that the people on the videos are not breaking a sweat. I have been at this for two years now, dedicated, giving it my all. At the end of the workout, my clothes are drenched and sweat is streaming down my face and body. Why? Then, I remind myself that they are in the comfort of an air-conditioned gym, while I am in the heat, humidity, and elevation of central Africa. I must admit, I feel more B.A. than the people in the videos.
My neighbors are slowly adjusting to the idea of working out. When I first arrived at my new house, I didn’t want to shock my new neighbors with my strange habits, so I would close all the doors, windows, and curtains, and do my workouts then, in a slow-baking oven in the African sun (and yes, I sweated even more then). Now, I leave the doors, windows, and curtains open to their harmlessly, but continuously prying eyes. The first time they witnessed me jumping around my house, with weights, to loud music, until I worked up a sweat storm, they looked on with confused stares. Later, Mama asked me what I was doing and I explained exercise and how it was good for the body. Mama commented on my slim figure and said she wanted to learn and I should teach her. “Okay,” I replied, “We can make two weights out of empty bottles.” Nothing ever came of it, because I don’t think she was fully committed to going through with it. Now, she sees me, comes to my door, and comments, “Ah, you are exercising.” “Yes,” I reply, as I come to the door to meet her, sweating and panting, and stand there while she nods approvingly. Now, I am comfortable enough to say, “I am going to go now,” and walk away, back to my workout. Rwandan and American interpretations of “busy” differ. Bijoux, on the other hand, has taken an extremely different approach to my exercising. When she sees me exercising, she sits outside on her front stoop and watches me from a distance. Sometimes, she sneaks up and startles me at the window, peering in and jeering. Other days, she brings a group of friends from school and neighborhood children to join her. They engage in an elaborate plan to sneak up to my window undetected, only left unprotected by the lack of hiding places in our front yard. I usually spot them before they arrive. For some reason, their play annoys me. I don’t mind the discrete watching from a distance, but the play distracts me. I run to my windows and doors and shut them, closing the curtains in a demonstration of my frustration. They run away in fright, hiding in the hallways of the pit latrine and cooking house, still unsure what muzungu anger can really amount to.
I get a lot of sleep in the village. I recall the years I was in university, when six hours of sleep was a good night. Most nights, I slept about four hours, and sometimes, I would stay up all night working on papers or studying. That’s just what university life demanded. It took me at least three months backpacking around Asia, resting and relaxing, and possibly years longer, to restore my sleep deficit from that time. In Rwanda, life in the village is quiet and undemanding. I usually go to bed around nine o’clock at night, after a heavy, sleepy darkness consumes the village. I am a lucky volunteer- I have electricity- but the light is weak, either because of the current or light bulbs in this country. I strain my eyes to read at night because the light is so poor. And my eyesight is already deteriorating from years of reading, especially while writing my honors thesis when I would stare at a computer screen for sometimes 14 hours a day! Alas, my eyes have been put to good use, but I don’t want to push it. I am in the process of getting glasses for the first time in my life. I am not distraught- I often think how glasses would add to my image of a lawyer or academic. “Very smart,” as they say in Rwanda. At nine at night, it is books down, lights out, and time to sleep. I sleep soundly, deeply, the sounds of the African night-of nocturnal tropical birds and large insects mostly- enveloping me, comforting me, rocking me, until six the next morning, when I hear the lock turning in my neighbor’s door, the umucozi beginning her morning chores and shrieking across the wall to her friend, the sounds of the village waking up, not to mention the cows mooing, the goats bahing, and the crows scratching on my tin roof. Yes, it is time to get up- there is no sleeping in or through that. If I do the math, I get about nine hours of sleep a night, which is more than I can remember ever getting in my life!
Overall, my body is feeling great, well taken care of and rested. I have developed so many new healthy habits here, partly because being healthy is more important (Did I mention there is not a hospital nearby, in the event that something happens?) and because I have the time to commit to it- getting in touch with my body, gardening, cooking, and working out. The lessons I have learned, not to mention how good my body feels, from the process have been life-changing for me. I plan to continue my new habits after I leave Rwanda, when I return home. The lessons for my fellow villagers have also been numerous. I sometimes catch Bijoux with all her friends doing moves from my exercise routines in our front yard. Mama always makes sure to point out when they are eating vegetables, which is happening more and more often. And there have been other little changes around the village that I like to attribute to my example. That is what leading by example, a large part of my Peace Corps service, is all about. In the end, everyone gains.

Housekeeping- Things around the Compound

2011-11-13T05:05:00.000-08:00

Compound life is, as always, busy and in constant motion. I spend a lot of time around our compound and have become integrated into life there. With little to do around the village outside of work (and I use work in a very loose sense of the word, since talking to my neighbors on the way to the market may be considered work in a community developer’s vocabulary) and a lot of extra time on my hands during the evenings and weekends, the compound is my refuge, place to relax, escape from the desperate reality sometimes clawing at my door and consciousness. It is my favorite place to be a part of, and also to watch. Sometimes, I sit in the middle of my living room, doing chores, with the door open in a way that I still have a perfect view of the compound while remaining hidden. And from there, I observe typical African compound life, natural and undisturbed.
There have been some recent happenings and changes around our compound.
First, updates on the newborn baby. The baby is growing, and fast. It seems like only yesterday when he was brought back from the hospital wrapped in a blue blanket, small and fragile-looking, curled in his mother’s arms, like a porcelain doll. Now, he had developed the size and pudginess that you would expect of a baby. His mother carries him outside everyday and sits on a stool in the shade beneath the trees in our front yard. She chortles to him, chirps in her high-pitched voice, and sings songs while gently rocking him. I interrupt this scene every morning on my way to work when I step outside my house and meander over to greet them. She stands him up on her lap, while he yawns or looks around, unimpressed, exclaiming his size and weight. She is a nurse, so she brings him to the community health center regularly to check his growth and development in order to ensuring he is growing at a healthy pace. I concede, saying that he is going to be very tall someday. He is also growing darker. When he first arrived, his skin was light and everyone in the compound commented and laughed that he looked like me. Mama told me that she brought him out in the sun to get vitamin D and a tan. Over the past three months, his skin has darkened and we laugh at the change. Again, skin color is not a cause of discomfort here; it is a refreshing fact of life and people are always laughing at my red and sweaty, not to mention dirty, skin.
It was Bijoux’s birthday the other day, marking my one year anniversary in my home. A year ago, I had just moved into my house and met my neighbors. It is amazing how fast time has passed and how much has changed. Bijoux’s birthday party last year was the first time I spent with my neighbors, my first introduction to their friends, and my first integration into their lives. At the time, I was scared to move from a house I shared with another volunteer to my own shack in a distinctly Rwandan compound. It was the first time I was going to be on my own, in a way that I felt was characteristically Peace Corps. I was unsure of myself and didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t culturally-sensitive, so I walked on constant eggshells trying to impress them and mold myself to the Rwandan way. During that party a year ago, I sat rigid in a chair, trying to understand and converse in my very poor Kinyarwardan with my very new neighbors and friends. I was offered a beer and drank slowly, hardly dancing (unlike the rest of the posy), and excused myself early to go to bed, while they continued to rage early into the next morning. Now, we live in a comfortable harmony. They accept my strange ways, and I allow them to watch me and teach me, although I may grumble a bit when it becomes too overwhelming or obvious. We have our own mutual understanding and acceptance. At this year’s party, I played a more central role, helping with pre-party planning and preparations, and spending the evening conversing and laughing with my adopted family and close friends. Bijoux and I danced together, and then we danced as a group, Mama grabbing my hands and pulling me through the moves. Those two images demonstrate how much has changed, how far I have come, in the course of a year, birthday to birthday. It is also the long break from school, and Bijoux’s days are free. After her birthday, she left to spend a week in the village (a village that villagers in Kiramuruzi call a village) with her grandmother, before returning to the compound. Now, she sits around the compound all day, entertaining herself with the new umucozi, playing volleyball with the neighborhood children, and getting into the harmless mischief that is typical of children when they reach the terrible teen years.
We have a new umucozi. The last two ran off. Based on my observations, I would say that happens quite frequently. Mama explained to me that good umucozis come from the Western Province of the country, what makes them different I don’t know. It seems more like one of those old housewives tales than actual fact. In any case, that is the reason we waited two weeks for a new umucozi from the west. In the meantime, Mama could be seen bending over the coal stove cooking a pot of beans or scrubbing laundry in our yard, a rare occurrence. Bijoux helped, by scrubbing the floors, quite unskillfully and more in dutiful and playful occupation. The new umucozi finally arrived. She is a young girl, again, but I like her much better than the last. Further, she seems unperturbed by living and working next to a muzungu, also unlike the last, which is a huge relief. As to the last two umucozis, well, we don’t know where they have gone- they ran off. The one before last stole a bunch of stuff before hiding the keys in a pot and disappearing. I also heard news of our first and my favorite umucozi, Diane, who left but returned for a month when the baby was born. She moved to Kigali, and just got married. Congratulations to her.
And speaking of new additions to the compound, we now have a couple of goats and a chicken running around in the mix and mess of things. It is my suspicion that they were purchased to be fattened and groomed for a great Christmas feast that will take place next month. Although my neighbors are relatively wealthy, meat is still rare at meals, eaten at most once a week and typically only once a month. Christmas is the one time of year when meat is plentiful, hence the need for a couple of goats and chickens. If they disappear around Christmas, I will know where they went… into the pot and the stomachs of my neighbors. That is the harsh reality of living life so close to the source. There is no distance or degree of separation between us, the consumers, and where our food comes from, like exists in the states. Here, when you go to the restaurant and order a goat brochette, you sometimes see the goat being dragged in by one of its legs and hear it last desperate bah before death. As difficult and inhumane as it may seem, it is also relieving and develops understanding. You know the meat is fresh (and natural) (and healthy), and you see where it is coming from and can appreciate it in a new way. However, my situation does not bring me into much contact with meat or the killing of the animals, as I am quasi-vegetarian by default. After almost two years, I still can’t bring myself to walk into the butcher’s shop in my town, because of all the hanging carcasses, blood and flies, to buy meat. Plus, I wouldn’t know what to ask for because I don’t have much experience with meat, since I was a vegetarian until I joined the Peace Corps, changing my eating habits because I assumed it would be a difficult lifestyle choice to maintain in Africa. I eat a lot of legumes in the place of meat, only indulging in at restaurants where I only witness the sacred goat sacrifice- I don’t have to conduct it. In any case, I’m not sure I would miss the goats and chickens if they did happen to disappear one day, because the other day, I came home from work to find them devouring my tomato plants and rooting in my compost, spreading decomposing food scraps all around my house. Grr! I had to chase them away with my hoe (which became an entertaining sight for my neighbors to witness). I think the goats are already scared of me because of my skin, different than any they have seen. Every morning when I walk outside, the goats run away and hide behind a pile of dirt and rocks in our yard. They don’t when other people walk by, just me. I’ve thought about using my old clothes to construct a scarecrow (I guess more of a scare-all types of animals) in my garden to ward them off. But, then I think what my neighbors would think of me! Oh the crazy muzungu, look what she has done now! They already think me and my garden are weird enough, because I have filled it with lettuce plants, which I eat in salads. You know how they feel about vegetables…
And that brings me to another point of housekeeping, my garden. It is doing wonderfully. Growing, overflowing, in a tangled mess that I barely have time to contain. It has been raining goats and chickens lately (literally, a few landed in my front yard- that’s where they came from!). The other day, I spent some time weeding, cleaning the garden up, replanting and harvesting. It was a beautiful sunny day, and this time I remembered to put sunscreen on my whole shoulders (Last time, I couldn’t quite reach my back and left a strip unprotected, which later turned a painful and uncomfortable red which I noticed when I laid on the ground to do crunches during my workout, instead running in front of my mirror to check the damage). I put my headphones in my ears and pressed play on my ipod, pulled my gloves on my hands, and sat down on the ground, in the dirt, to work. Again, my neighbors think my method of working quiet strange. First, I am meticulous in my work, making sure to pull every weed, unlike Rwandans who throw a bunch of seeds on the ground and watch them grow with little maintenance. Second, WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD SIT ON THE GROUND, IN THE DIRT, AND GET DIRTY!?! A big no-no to Rwandan. Last, they just don’t quite understand the compost. I try to explain, and they nod their heads, but they don’t get it, looking on my pile of decomposing food scraps as a smelly and unpleasant practice. I kind of want to point out the productivity of my garden, despite the fact that they gave me the most infertile corner of the compound and I have grown two seasons worth of food on it. When they raise their eyebrows at this, I want to explain that the reason some of my crops failed is not because I am a poor farmer, as they like to conclude, but that I am trying to grow plants from home, that sometimes just don’t here, for reasons unknown. It’s not my fault, but part of the trial and error method of learning that I am employing in my garden. I am learning a lot, too, may I add, because I have come to the conclusion that there is just no point in growing certain plants, because no matter what I do or the season I plant, I just can’t make them grow. I get down and dirty, dig my hands into the soil and become part of the life I am growing. I feel accomplished when I see the success and progress of my garden and watch the plants grow and flourish. Not to mention, good and healthy when I can enjoy a fresh salad with a basil vinaigrette, with vegetables grown in my own garden. Yes, this season, I opted to desert the carrots and tomatoes, which I can buy in the marketplace for cheap, and devote most of my garden to the production of lettuce. I miss salads with a burning desire. My neighbors think I am strange, but I don’t care. Lettuce enjoy salads until I return home.
The garden is burgeoning with all the rainfall. Unfortunately, I am not. I have finally decided, after two years of weathering the seasons, the extreme heat and the immense rainfall, that I prefer the dry season over the wet. Perhaps last year’s wet season was not so wet, but this one is drenched. Every morning and afternoon, it pours, hard, drops the size of golf balls, I kid you not. My front yard and the dirt road outside my house turn to rushing rivers. The course of the river in my front yard based on the slope and contours of the land, rushes towards my house and diverts downwards in front of my door to run out the drain in the wall in the corner next to my house. Sometimes, when it rains too hard, the river overflows and drains into my house, collecting on the floor in a corner of my living room (where I typically shower because it is the lowest spot). I squeegee the water out my front door with a broom-like squeegee, which is one of the best inventions I have found in Africa. A long handle with a squeegee on the end- Genius! The water evaporates quickly in the heat, and everything in my house just seems damp. In addition to a leaking house, I have also survived a momentous attack of mosquitoes. With more water comes more breeding ground for mosquitoes and they are rampant this time of year. My arms, legs, back, stomach, everywhere, are littered with mosquito bites and I am plagued with a constant desire to itch. I go through anti-itch cream like it is my job- and I suppose a part of it is, living under harsh conditions. Oh mosquitoes! What purpose do you serve? I have always wondered that, and even more now. WHAT PURPOSE? Ecologically-speaking, we are always concerned with the role that species play in the greater system, even if we don’t know or understand that role. We always argue to preserve even the smallest species because we may underestimate their importance and find that they play a much more critical role than we initially expected, changes throwing off an entire ecosystem. What of mosquitoes? Mosquitoes may be the one species I say has absolutely no role and deserves to disappear. Oh, how I loath you and the nights you keep me awake with your tireless taunting, buzzing, and itching! My only escape is under my mosquito net in bed, where I am sitting as I write this. I can hear mosquitoes buzzing past, diving into the net. They are smart little buggers, and I have to tuck the net in around the bed, for they will find even the smallest opening and indulge in their vampireish feast of my body, while I lay there, unknowing or unable to respond. From the safety under my net, I can say confidently, “Take that, you fools! I win!”
The confines of the mosquito net required this time of year leaves little to do at night, since I can’t venture out or sit in the open as I could before during the dry season, when mosquitoes were rare. I read, sew, write, watch movies. Sometimes, I am just bored, but I have created a new pastime for these moments- gecko-watching. My house may be full of mosquitoes, but it is also full of geckos. I like geckos. They are my unknowing allies and conspirators. They also seek to destroy the species of mosquitoes, only for a much more honorable reason and justified way- they eat them. But, geckos are not the sharpest weapon in the box. I watch as a gecko maneuvers across my wall, following the wandering path of a mosquito. The gecko watches the mosquito fly in loops and turns, with no clear purpose or direction. It begins to move, slowly at first, then faster, until it is running at full speed across the wall with its short legs. It comes up close to the mosquito and slows down to a crawl. I can see the determination in its face and eyes. It makes a lunge, but the mosquito floats effortlessly away to another section of the wall. The gecko turns around and follows, moving slowly and carefully, then at greater speed with more purpose, directly for its target. Again, the mosquito eludes the gecko’s charge by drifting away from the wall. The gecko, forgetting that he can’t fly, jumps away from the wall and towards the mosquito with its tongue out hoping to catch the little bugger in its mouth in midair. It misses, hesitates for a second in the air, a flash of panic streaking across its face, before falling to the ground behind a stack of my shoes. I swear it was a scene straight out of the roadrunner cartoon. I am by myself, but I have to laugh out loud. A few minutes later, the gecko emerges from behind my shoes, still a bit shocked and sore, moving a bit slower now, but still with that determined look, and continues its pursuit. Ah, go go geckos! Help me rid our country and home of the evil invading mosquitoes and live happily ever after (although you will have to find a new favorite delicacy to eat).
Did you know I have been in Rwanda for 22 months? I only have five months left of service, which seems like a flash in light of all that has passed. The countdown has started. It is the last stretch and home seems so close I can almost reach out and touch it. Like I said, projects are starting to finish up and I spend more time asking myself, “What now?” My feelings about Rwanda are complicated, multilayered, knotted together. It’s going to take some sorting, reflection, distance, to figure out exactly how I feel about this place beyond what a surreal experience it has been. It seems like only yesterday I was boarding the plane to African, destination mostly unknown. How much I have discovered, how much my perceptions have changed, how much I will be returning to a destination, again, mostly unknown.

Sometimes Opportunity Just Comes Knocking

2011-11-09T05:17:00.000-08:00

It’s funny how projects come into being. Sometimes, it seems like we are searching, too hard, to find a project, asking ourselves how we fit into this community, what can we do? Sometimes, projects just come knocking. Without asking, they just arrive. Like oh, duh, that’s what I should do.
The latter describes the moment I started working on a project with Community Health Workers and groups of people living with HIV/AIDS in my community. I live in a compound with a nurse from the local hospital. She and her family have been vital to my community integration and involvement in activities. In fact, they are my adopted family here in Rwanda. Through them, I get to attend birthday parties, celebrate Christmas and other holidays, rejoice in babies being born, and feel like I am a part of family. It was at Bijoux’s (the nurse’s daughter) birthday party that I first met Alphonse.
Alphonse is HIV-positive. I assume he met my neighbor at the hospital sometime ago, but however they met, he has become a close friend of my neighbor and her family (and me). He is always present at family gatherings and sometimes just comes by to hang with us around the house. He is older (I estimate in his 60s) and lives alone. I figure his family is gone, died or left, but it is never a good idea to ask about family in Rwanda, so I leave those questions unanswered or waiting for the time when someone independently decides to open up and discuss them. Alphonse is actually what we call a Community Health Worker, and speaks unexpectedly good English, why I don’t know. Community Health Workers are part of the decentralized healthcare system in Rwanda. They are trained to treat the most common diseases in communities in order to provide treatment to people living in remote areas far from hospitals and reduce the burden on hospitals and doctors to treat diseases that are simple, allowing them to focus on more complicated problems that require their specialized skills- a genius idea. In addition, Rwanda has been relatively successful in de-stigmatizing HIV/AIDS as part of its health campaign for prevention and treatment, which is why Alphonse can be so open about his disease and such a visible leader in the community. Further, he is incredibly healthy, given his circumstance, showing his dedication to proper treatment and health. I often see him hoeing and planting cassava in the fields on my way to work. We have always been friendly, greeting each other in passing and chatting at gatherings. The first time we met, he introduced himself in near perfect English. We shook hands and sat next to each other on the couch. He began to explain his situation. “I am HIV-positive,” he said.
One day, I woke up, made coffee, and was just sitting down at my desk when I heard a knock on the door. It was the weekend, so I was not expecting any work-related calls. My neighbors were gone, the only time they, EVERYBODY, THE WHOLE FAMILY, have left the compound since my arrival here a year ago. Every day, there is a constant bevy of people next door, always visitors and new faces, living life… there is no other way to describe it… in constant motion… people coming, people leaving, people hanging out (sometimes watching me), chatting, washing, cooking, tending the garden, minding the goats, playing, running, laughing, going to the latrine, braiding hair, watching TV, and the list goes on. Oh, the joys of life in the compound- the vibrancy, but the lack of quiet and privacy. Rarely is there a moment not filled with… SOMETHING. I was looking forward to the weekend when I wasn’t awoken by the sound of the umucozi (domestic) next door making breakfast and chatting (shrieking) across the wall to the neighbor’s umucozi, annoyed by the constant staring of my neighbors and their visitors whenever I walked past a window or door or stepped a foot outside, and frustrated by the game of sneak-a-peek of the muzungu that has become a favorite after-school pasttime of Bijoux and her crew of friends from school and the neighborhood children. I was surprised to hear a knock, and curious to see who it was.
Alphonse was standing outside my door. Another rule of being a Peace Corps Volunteer- don’t invite people into your house. My house is my sacred space, my safe area away from the community, where I can be myself and American, even in the smallest ways, like hanging pictures and posting notes to myself on the wall. Rwandans judge my possessions, and confirm my wealth, based on a couple of posters and papers hanging on my wall and a stack of books on my floor. Plus, an invitation is easily abused. Once, I allowed a coworker to come to my house after work hours because he desperately needed help downloading pictures for a report he was writing (due the next day, may I add, time management anyone?). He arrived, THREE HOURS LATE. The next week, he asked if he could come to my house afterhours again, for the same reason. It is a slippery slope with these things, and this time, I said I would meet him the next morning at the office, as I could see this becoming a regular routine.
I stepped outside into the yard to speak with Alphonse in the shade of the banana tree next to my house. He began telling me about a project at the community health center. He works with groups of people living with HIV/AIDS, like him. They wanted to start cooperatives, but needed money. “Can you help?” he asked.
I stopped him and explained, “I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. I am here to help develop the community. I don’t have access to funding. I’m sorry. BUT, I can help by providing training.” I told him to visit me on Monday at my office in the youth center. I use this strategy frequently. I often get community members seeking me out to ask for help, usually for money, but sometimes for other reasons. Many times, they run into me around town and pop the question, can I do this, can I help in this or that way. It is easy and has become an abused habit. Rwandans see a muzungu, and immediately think they can get something from them. Actually, it can be quite draining for the muzungu who sticks around for two years. Sometimes, I feel like I am walking through a crowd of desperate faces and outstretched arms, reaching for me, with empty hands, grabbing me, pulling me down.
I don’t believe Alphonse’s request was coming from the same place as the villager on the side of the road who demands milk or the man with the ludicrous request to fund his entire university education in America because “he had an idea” (what his idea was, I do not know, because he would not explain it to me). I believe Alphonse truly had a desire to do good and needed help, preferably money, but in other ways as well. I still had to give him the test of his commitment. My thought process is, if I tell someone to come to my office at a later date to meet me to discuss their proposal exclusively and in more detail and attention, and they do, then I can be convinced that they are fairly committed to the idea or project. The majority of people with requests who I invite never show up and I can rightfully assume that their request was not a real one since they couldn’t even make their way to my office, which everyone knows if they make the effort to ask around.
I loved the idea of the project that Alphonse introduced and believed his request was real. On Monday, I went about my work as usual, awaiting his arrival. He never showed up. I was a bit surprised and confused. Sure enough though, in a very Rwandan way, he arrived two days later, ready to talk about his project. That’s just the way things work here. Better late than never.
He explained his project. People living with HIV/AIDS struggle to live. They have difficulty holding jobs and are usually very poor. They can not always find the energy or are in good enough health to farm and are usually malnourished and sick. They have trouble sending their children to school. Alphonse began working as a Community Health Worker at the community health center to establish support groups for people living with HIV/AIDS. Now, these groups want to develop, morph into cooperatives, not just to provide support, but to offer economic security. They just don’t know how. Could I help?
I tried to contain my excitement. What a dream project to become involved in (at least for someone interested in health and HIV/AIDS)! Again, I explained my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the community. “I do not have access to money and can not provide it, but I can offer training… in many topics.” I am not going to lie, Alphonse seemed a bit disappointed. No money made this project a bit more difficult, but not undoable. I am always one to offer the bright side so I said, “We will figure it out. In fact, starting a cooperative can take very little money.”
His smile returned to his face at that comment. We began to talk details. I remained very clear about my role and what I could and could not do. Alphonse would have to manage the project. I could only offer support and support could only be technical, not financial. We spoke about the kind of training the groups wanted. Obviously, starting and managing cooperatives was at the top of the list, followed by health (HIV/AIDS, sexual and reproductive, nutrition, hygiene and sanitation, etc.), education (literacy and the importance of education for children), bio-intensive permaculture (a fancy word for a type of agriculture that requires relatively little land and effort to produce more results), along with savings culture and income-generating activities. Basically, a taste of everything I have dibbled and dabbled in since my arrival in Rwanda two years ago. Alphonse asked if I could provide all that. “Yes,” I said, “It is possible.” I explained the projects I have been involved in- managing micro-financing groups, establishing the youth center, conducting health education and life skills courses, organizing leadership and development camps, and starting libraries- and showed him my collection of resources. We ended our meeting by shaking hands, “Turi ensemble,” a common expression meaning, “We are together.”
Alphonse left that day and I settled in to do some research and think about how I was going fulfill my commitment. That was after I did a dance around my office because of my joy of finding such a great project. I thought about what Alphonse said the groups wanted to learn and began writing lesson plans for trainings on the agreed-upon topics. We met a second time and discussed logistics. We decided that I would meet with groups once a week and teach for an hour or two. It would be very informal, which was okay with me! Informal education requires less planning and resources. Not that I mind planning and resources, but sometimes they can work against a project and slow it down. Planning leads to the involvement of more people and results in projects getting stuck and sometimes lost in the bureaucratic web. Resources take a long time to acquire (a lesson learned from the year it took me to procure a blackboard and ten desk-chairs for the youth center). No, it was better to keep it informal and just make do with what we had. Besides, teaching doesn’t require much. I had always imagined that I would be teaching on the grass in the shade of a tree when I was Peace Corps Volunteer. Unfortunately, it never happened, not for lack of teaching, but because here in Rwanda, displaying a lack of resources is frowned upon. I am always advocating for the resource-poor approach, because that approach ensures a timely success, and let’s be honest, two years is all I have and is not a long time to be waiting around for resources. My colleagues are not so enthusiastic and I compromise in order to be culturally-sensitive. Alphonse was understanding and agreed to go forward with what we had.
The following week, I met with the groups and began teaching. We met under the trees by the soccer field next to the health center. We sat in a circle on the grass. Alphonse was my translator, since many of the members did not speak English. The first meeting, we discussed as a group what they wanted to learn. I took notes. Many of their struggles and concerns, and most of the topics they wanted to learn, Alphonse and I had already covered, however it was important that everyone feel like they have taken part and have a voice in deciding what I teach and they learn. It is part of participatory analysis and community ownership of projects that is so crucial to community development. In fact, it is the foundation that successful community development projects rest upon.
Since then, I have been meeting with the groups to teach. I started with cooperative development and management and savings culture. The groups are trying to agree on what kind of cooperatives they want to be. Alphonse is also finding out about the legality of starting cooperatives. Cooperatives in Rwanda are managed by the government and must be registered. We are still trying to find out the details and procedure.
I am really excited about this opportunity. Like I said, what a dream project for someone interested in global health and HIV/AIDS. It’s funny- I thought my projects would begin slowing down and finishing up. I am nearing the end of my service with only five months left (FIVE MONTHS!!! CRAZY!). Five months may seem like a long time, but in project terms, it is a mere moment. It is difficult to start and complete a project in this amount of time, especially in a place like Africa where everything takes twice as long as expected. Peace Corps policies do not allow projects to begin during the last three months of a volunteer’s service and suggests that volunteers start shutting down and phasing out of projects around this time. In fact, my Country Director recently asked me how I was proceeding with this. Most of my projects will be complete in December, after the last GLOW camp (more on this later). After the holidays, it will take a while for work to resume and then it will be almost time to leave. I was not looking forward to the last three months of service sitting around site with nothing to do. This project presents a perfect opportunity. It is something I am interested in and passionate about, but won’t be such an overwhelming amount of work that I don’t have time to think and plan for the next step, what to do after Peace Corps, which is a big decision. We put so much effort into trying to make life turn out perfect, chasing opportunities, but sometimes, if you take a step back and just allow life to happen around you, perfection just comes knocking.

Community Newspaper: Phase I

2011-10-05T06:23:00.000-07:00

How to start a community newspaper? Well, there are many ways, but here’s my experience. My experience is a amalgamation of Plan Rwanda’s direction and requirements, community input, counterpart guidance, and my own actions and opinions.

First, there is always a meeting, to discuss the importance of a community newspaper, - providing a voice to community members, especially those minority or marginalized groups, like say, girls in education- and the greater logistics of creating one. That meeting happened a few weeks ago, when the idea was introduced to me and handed to my counterpart and I to undertake. The community newspaper is part of a greater Plan Rwanda project sponsoring girls to go to school, which is part of a global campaign of Plan International called Because I Am A Girl. The basic idea- create a community newspaper written by female students sponsored by Plan Rwanda attending schools in Gatsibo District and across the country. The newspaper would be biannual, with the first edition released in November. The first edition would focus on, you guessed it, girls’ education. Due to logistical issues, the time and cost of travel across the country, we decided to work with students at schools in Gatsibo and neighboring Nyagatare Districts, about 12 schools in total. Then, when the rest of the girls, who are all from Gatsibo, return home from school during the long break, we could target those students attending schools across the rest of the country for the second edition creating a sort of cross-country exchange of experiences of girls in education.

Now, to the actual carrying out of the plan. For two weeks, we visited schools in Gatsibo District. Two weeks?!? Yes, because many of the schools are rural, extremely isolated, difficult and time-consuming to get to. In order to reach these schools, we had to drive for two hours over dirt roads riddled with potholes, studded with ruts, and nearly washed out by the torrential downpours we have experienced this rainy season. In the backseat, I was jostled and tossed, hitting my head on several occasions and causing me, who am fairly tough, sick to my stomach. It better be worth it. I was happy though. The experience was also a great opportunity to spend time with my colleagues, especially my long-lost counterpart Faustin, who I have missed since our motorbike adventures at the beginning of my service ended as I was introduced to Plan Rwanda’s activities and I settled in to my life in Kiramuruzi and work at the youth center in town. I also got to see more of the beautiful Rwandan countryside away from the main road, which is rare since I have little access to private modes of transportation without a motorbike or car.

On our first visit to schools, we met with the sponsored female students and introduced the project, as well as what we wanted them to do- write stories. My counterpart and I alternated giving the grand speech, although I must admit, his role as translator and clarifier was crucial to my success. Since the schools and villages are so far removed, many of the students have little exposure to English, and speak very little as a result. It was exciting for them to have a muzungu visit their school (in fact, I may have been the first in many cases) and they were entertained hearing me speak in English, but the message was not always understood. Faustin helped them out, translating what I said in the most extreme cases or simply clarifying when questions arose. We told them, “We are here today because you are sponsored to go to school by a project of Plan Rwanda. Part of that project is the creation of a community newspaper. We would like you to write stories about your experiences at school or other aspects of your life, possibly to be selected and published in the community newspaper. You can write stories individually or as a group, in English or Kinyarwanda. You will have one week to write and we will return to collect your stories. Then, we will return again, and take pictures to accompany those stories that are selected. The newspaper will be complete in November and we will distribute it your school so you have the opportunity to read it. There will be a copy in English and Kinyarwandan- we will translate it.” After this speech, we discussed ideas for their stories. The girls had a lot of great ones- about the importance of education, health issues they faced, roles of women in society, greater opportunities and activities, advocacy- it was all a very enlightening and promising conversation. We distributed two sheets of paper and a pen to each student, so they had something to use to write on and with. True to our promise, we returned in one week to collect their stories. We collected stacks of stories from each school; the girls were very enthusiastic!

No, I will not be putting the newspaper together alone. We also have youth involved in the creation of the newspaper. Two years ago, Plan Rwanda conducted a training on Youth Empowerment Through Arts and Media (YETAM) with 20 students. We contacted these students and introduced them to the project at a meeting at the youth center. We told them that we needed three representatives to work with us and that the newspaper would require the time and energy of these representatives, but that we would arrange activities around their school schedules, most likely meeting on Saturdays for about a month. They also had to be (relatively) proficient in computers and speak some English (for my sake). They selected two boys and one girl, all students at Plan Rwanda’s partner school, Kiziguro Secondary School, in the next sector over from Kiramuruzi and the youth center. These representatives would help select the stories, type and edit them, and format them into the newspaper. The translators would be community members occasionally employed by Plan Rwanda to translate communications from sponsored children in Kiramuruzi who demonstrated competency. So I have lots of help, which is important for me as a Peace Corps Volunteer whose role is CO-well, everything I do.

We are now almost ready to move into Phase II of the newspaper project, which is the actual creation of the newspaper. This weekend, we are selecting the stories and next week, we will return to the schools to take pictures to accompany those selected stories. The following weekend, we will work with the representatives of the YETAM group to begin typing, editing, and formatting the stories into an actual newspaper. I am excited to see the result of these efforts.

Goodbye Class!

2011-10-05T02:33:00.000-07:00

I had to say good-bye to my students the other day. We had our last class slash goodbye party. I couldn’t keep it up. I knew the students had lots of studying to do and they began to loose interest. As much as I wanted to work with them longer, because they were my lifeline and source of joy in Rwanda, we had made an agreement. Our agreement was, work until the end of September and leave them free in October to prepare for their exam in November. I stuck to the agreement against my wish to continue, my sadness at saying goodbye, and the fact that we didn’t finish every subject I had planned in the curriculum, which is why I made our last class into an learning session, as well as a lot of fun and a chance to say goodbye.
I have acquired a lot of resources and materials over the past two years. People from home have sent or brought me lots of “stuff” to supplement my projects. Since I work in a resource-poor environment, that “stuff” was greatly appreciated, but I clung to it like my life depended on it (and who knows, it might). I acquired, and I hoarded. I have attempted numerous purges during my stay here, leaving me in possession of the very basics of necessity, but it seems the more I purge, the more I acquire. I am not complaining. All this “stuff” has allowed me to conduct special classes in which students do things they rarely have the opportunity to do, like create art with colored pencils, crayons, and markers, or decorate paper mache animals with googly eyes and pompoms. Now that I feel the end of my service creeping upon me, these special classes, and any other chance I have to use these resources and materials, have reached a whole new frequency and level. I am no longer trying to ensure the resources and materials last two years or are available for some outstanding opportunity in the future. They already have and need to be used. That is my short introduction to the logic of resource-poor strategy.
For our final class, I decided to focus on the most important remaining topic, HIV/AIDS and sexually transmitted infections. When my mom visited last May, she brought a package of pamphlets from the community health center in Friday Harbor to Rwanda. “Pamphlets,” you might ask, “What’s so great about pamphlets?” Can I answer, “Just about everything!” First, they are tangible. Resource-poor remember? People love to get things here. Second, colorful. Even better. Third, written, so people can ponder over them and look up words to ensure understanding (as opposed to my lectures). Fourth, can be shared with numerous people, a.k.a. an entire school like APECOM College where my students are from. And the list goes on and on with all the reasons pamphlets are cool in Rwanda. So, for our last class, I had a sort of sex fair. I lay my portable chalkboard across four desk-chairs to make a sort of table (No, we don’t have a table at the youth center. Resource-poor, remember?). I taped a poster with information about common sexually-transmitted infections to the wall. I projected a slideshow of pictures of sexually-transmitted infections (that will make you never want to have sex…EVER!!!). And I placed a variety of brochures about abstinence, condom use, dating and violence, and of course, sexually-transmitted infections in piles around the table. I also placed a pile of condoms on the table with information on how to use a condom correctly. When the students arrived, they crowded around the table and took brochures. They read the information, passed the brochures around, and after they were done reading, we discussed their contents. I made sure they each got a brochure on HIV/AIDS to keep, as well as an information sheet on how to use a condom correctly. I gave the team leader the rest of the stacks to distribute at school. You see, as much as I emphasized, especially during our session on sex, that youth should not have sex because when we are young we don’t always make the best decisions nor are we able to handle the consequences, like pregnancy and sexually-transmitted infections, the reality is, many of them are already having sex or know about it. I can tell by the way they act and the questions they ask. The cat is out of the bag. They have already been introduced to this activity, regardless of the details of how or why. I am making no shocking introductions. Since that is the case, my role is something different than keeping sex a big secret, only for adults. Since they are already having sex or know about it, I am here to make sure they do it safely. Safety is especially important because the prevalence of HIV/AIDS in Rwanda is 3%, health care is improving but still lacking, and the joint burden of poverty and disease undermine any opportunity for improvement of their standard of living. There are so many myths surrounding sex and HIV/ AIDS circulating around Rwanda, making the reality hard to distinguish and confusing. Correct information in schools, health centers, and other institutions is lacking or hard to come by. There is no health or sexual education classes in schools. Health centers are also resource-poor (there are no displays of pretty brochures for information). I would venture to say many of the doctors and nurses are similarly uninformed and sometimes suffering from the same myths, especially cultural. Planned Parenthood does not exist. Where else are these students, and other youth, going to get information about sex and especially the truth and how to practice it safely? Their parents? Many are orphaned, making them a marginalized, high-risk group, and for those that do have parents, their parents are also usually uninformed. There are no stereotypical “sex talks” between parents and children in Rwanda. The risk of not knowing (the majority of students having sex, but not safely, with the risk of pregnancy and HIV/AIDS incredibly high) is huge compared to the risk of knowing (okay, a few more students having sex, but having sex safely). In conclusion, my role is safe sex educator- the only such important educator. I am filling a gap that exists in my community in Rwanda by teaching about safe sex and the consequences and risks of unsafe sex. That is the gap that exists here, that is the role I have here, and that is what works here. I don’t know what I would do in America, because the situation and context are different.
After our discussion, we spent the rest of the time having a little party to celebrate our completion and accomplishment. We took class photos. Unfortunately, I have very few photos of our class because, well when I am teaching, I can not also be taking photos. Since I am the only teacher, I don’t get a break to take photos. When family and friends came to visit, I always lured them into the classroom with the official title of professional class photographer, but this was the minority of the time. It is a shame, too. But, on our last day, I was sure to line everyone up just like in the good ol’ days of elementary school, tallest in the middle of the back row, shortest in the front. I took a class photo, against the wall of the youth center. Then, I had my colleague take a photo of the class with me, their teacher, although my colleague had little experience with cameras and the photo ended up crooked and blurred. Alas, even though I can barely make out the faces, it is a memory just the same.
After our photo, we returned inside and I passed around cookies. We enjoyed our cookies and I told the students how much I have enjoyed teaching them, that I hope they learned a lot and continue sharing what they learned with family, friends, and peers. They asked, “What now?” And I answered, “I am still here. You know where to find me. You can come visit me at the youth center, my office is right across the hall. You can come whenever you want. You don’t need an invitation. I will see you because I still have projects at your school. The youth center can’t offer you financial support, but if you want guidance from me, you can continue to get it. For example, if you have created a plan and you want advice, come to me. If you are training a group about something you learned here and want technical support, come to me. If you have any further questions, come to me. I am still here and not going anywhere.”
Then, in a very Rwandan act, they began giving speeches. Rwandan culture values speeches. Perhaps it is the lack of other activities to do. Our graduation ceremonies in America include speeches, but are also littered with photos (Most Rwandans do not possess a photo of themselves, and definitely not at different stages of their lives), alternating with slideshows (Most schools, and definitely youth centers, do not have a projector), and concluded with the presentation of diplomas and roses (okay, Rwandans love their certificates and I was asked to give them, but I didn’t have the opportunity to get them printed before class because I have to travel to Rwamagana an hour away to do so, so I promised to bring them to school when I had the chance… and roses, what’s the point of growing something unless you can eat it?). In Rwanda, those are not realistic alternatives, so speeches, and only speeches, persist. Lots and lots of speeches, too. The students went around the classroom, thanking me for giving them the opportunity to study here with me, to learn what they learned, but also to improve their English. It was actually very special. I was touched by their gratitude and sincerity.
It was hard to say goodbye to the students. The class was over after six months of work. Honestly, that class and those students were what gave me a sense of purpose here and kept me persevering through the difficult times. I loved teaching them, as much for unselfish reasons as selfish ones. What now for them? WHAT NOW FOR ME? Alas, on to other projects, like community newspapers, libraries, and Camp GLOW, but I will remember my students and our class on Life Skills and Health Education forever- teaching them was a life-changing experience, full of joy, important lessons and realizations. I don’t know that I will get the opportunity to teach another class of this sort because school ends in November for the long break until February and I compete my service in May. So this is it- Goodbye class!

The Education System in Rwanda

2011-09-30T03:19:00.000-07:00

Here's a little something, something I wrote on the education system in Rwanda... I feel like I talk a lot about the health system, but I haven't focused much on the education system. I was a bit shocked during my research to learn about the state of education in Rwanda, and thought I would share.

Rwanda is a small landlocked country in central-east Africa approximately the size of Maryland and bordered by the countries of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Uganda, Tanzania, and Burundi. It is popularly referred to as the “Land of 1000 Hills” or the “Switzerland of Africa” for the grassy uplands and rolling hills that cover its landscape. Rwanda is home to 11,370,425 people, making it the most densely populated country in Africa. It is a poor, rural country with 60% of its population living below the official poverty line and 90% of its population engaged in subsistence agriculture. Its system of government is a multiparty republic, with President Paul Kagame winning his second seven-year term by popular vote in the election of 2010.

Rwanda is most commonly remembered internationally for the genocide that took place in 1994. Rwanda is home to three ethnic groups- the Hutu (84%), the Tutsi (15%) and the Twa (1%). Historically, these groups lived in harmony, establishing a feudal system in which the elite Tutsi herders reigned over the majority Hutu agriculturalists. During Rwanda’s period of colonization by Belgium, different groups were favored at different times, exasperating ethnic divisions and resulting in tension, the overthrow of the Tutsi king in 1959, and the killing and exile of thousands of Tutsis in the decades following independence. Tutsis in exile in neighboring countries formed a rebel group called the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), headed by Paul Kagame, and began a civil war in 1990. The war, along with several political and economic upheavals, culminated in a state-orchestrated genocide in April of 1994, killing over one million Rwandans, including three-quarters of the Tutsi population. The RPF defeated the national army and Hutu militias later that same year and established a government of national unity. The country has recently emerged as a beacon of hope for development in Africa.

The government has promoted the importance of education in stimulating development and reducing poverty through its Economic Development and Poverty Reduction Strategy (EDPRS) and Nine Years Basic Education Program. 15% of the national budget is devoted to education, of which 9.5% is allocated to secondary and tertiary education at the expense of primary. Education is mandatory for 6 years of primary school and 3 years of lower secondary school. Schools are run by the state and students are not required to pay school fees.

Despite government efforts to achieve universal primary education, education levels in Rwanda remain low. Rwandans are expected to attend 9 years of mandatory schooling and 11 years to compete secondary school. However, the mean number of years a Rwandan spends in school is only 3.3. This is lower than the average number of years in the Sub-Saharan Africa region as a whole, which is 4.5. Rwanda also has one of the worst repetition rates of countries in the Sub-Saharan region. Based on the 2010 Human Development Index report, Rwanda ranked 152 out of 160 countries in a measure based on income, education, and health.

The number of Rwandans attending school is increasing, with enrollment in primary school doubling over the last decade. However, no significant increase resulted from the fee-free education policy implemented as a part of the Nine Years Basic Education Program, indicating that factors other than school fees are responsible for the low levels of education in Rwanda.

The Rwandan education system faces many challenges. Facilities and resources for education have not increased simultaneously with the greater number of students enrolled. In 2008, approximately 71 primary students were taught in a single classroom and 5 secondary students shared a single textbook. 40% of teachers in Rwanda have less than 5 years teaching experience and most are not qualified to teach, especially at secondary level. As a result, education in Rwanda is of low quality.
Rwanda joined the Commonwealth in late 2009 and its education system switched from one conducted in French to English. As a result, the lack of resources and poor quality has worsened. French textbooks that were available for use previously are no longer relevant and funding is limited to supply new English textbooks. Further, teachers who have been working in the French system and are used to teaching in French are now expected to teach in English without the corresponding language training. Many students are more competent than their teachers in English.

As a result of the genocide and the HIV/AIDS epidemic, the population of Rwanda is disproportionally young. The median age of Rwandans is 18.7 years. The percentage of young people of school-going age is continuing to increase, putting even greater strain on already limited facilities and resources.

Poverty is the greatest obstacle to education in Rwanda. Despite the waiver of school fees for mandatory schooling, many families are unable to provide the school uniform and materials required to send a child to school. Further, children are kept from school to help with domestic chores, subsistence agriculture, or work in other income-generating activities. At higher levels of education, students must provide their own school fees, as well as uniform and materials. Many poor families are unable, causing students to drop out once they reach this level and never complete secondary school. Poor, and typically illiterate, parents are also less likely to value the education of their children, especially girls.

Despite the challenges, the education system in Rwanda is improving, with huge efforts made by the government and other stakeholders. Enrollment, attendance, and retention rates are increasing and quality is improving with plans for the future. Information and communication technology is being emphasized in schools as Rwanda promotes a service-based economy in order to develop given its landlocked and geographical disadvantages, ensuring jobs for those students who eventually graduate.

To Plan Or Not To Plan

2011-09-30T03:10:00.000-07:00

I taught a lesson on planning to the boys the other day. We are nearing the end of our curriculum, and because of time, looming exams, and the students’ need to study, we are rushing and may not get to all the topics. The students, especially the boys, had asked specifically about the lesson on planning, so I thought it was a good topic to include. Now, I taught the class to the boys only because, well I had other things to do with the girls, namely applications for Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World), but that is a different blog. The girls are going to get their lesson on planning during Camp GLOW, since one full day will be dedicated to it.
When I thought about teaching planning, I knew that the skills were not going to be used. Why? Because the system in Rwanda is pitted against planning. It’s the same challenge I face all the time in work. I plan my activities, but no one else does, so my plans are obsolete, always overlooked, never followed, constantly changed. It became exhausting to put my effort into something that was worthless or useless, so I learned not to plan, or at least not in the sense of the action we take, and instead allow for the flexibility that is necessary to survive in the work environment here.
It’s the same for my students, and for the rest of Rwanda. It doesn’t benefit one person to plan, because no one else has changed, and that one person is actually at a disadvantage because of it. They put time and energy into planning, found that their plan was ignored anyways, and perhaps felt stressed and frustrated because of it. Planning hasn’t made that leap to where enough people are doing it and it becomes worthwhile, so it is stuck in a viscous, self-feeding cycle. I have faith that planning will become important in Rwanda, but that day has not arrived yet.
That brings us to an interesting point about the role of Peace Corps Volunteers in general. I know that many of the ideas I am teaching and promoting in my class are not ready to be used by my students. Behavior change is a difficult task, and in some cases, I know my class is not ready to change and I have to accept that. Take the girls for example. In our discussion on gender roles and equality, they were adamant that girls face no disadvantages in Rwanda. I disagree, but I kept my opinion to myself, simply because it is not my place. If they feel that way now, I know they may not always feel that way, but there is nothing I can or should do about it. They have to feel like something needs to change for me to offer guidance in how to change it, the direction to go. If they are content, not that they will always be content, I should not project my own opinions upon them. In these cases, my role as agent of change becomes something more like planter of ideas.
I am putting ideas in their head and expanding their worldview, the social and cultural “box” we view the world through. I am planting the seeds that may one day grow into large, beautiful, productive plants, that is, if the seeds are not eaten by birds or uprooted by children (yes, I have been spending a lot of time in my garden lately, and gardens have a lot of metaphors for life). My role as Peace Corps Volunteer is then to inspire, provide hope, and allow people to realize their potentials and the possibilities of the world they live in. I have instilled the idea and introduced the method, the rest is up to them when they are ready.
But, back to planning, here’s what I told the class, well the boys.
First, we talked about, “What is a PLAN?” “A system for achieving a goal. The GOAL is what we want to achieve. The PLAN is how we are going to achieve it.” I used the example of point A and point B. We are at point A. We want to get to point B. Point B is the goal. How we get from point A to point B is the plan.
Then, we talked about why a plan is useful. We created a list on the blackboard. They had a lot of great ideas. I wondered if they realized the benefits of planning, but just couldn’t or didn’t know how to put planning to use, which made me hopeful. Maybe planning in Rwanda has a chance. Maybe they ARE ready for change. But like I said, it was going to have to be a huge social movement of planning in order to make it beneficial for the individual. “Planning is useful because it helps us identify our goal and how we are going to achieve it. Because it helps us ensure our goal is something we can achieve. Because we have a clear path that we can follow and are more likely to stay on it to our goal” “We can make plans for school, jobs, other activities, and life in general.”
“How do we make a plan?” “1. SET GOALS. Remember, a goal is what we want to achieve. There are two kinds of goals. SHORT-TERM GOALS are things we can achieve in under 6 months. LONG-TERM GOALS are things we can achieve in over 6 months. Short-term goals help us reach our long-term goals. For example, my long-term goal may be to be a doctor. The short-term goals I need to reach my long-term goal are, finish high school, succeed in my national exams, receive a scholarship to a university in medicine, etc.” A very relevant example as many of my students want to be doctors.
We did an exercise in goal-setting and planning. I had the students write in their notebooks. First, they wrote a long-term goal. “Visualize the life you dream. Think about education, job, family.” Second, they wrote the short-term goals that will help them reach their long-term goals. Third, they wrote how they are going to reach their short-term goals. “What do you need to do? What actions or steps do you need to take to reach your short-term goals?” I also had them estimate completion dates for their short-term goals, emphasizing importance of time. “Completion dates are important because they ensure our goals are time-bound, so we are more likely to stick to them.” Time, time, time- In Rwanda, the concept of time is very different from that we have in America (In fact, I would venture to say it does not exist or is of little importance here). Fourth, I asked, “What obstacles or problems might you face that could prevent you from reaching your goals and think of ways to avoid them if possible?” They wrote. In the end, they had a pretty basic plan.
We finished our class with a few tips on planning. “Make sure your plan is realistic. Write it down. Refer back to it periodically. Follow it, INCLUDING COMPLETION DATES! EXCLAMATION MARK! Adjust it as necessary. Keep it up to date.”
It was a pretty basic class, in my eyes at least, but something completely new for my students. Like so many other things, the concept of planning is foreign, literally brought by outsides. Rwandans, like many people in developing country situations, focus on the present simply because it is the only thing guaranteed. Tomorrow is not, so why plan for it, is the common mentality. But, as health care improves, education becomes more important, and jobs are available, planning for the future is a very valuable skill. Many of my students will write their national exams to graduate high school this year, and either continue to higher education or seek a job. Planning is a skill that gives them an advantage over their fellow students (although it is my hope that their peers may one day be introduced to the concept of planning as well). In my opinion, the lack of life skills, including planning, taught to students is a problem, because they graduate high school knowing these obscure chemistry formulas and history facts, but have no idea what to do with them or how to apply them. And my motto becomes, “Planning people!” But again, I’m keeping my opinion to myself (and those of you who read my blog).
There are a few students who seem to really “get it,” you know. There is one who asked numerous questions throughout the lesson on planning and really put some time into making his plan. He arrived at my office after class to ask me to look over his plan and it was awesome. His long-term goals were to own his own property and be an economist. He asked, “Can my long-term goals lead up to one another, since owning my own property will come after I have a job as an economist.” “Yes, of course!” I said, encouragingly. Perhaps he is the one… the one to start the planning movement in Rwanda.

Love, Relationships, and Sex

2011-09-28T02:50:00.000-07:00

For the session on LOVE, RELATIONSHIPS, and SEX, I originally sat down and planned a lesson. After our lesson on emotions, which involved a lot of lecturing on my part and boredom on the part of my students, I decided in an act of impulse to discard the lesson and do something a bit more interactive and to the point- a question-and-answer period with the questions my students had about love, relationships and sex.
My initial notes for the lesson served a useful preparatory exercise and guide. In matters such as these, I had to be very careful what I said to a group of secondary school youth. So, I am going to share my notes, and then share some of the questions we discussed during the session, and the major themes I felt I repeated numerous times.

Notes on love, relationships, and sex.
LOVE. Love is an emotion of strong affection and personal attachment. It is an extreme, intense feeling of “like”- lots and lots of “like.” Our ability to feel romantic love develops during adolescence. A natural part of growing up is to develop romantic feelings and sexual attractions to others.
Love is made up of three parts. 1) ATTRACTION, what we call “the chemistry of love.” It is the physical, sexual attraction two people have. 2) CLOSENESS, the bond that develops when we share thoughts and feelings we don’t share with other people. We feel supported, cared for, understood, and accepted for who we are. Trust is a big part of closeness. And 3) COMMITMENT, the promise or decision to stick by the other person through the ups and downs of the relationship.
Different feelings and relationships have different amounts of each and the amounts change with time. It is difficult to tell the difference between attraction and closeness and that causes much of love’s confusion, especially when we are young and inexperienced with love.
RELATIONSHIPS. We typically have shorter relationships when we are young because adolescence is a time when we are changing quickly. We also seek lots of different experiences and want to try many different things.
The things we want from a relationship change as we grow older and that is part of the process of discovering who we are, what we value, and what we want. When we are young, our relationships are about fun, doing things, fitting in, and social status. As we grow older, we place more value on the closeness component.
Our first experience falling in love usually starts as attraction and feels like love, but it is not yet love because it has not had time to develop the closeness necessary for love. These feelings are new, intense, and hard to understand, so we may confuse them with love. The attraction usually fades overtime, so if relationship is going to last, the closeness needs to develop. Developing closeness is a back-and-forth, building process. In a healthy, long-term relationship, the attraction comes and goes, but the closeness is always there.
A healthy relationship has love, but that’s not all and not enough. A healthy relationship must also have 1) mutual respect- each person values and understands the other. They would never challenge the other’s boundaries, for example, in sex. 2) Trust. 3) Honesty. 4) Support- in bad and good times. 5) Fairness/Equality- a balance. 6) Separate identities- both people have their own lives. 7) Good communication- speak honestly and openly, don’t keep feelings inside.
SEX. Deciding whether to have sex is one of the most important decisions you will ever make in your life. Use your judgment to decide if it is the right time and person. Consider pregnancy and its consequences, the risks of sexually transmitted diseases, emotional consequences, and moral factors, such as family expectations, personal values, religion and beliefs. What matters to you is the most important. Make your own decision. Many young people feel pressure to loose their virginity from boy or girl friends, friends, and the media. Your emotions and values may not match those of your friends and media maybe misleading because it is not real life.
In many relationships, one person wants to have sex but the other doesn’t. What matters is different for different people. You need to do what is right for you and no one else. Anyone who tries to pressure you into having sex isn’t looking out for you and what matters to you. They are trying to satisfy themselves. Sex should be an expression of love, not something a person feels like he or she must do. If a boy or girl friend loves you, they shouldn’t pressure you to do something you don’t want to do.
You have new sexual feelings and thoughts and that’s completely normal. It is the result of growing up and hormones (Remember all those hormones we talked about during the session on puberty?). Sometimes curiosity or feelings can make you think it is the right time to have sex, even though it is not. Don’t beat yourself up if you had sex and then wished you hadn’t. Sexual feelings can be difficult and confusing. Learn from the experience. Just because you had sex once doesn’t mean you have to continue or say yes later on.
Many teens wait to have sex and practice abstinence, not having sex. Their reasons include pregnancy and its consequences, the risk of sexually transmitted diseases, emotional state, and their morals, family values, religion and beliefs.
Two things to remember when it comes to you and sex- you are the person in charge of your body and happiness. You have lots of time to wait until you are totally sure you are ready.

I have a question box in the classroom at all times during sessions. Basically, the idea is that if a student has a question they don’t feel comfortable asking in front of the whole class, they can write it on a piece of paper and slip it in the question box for me to answer later. I have no idea who wrote the question. Today, we put the question box to good use as a part of our class. I placed it in the middle of the room, gave the students a sheet of paper and time to write all their questions about love, relationships, and sex. I spent the second part of the class answering their questions- more direct and to the point of what they want to know.

QUESTIONS:
Is it good to have a husband or wife (guaranteed situation) in certain years? If it is good, what is the difference between those who live together permanently and those who live together temporarily?
People say that if you love a girl without having sex, your love means nothing. Is it true?
If you have sex without first preparing, is there an effect on your sex organs?
Is it possible or good to have a girlfriend when you are a student?
Define love? Copulation? What is the importance of copulation?
In which year a boy like us have to have a girlfriend?
What can you do when your girlfriend asks you to have sex and when you refuse, she hates you?
When you have sex, the penis increases in size. Is it true? Explain.
What do you call it when a girl kisses a boy for a long time eating the tongue?
What effect when a boy kisses the vagina of a girl?
How can you know a girl loves you?
How can you show someone that you love him or her?
How can you make your boy or girl friend more happy?
What do you call a girl who loves many boys?
What causes sex to be very attractive for both male and females?
Some people say that the semen that comes with sperm is rich in lipids. Are those lipids the same as lipids in food?
What causes love between two people in sex?
The homosexual people love people with the same sex. What part of his brain is damaged? If it is a disease, can it be cured?
What is love?
How do you know that someone loves you?
What is the sign of love and difference between love of Jesus, love of parents, and love of boys and girls?
Someone told me that love is like a war- easy to start, hard to end, and impossible to forget- and told me that you don’t love as you want. I request a different explanation about those things from you.
When people have sexual intercourse, what are the negative consequences?
When you don’t have a boy or girl friend, what can you do to get one?
What are the benefits of having a boy or girl friend?
What are the advantages and disadvantages of family planning?
Does love get over? If it is not, why are some women separated from their husbands and why do they have divorce?
Is it necessary to love? If it is necessary, why?
Sometimes boys ask girls to have love with sex but the girls refuse and don’t accept it. Then, the boys become angry and sad. What is the way of calming down that hopeless situation?
Many people are confused about love. What can we do to avoid the confusion?
Is it really good and necessary to have sex with your boy or girl friend?
Why does love go with sex if it is not true?
What are the different kinds of love emotions?
Where the idea of having a boy or girl friend comes from?
In which time exactly one can enter in love with another one?
What is the difference between love of relatives and love of a girl, for example?
If we have a boy or girl friend, is it necessary to have sex?
Can sex be a symbol of love between a boy and girl friend?
How can I give thanks or how can my girl friend be proud of me?
Is it necessary to have a boy or girl friend?
What can a boy do in order for him to be loved by his girlfriend so much?
What are the negative effects that some people in love are likely to face if they don’t have sexual intercourse?
What are the advantages of people in love to spend their time not having sex?
Why is it that a boy may fear a girl?
What are the best things that boys and girls should do in order for them to remain in their relationships?
Why do some women get pregnant when they are still breastfeeding their babies?
Sex is not good for the students when they are still studying. But what if those students are suffering from love. What can they do to avoid that?
Some body parts have sex for the first time. What happens to them?
What is love? What is sex?
When a girl has sex when she is in her menstruation period, can she get pregnant? If yes or no, give reasons. What happens?
What do you call a man who marries with another man?
What advice can you give for people who can not stop from trying to have sex with every girl every time he sees one?
Some people are in love. Others are not. It means that some boys or girl don’t like to have relationships. Why?
I want to know if these is songs of love which can show you that someone is in love with you?
What is the difference between love and relationship?
If you are to love somebody, what characteristics should you consider?
If you are in love with a girl, is it good to have sex with her?
What is love? Why should we love? What do you learn from love? When should you start loving?
If you are in love with someone, what things can you do in order for him or her to understand that he or she is loved?

Okay, may I just say, to some of these questions, I thought, “Ahh, that’s so cute!” Others, I expected and was prepared for, and others didn’t make sense, but I tried to guess what they were asking and answer the questions the best I could. That’s one of the problems with anonymity. I can’t ask follow-up questions to get to the point and sometimes, the language creates something of a barrier to understanding. But, I have also been working with these students for six months now, so I can guess what they want to know, even if they don‘t say it in perfect English. I know what phrases they use, and instead of correcting them, I enjoy them each time I hear them. For example, instead of saying “have sex,” they always say, “play sex.” Also, if they say “friend,” they mean boy or girl friend. In Rwandan culture, you can’t have a friend of the opposite sex. It doesn’t exist in their language. A friend of the opposite sex is always a boy or girl friend in our English. I have changed those in many of their questions, for your better understanding, but you can still grasp the language barrier to questions and the cuteness of it (even if they are asking about adult topics). I thoroughly enjoyed their questions on love, sex, and relationships.

I answered the questions based on the notes I had written beforehand. I felt that I repeated major themes or ideas numerous times throughout the answer period, so I am going to share those.

1) What is love? 3 parts- 1) attraction, 2) closeness, 3) commitment. Attraction is often confused with love, especially when we are young and inexperienced, but it is only one part.

2) The difference between love and sex. Love is an emotion. Sex is an action. They are not the same, although they are often confused, and not only by us but in our surroundings. Love is not sex. Sex is not love. Most importantly, you can have love without sex.

3) The consequences of having sex. 1) Pregnancy and its consequences, 2) the risk of sexually-transmitted diseases, 3) emotional consequences, 4) moral factors.

4) If a boy or girl loves you, they shouldn’t pressure you into having sex. If they do, they don’t really respect you and without respect, you can’t have love, so they are not someone you want to have sex with.

5) When we are young, it is not a good idea to have sex. We are confused and unsure of our feelings and unable to handle the consequences. It is best for young people to practice abstinence, but if we are going to have sex when we are young, we must practice safe sex and use a condom.

6) Healthy relationships have love, mutual respect, trust, honesty, support, fairness and equality, separate identifies, and good communication.

7) There are many ways to show love (and then we thought of some together as a group- singing songs, writing love letters, giving gifts). But most important is saying “I love you!” to the person you love (I received a loud shout of astonishment from the group at this last comment).

8) The best thing you can do to get or keep a boy or girl friend is just be confident in yourself. They should like you for who you are. There is nothing more attractive than confidence.

And that was love, relationships, and sex. I think I answered a lot of their questions, made my points, and soothed their anxieties, at least a little, about these difficult subjects and confusing time of change in their life.

Tea and Peanut Butter

2011-09-28T01:37:00.000-07:00

I went to my favorite tea shop the other day. After the whole no-food incident of last week, I needed some tea and chapati before I could walk the half-mile or so to the market and purchase food for this week. Violet, my friend, who I can barely communicate with but we share a laughing bond, is the owner and I think she was a bit mad at me for not visiting her in such a long time. I explained that I have been very busy with work- I have three projects overlapping right now for a month. She asked if I worked for Plan Rwanda. I answered, “Yes.” “Ah,” she exclaimed, “Plan has a lot of work.” It made me smile to hear her say this. Two years ago, no one in my village knew Plan Rwanda. When I introduced myself in Kinyarwanda, saying, “I am a Peace Corps Volunteer and I work for Plan Rwanda,“ people stared back at me with apathetic eyes. Plan was a new organization in Rwanda and was just starting to make its presence known in Gatsibo District, in the east where I live. Two years later, people know about Plan and what it does. Now, when I say, “I work for Plan Rwanda,” peoples’ faces brighten and they smile, “Plan is really helping us, doing great things,” they say. I feel proud to be part of such an action. This is a reminder to myself to tell my supervisor at Plan. She would also be pleased.
At the tea shop, I noticed one single jar of peanut butter on the shelf. The shop has never held peanut butter before and frankly, peanut butter is a very muzungu thing. I wondered, A) if it was placed there strategically to lure me in and B) how in the world it got there… what was its journey? I know, an odd reaction and strange things to wonder about a jar of peanut butter, but that is what we Peace Corps Volunteers have been reduced to. It also makes me laugh at the upcoming case of reverse culture shock I will soon experience.
First, was is placed there strategically to lure me in after such a long absence from the tea shop? It’s possible, in fact quite likely. Maybe these Rwandans are more in tune with microeconomics, micro village economics that is, than we give them credit for. And I am a pretty strong force on supply and demand. People always tell me that they are happy I live here because I help them by spending money. I don’t feel like I buy more than the next person and in fact, I live off the same or less income, so I don’t feel like I spend much more. I’m not sure where this perception comes from, except it is the legacy of muzungus in this country and because of the color of my skin, they just assume that I have and spend more money. Perhaps it is also what I spend my meager living allowance on, which are not items typically found in Rwandan kitchens. Or maybe that I am a loyal customer to only a few stores, where the owners have befriended me and no longer try to bilk me. Anyways, I often find that villagers try to find out what I or average muzungus like and carry those items in their stores in the hopes that they will lure me in and I will begin buying from their store. It is muzungucomics, muzungu economics.
But that doesn’t answer B) how the peanut butter got here? Another valid question with pretty obvious health outcomes. I mean, can’t peanut butter go bad? In African heat for a long period of time? You can never be too careful and being sick in this country is not an enjoyable experience. It is not enjoyable anywhere, but it is probably 1000 times worse here with no one to care for you and a pit latrine across a yard filled with Rwandans to run to. I know Violet does not make trips to Kigali often. So that jar of peanut butter must have traveled overland, from person to person, until it reached Kiramuruzi and was picked up by Violet in the heat of some developing plan to get me back into her tea shop. She probably heard from someone that muzungus like this awful spread made from their cherished peanuts. What a perfect item for our village resident muzungu Muhorakeye! It may have been sitting on the shelf waiting for me for two months because that is the amount of time that has passed since my last visit.
I didn’t buy the peanut butter, probably much to your and Violet’s surprise. I didn’t need it. I already had peanut butter that I had purchased in Kigali and brought back to site with me. More for the next Rwandan customer. I did not expect Voilet to carry it and there are just certain items that are nice to have around. I shop for a lot of things in Kigali. Mostly, things like spices and other augments to add flavor and diversity to my normal spread of ingredients. It’s the only way to survive here.
It was also recently brought to my attention that the east is really lacking. We heard when we first moved to the east that it is the flatter, hotter, drier, poorer part of the country. Well, I have little to compare it to, not having spent extensive time in villages in other parts of the country. It’s like how, whenever I leave the east, I always forget a sweatshirt and that the rest of the country is actually quite cold. I just assume that it is the same as my home in the east. Then, I spend the time away from site freezing, usually catching a cold by the time I return. Same for the rest of it, I just assume it is the same.
But, it’s not. The east is flatter, hotter, and drier, no way to argue that. But there are other differences too. The east is much less populated, and that’s saying something because I still feel like this country is an endless village of mud huts and people. But it’s true- the other parts of the country are more densely populated, an endless and dense village of mud huts and people. A lot of this has to do with the fact that until recently, where I am living was uninhabited, part of Akagera Park. During the war, people encroached on the park and began living here. I can still find hippopotamuses in my backyard, a few kilometers down the dirt road near the lake (so if I ever were to get hungry enough and have the courage to take on a raging hippopotamus, I could, although I might not live to tell the tale). Villages are new and have not had the time to become deeply engrained in their attitudes or ways. As a result, there is also less availability of stuff here. I didn’t realize until I walked into an average store in another part of the country and was overwhelmed by their selection. I’m still talking about the selection that could line the wall of a 5’ by 5’ room. Again, I wonder what will happen during reverse culture shock the first time I walk into a Target or, better yet, a Cosco.
Life is a bit of a struggle in the east in terms of availability of stuff. But there are wonderful things about the east too, things that I love about my village and are reasons that I am happy to be living here. The east is new, and its mentality is also new, its people much more open to change and difference. I like that attitude and enlightenment and am able to work with more positive outcomes. Openness to change is just the start. That is why I place such a premium on living by example in my village. In addition to peanut butter, other things could begin to take hold, like good nutrition, exercise, and reading. There is so much possibility. That is perhaps why I left the jar of peanut butter on Violet’s shelf. When I return and it is gone, I am going to wonder, who bought it? Because I know it was not a muzungu, me being the only one for miles around, so it must be a Rwandan. I wonder what he or she will think? And if Violet will begin stocking peanut butter from now on? All that pondering while sipping a cup of milky, African tea.

I'm so hungry I could eat a hippopotamus. Great. T.I.A. There is one in my backyard!

2011-09-25T00:30:00.000-07:00

The trouble all started when I missed Tuesday’s market because I had a meeting with Plan Rwanda in Rwamagana, an hour away from my village. The meeting was mandatory and could not be changed, so I missed the market. “That’s okay,” I thought at the time, “There’s another market on Saturday and I have some food to last me in the meantime.” So I went to my meeting, missing my market.
Let me explain quickly how the market system works. Two days a week- Tuesday and Saturday- my village has a market. At the end of town is the market square, basically tables of concrete or sticks woven together with banana leaves under an open, corrugated tin roof. On market days, the square is packed and bustling with typical market commotion. Villagers from even smaller villages surrounding my village arrive in the morning and set up their display of produce- piles of tomatoes, onions, carrots, peppers, stacks of oranges, tree tomatoes, passion fruit, rows of pineapple and papaya. That is just the food section. In other parts of the market, vendors set up stalls selling used clothing, fabric, or random assortments of household or hardware items. However, on a non-market day, the square is deserted, only a skeleton of empty tables, stick structures, and refuse on the ground. Around town, I can usually find some food in the stores, but it is limited and usually poor quality or overripe. I learned quickly- never miss a market day.
But I missed market day on Tuesday, with the promise of one soon-to-be. Then, I forgot and was reminded that Saturday is umuganda, the day of mandatory community service in Rwanda. There would be no market on Saturday. Instead, it would be on Friday. I was reminded of this fact late Friday night. The market that day was already over. It was too late to go.
I ran out of food on Friday. My logical solution was to go to the only restaurant in my town and order food. So, I hiked to town, entered the restaurant, and sat at my normal table, hidden in the back in a little cubicle just big enough for me. I ordered fries and brochettes, a typical Rwandan meal. The waitresses replied that they did not have that. “What food do you have?” I asked. “Nothing,” she answered. “O-K-A-Y.” I said. “Now what?” What could I do? I had a drink before hiking back home. I went to bed with an empty stomach.
The next morning I HAD to do something about this food situation. It was umuganda Saturday morning so I had to wait until afternoon to venture out. When that time finally came, I walked back to town. Most stores were not yet open. A few were and I bought what would be considered a feast in Rwanda- two chapattis. I brought them back to my office at the youth center and sat at my desk and gorged. I was so hungry. On my way home, I bought a bag of rice. I have been surviving all weekend on rice. But there is only so much rice one can eat before they start dreaming about other foods.
My friend made fun of me last week when she found out that I have eaten a raw potato. Yes, I have, but let me explain the situation. Food is difficult to find in Rwanda. It is not like we can just walk down to the nearest grocery store and buy what we want. We have to develop a strategy for utilizing food. We buy it at the market to last us a week and then we have to divvy it up among the meals for that week depending on what we want to make. If we don’t, we find ourselves in the situation I am currently in. But, there are other factors that must be taken into consideration when thinking about the successful preparation of food in Rwanda. Namely, petrol for my gas camping stove. So, one week my stove ran out of petrol. It is usually not a big deal, so I walked into town to the petrol station with my bottles in a bag on my shoulder. But, the petrol station was also out of petrol. Okay, so I couldn’t cook. It wasn’t a big deal at first. I ate foods I didn’t have to cook. Soon, all those foods were gone. Sometimes, I went to the restaurant, but I had these potatoes that were going bad. I think you can figure out the next step. One night, about three weeks into the petrol station being out of petrol, I cut up a potato and gnawed on it in an act of desperation. It was not good and I don’t think my body liked it based on the stomach cramps I had, but what was a girl to do?
What am I to do now? I am eating rice, plain boring rice. I am trying to spice it up a bit. That’s another thing about food preparation in Rwanda. I am a good cook and I am not contained by the directions in a recipe. I cook without recipes. In Rwanda, it always seems like I have only bits and pieces of recipes I want to do. And usually what is missing is a pretty big part of what I am trying to make. Like cheese for pizza. So I improvise and make “concoctions.” I’ve come up with some great ones, but, as I am sure you can imagine, also some really terrible ones.
I am dreaming about pizza and hamburgers, salad OH MY GOODNESS salad. Rice is also not satisfying or filling. I eat a bowl of it and I am still hungry. I am so hungry, I could eat a hippopotamus. Perfect. T.I.A (This Is Africa). There is a hippopotamus in my backyard. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the life of food as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Another Class on Emotions

2011-09-24T05:18:00.000-07:00

The Life Skills and Health Education Course at the youth center has resumed. The students are back at school from vacation, and although their minds are still somewhere else, they are slowly returning too. It seems like the progress I made during the preceding months has diminished during the vacation. Alas, I must build up their enthusiasm for the course again from the start.
Not only did the vacation mean no classes for three weeks, but the break pushed everything we have learned so far to the back of the students’ minds. In addition, they have returned with a new goal and pressure. Many of the students I teach are in Senior 6, or the last grade of high school. If they passed the exams they sat before the break, they became a candidate for the National Exam taking place at the end of this term in November. If they pass the National Exam, they graduate and depending on how well they do, they may get a scholarship to study at a government university. The exam, as you can imagine, is very competitive. Many of my students are candidates. They spend their free time from class studying for the exam. They apologized to me, explaining that they love coming to study at the youth center, but now it is difficult to find the time because they are studying so much. “I understand,” I tell them. “Your school and this exam are very important. I will be flexible and work around your schedules. AND if you feel like you need to study instead of come to class, that’s okay. You are adults and responsible to make those decisions.” I know we all want to think that what we are doing is the most important, but the truth is, the students in my class may be learning things that are important and necessary for improving their lives, but what they are learning is not going to change their life, determine their future, in the way that a high school diploma and government scholarship to university might. When it comes to comparing the two, my course definitely takes second place and last priority. And I understand that.
We have managed to have a few classes since their return, but some students are absent and the ones that are there seem distracted. I rarely have a full class anymore. And it seems like every week, we have to change the schedule for some activity or another. It is frustrating to plan a class, show up at school, only to find the students can not attend because they have something else going on. I understand that it is a busy time for them, but it doesn’t change the fact that I spent my time lesson planning and preparing, only to have my efforts go to waste because we don’t have class. I am glad that we are nearing the end of our course and the students will be able to focus on their studies, although I have enjoyed teaching them immensely.
The exam period coincided with our curriculum. We just reached the topic of managing emotions, namely stress, anger, and sadness. I can tell they are feeling stress right now. As for the other emotions, I know they have felt those too at one point in their lives. Everyone has.
Let’s start by talking a bit about emotions in Rwanda. Showing emotion in Rwanda is taboo. Crying in public, taboo. Anger, taboo. When you show strong emotions in public, people don’t know what to do. Usually, they respond by laughing, trying to hide their uncomfortableness and playing it off like it is not such a big deal. Part of it is just plain survival strategy. I know I blame everything in Rwanda on the genocide, but the reach of its effect is far and into every aspect of life here. Their emotional response, or lack thereof, is just another example. These people witnessed and experienced such a horrendous event. If they allowed themselves to feel, the first feelings that would come flooding back the strongest are the sadness and anger buried in their hearts from loss and war. Instead, they subdue these feelings, bury them deep within, and pretend they don’t exist. Overtime, they forget about feelings, how to feel, and how to deal with them.
Let me give you an example from class. I started the class by introducing emotions. “What is an emotion?” I asked. They didn’t know. Emotion is a difficult word. I have to be careful about using difficult words in my lessons. I try to simplify as much as possible, while still teaching, taking into consideration that a big incentive for many of the students to attend class, despite the objectives I set for the class, is the opportunity to improve their English language skills, necessary in a transitioning Rwanda where English is becoming more important. “Emotion is something we feel; it is a feeling.” Pretty simple. “What emotions do we feel?” Again, no response. Now, I think this is the most revealing part of the story. I began to make faces, the universal signs of emotions. I started with the simplest, most common, easy to recognize emotion of happiness. I grinned wide and asked, “What emotion is this?” No idea. “Happiness,” I said. They had never heard of happiness before. I frowned and traced a tear drop down my face. “What emotion is this?” No idea. “Sadness.” They didn’t know. I furrowed my brow and growled. “What emotion?” Again, no idea. “Anger.” They could not name a single emotion, although it is inevitable that they have felt them all at one point or another in their lives. Not being able to name suggests not being able to recognize feelings, not knowing how to deal with them, and not expressing them productively. We all know what happens when emotions are bottled up. They are like soda pop. A little shake and the whole thing explodes. That’s where class and my strong desire to incorporate this topic into it came in. “Today, we are going to talk about the specific emotions of STRESS, ANGER, and SADNESS, and how to manage them,” I began.
First, we talked about stress. “What is stress?” I asked. I wrote on the board, “Stress is what we feel when we are worried or uncomfortable about something. The worry in our minds can affect our bodies.” Then, I turned to the class, “Everybody gets stressed sometimes. Different people feel stress in different ways.” On the board, I wrote, “Symptoms,” and began to list them. “Feel angry, frustrated, scared. Stomach or head ache. Not able/don’t feel like sleeping or eating. Sleep or eat too much. Irritable. Trouble paying attention or remembering things.” “Different people feel different symptoms. Not everyone feels all the symptoms. Some people may feel some and other people others.” I wrote “Causes” on the board under “Symptoms.” “There are many causes of stress. Stress can be caused by almost anything that causes us to be worried or uncomfortable. We experience some normal, good stress. This is the kind of stress that puts pressure on us to get things done. For example, your teacher may give you an assignment with a deadline. You may feel a bit of stress to get it done before that deadline. But, if your teacher never gave you a deadline and caused that bit of stress , you would probably never do it, right? Bad stress happens if stressful feelings are too much or keep going over a long time. Bad stress is caused by anything that makes us really upset everyday. This stress is not good. It can even make us sick.”
“We are going to talk about ways to manage stress.” I wrote “Managing stress” on the board. “Some ways, such as screaming, hitting someone, punching a wall, don’t solve much. Other ways can help us solve our problem and feel better. There are five steps to manage stress.”
“1. GET SUPPORT” I wrote on the board, followed by “Talk to a trusted adult- parent, relative, or teacher- or friend.” Then, I said, “They may have experienced or be feeling the same about similar problems and situations.”
“2. DON’T FREAK OUT.” “It is easy to let our feelings and actions go wild when we are stressed. Don’t. Notice how you feel, name it. Think about why you feel that way. Then find a way to calm down. Do whatever helps shift you to a better mood. For example, breathing exercises, playing music, writing, going for a walk, doing sports. Remember when we played sports during exam week and how much better we felt afterwards?”
“3. DON’T TAKE IT OUT ON YOURSELF.” “Be kind to yourself and ask for the helping hand or pat on the back that you need- and deserve- to get you through the stressful period or situation. Remember, everyone experiences stress and there are always people to help.”
“4. TRY TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM.” “After you are calm and have support, you need to figure out what the problem is and how you can solve it. Even if you can’t solve it all, you may be able to solve a piece of it.”
“And the last step, 5. BE POSITIVE.” “Most stress is temporary. It may not seem like it in the middle of a stressful period or situation, but stress does go away, usually when we figure out the problem and start working on solving it. Stay positive throughout the situation and you will get there.”
“These steps work to manage stress so that we feel better, faster, during a stressful period or situation. But a bigger part of managing stress is preventing stressful periods and situations from taking place. The best way to prevent stress is to HAVE A BALANCED LIFE. Make good decisions about how you balance your time. Keep yourSELF in mind.” I wrote “S-E-L-F” on the board in a column under “Have a balanced life.” “SELF stands for S- Sleep, E- Exercise, L- Leisure (something fun), and F- Food.” “If we take care of ourselves, get enough sleep and food, exercise and leave time for fun, we can prevent stress in our lives.”
“We are going to practice a breathing exercise for stressful situations. Inhale, meaning to breath in, slowly and deeply through your nose. Mmmmm. Then, exhale, or breather out, slowly through your mouth. Ahhhh. Repeat two to four times. Do you feel better, more relaxed, LESS STRESSED? Breathing slowing can help you feel better and more relaxed in stressful situations. Try it next time you feel stressed.”
“Next, we are going to talk about anger.” I wrote “ANGER” on the board. “What is anger?” I asked. “A way we feel,” they answered hesitantly. “It is a way we feel, good, in response to ill-treatment.” Then, I said, “Everyone make your best angry face.” I furrowed my brow again and pursed my lips again, and the class followed. We all laughed. “Everyone gets angry. It’s okay and important to get angry sometimes. If we are treated poorly, we should get angry to show that we don’t appreciate ill-treatment. The hard part is learning what to do with these strong feelings.”
“People feel anger in different ways.” Again, I wrote “Symptoms” on the board and began listing them, “Breathe faster. Face turns bright red. Muscles tense. Fists clench. Break something/hit someone. Yell or scream. Head or stomach ache. Feel crummy. Cry.” Under “Symptoms” I wrote, “Causes.” “Like stress, there are many causes of anger,” I said. “Anger must be released or else it will build up and explode like a volcano. We need to release anger in a good way; a way that doesn’t hurt ourselves or others.”
Next, I wrote “Managing anger” on the board. “The goal of managing anger is to calm ourselves down and try to solve the problem. There are three steps to managing anger.” And I wrote them on the board.“1. CALM YOURSELF DOWN. Don’t loose control or take it out on others. 2. GET SUPPORT. Talk to a trusted adult or friend. 3. SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Admit that you are angry, figure out why and how you can solve the problem. Also think about how you can prevent it from happening again.”
“Three steps, pretty simple. The hardest step is the first step, calming yourself down.” I circled the first step on the board. “We are going to talk about ways to calm ourselves down.” I wrote “Calming yourself down” on the board. Then, I began to list different activities used to calm ourselves down. “Count to 10. Take a break, referred to as “time-out” from the situation. Do exercises, like the breathing exercise I showed you for stress, or stretching, jumping jacks. Get or give a hug. Draw a picture. Sing/dance along to music. Do work. Do something physically active, such as sports. Do the “Be a Volcano” Exercise, that I am going to show you. Does anyone have anything to add?” One boy raised his hand, “Take a nap,” he said. “Great! Everyone should do what makes sense for him or her. Choose what calms you down best.”
“Okay, the “Be a Volcano” Exercise. Everyone know the volcanoes in the northern part of the country? We are going to pretend to be like them. Everyone stand up, space yourselves out so you have enough room and aren’t going to hit your neighbor. First, I’m going to show you and then we are going to do it together. Pretend that you are a volcano. Stand with your feet together and your hands pressed in front of you.” They didn’t get the whole me first, you second, but that’s okay. We’ll do it all together. “Jump your feet apart while you push your hands up over your head, away from your body, and down to your sides. Make a “Pff…” sound as you do this. Imagine you are one of those volcanoes releasing pressure, lava, and steam. Take three deep breaths.” At the end of the exercise, we laughed. “See,” I said, “That’s good if you can go from being angry to laughing.”
We sat back down and resumed. “Everyone gets angry. How we act when we are angry can make a situation better or worse. If we break something when we are angry, we make the situation worse because we didn’t solve the initial problem and now we also have to deal with the consequences of breaking something. But if we follow the steps- calm ourselves down, get support, solve the problem- we make the situation better. Don’t let anger control you; take control of it!”
“Now we are going to talk about what to do if someone ELSE is angry. First, there are some signs we can use to tell if someone else is angry. They may stomp away, stop talking, become quiet and withdrawn, yell or scream, break something or hit someone. We’ve talked about what to do when we are angry, but we don’t have control over other people to ensure they are following those steps. So, what should we do if someone else is angry? Again, there are three steps. 1. GET AWAY. If someone else is angry, get away as fast as you can as soon as you can. If they don’t take a break from the situation and calm down, you will do it for them. 2. THINK. Try to figure out what made the person angry and why. Can you make the situation better? And 3. TALK. When the other person has calmed down, try to talk about it. It is especially important to listen to what he or she has to say.”
“Okay, now we’ve talked about what to do when we are angry and when someone else is angry. Last, we are going to talk about sadness. What is SADNESS?” I wrote “SADNESS” on the board. “It is emotional pain associated with a lowering of mood. We feel physical pain when we stub our toe, right? Emotional pain is different; it is the pain we feel in our hearts.”
“Everyone gets sad. Feeling sad once in a while is normal. When we are sad, it feels like it will last forever, but feelings of sadness usually don’t last very long.”
“A deeper, more intense sadness that lasts longer is called DEPRESSION and we will talk about that, too.”
“Unlike stress and anger, there are some specific identified causes of sadness. The most common cause of sadness is loss and separation. The sadness we feel from the death of a loved one is called GRIEF. Usually, grief decreases overtime, but there is always some.”
The room was silent. I felt a bit uncomfortable standing before the class talking about grief. Most students lost family members during the genocide and their grief is still strong and affects them today. I know, I see it, they talk about it, usually alluding to it and in passing. How can I pretend I understand or that there is some scientific explanation for what they are feeling or some way to make it go away? But, how could I talk about sadness and NOT talk about grief, especially when it is so relevant to the people I am teaching? So, I ignored my apprehension, gathered my confidence, and began talking. As I spoke, I tried to sound strong and reassuring. In order to do this, I had to remove myself mentally from the situation and not think too hard about what I was saying while I was saying it. In moments where I lost concentration, I became flustered and diffident. It was the toughest moment of teaching the class. You see, talking about family and by default, the genocide, is a sensitive topic that is usually glazed over or avoided altogether. Almost everyone lost family members in the genocide, so a discussion about family inevitable leads to one about the genocide. We were told to approach these subjects cautiously and I‘ve had little practice discussing them. The students became plastered and rigid, the pain sweeping over their faces at they sat alert before me. When we were done, their bodies relaxed. So did mine. But I was glad I did it, overcame that issue, confronted that obstacle. I think they were too, what a relief.
“The other causes of sadness are 2) Changes, that we go through, 3) Disappointments, that we have, 4) Relationships, we are in, and 5) Other people, that we interact with by fighting, teasing, peer pressure, leaving out, and misunderstandings.” I didn’t feel the need to explain those causes in as great of depth as the first, so we moved on.
“Sadness makes us feel like crying and sometimes it is hard to stop. That’s okay and good. Crying makes us feel better. Talking about what made us sad usually makes us feel better, too.”
“Last, we are going to talk about DEPRESSION. When does sadness become a problem? If sad feelings go on for too long, hurt too deeply, and make it hard for us to enjoy the good things in life, it is called depression. The symptoms of depression are,” and I started listing them, “Feel empty and numb. Feel hopeless, like there is nothing to look forward to. Feel guilty and worthless; lonely and unloved; irritable, annoyed, restless; like things are not fun. We have trouble focusing on school or work, usually resulting in poor performance. Have trouble paying attention or remembering. Have less energy or are tired all the time. Sleep too much or not enough. Eat too much or not enough, resulting in weight gain or loss. Think about death and suicide. Spend less time with friends and more time alone. Cry a lot, often, and for no reason. Have other body pains, such stomach or head aches, and chest pains.”
“It is important for people who are experiencing sadness or depression to GET HELP from a trusted adult or friend. When we do, we can get better, faster. Remember, there is always someone to talk to when you are feeling sad or depressed and they will help.”
The last part of the session, my favorite, I called DEALING WITH FEELINGS. It had a nice rhyme to it, and who knows, maybe it will make something that is just not done in Rwanda, talking about emotions, sound fun so people will give it a try.
“The biggest part of dealing with feelings is identifying what we feel, why, and finding solutions to the problem. It is important to share our feelings with a trusted adult or friend. Other people are important for support in dealing with feelings.”
“Sometimes the toughest part about dealing with feelings is sharing them with others. That is why we are going to talk about talking about feelings.” Again, got a little rhythm to it.
“First, why talk about feelings at all? Because the way a person feels is important and not always obvious. Not talking about feelings is hard because we are left alone with them. Not talking won’t solve the problem. When we talk to someone about how we feel, we feel better. We are not alone with our feelings and they can help us find solutions and solve the problem. In order to tell someone how we feel, we must have a talk. “
“There are a couple steps to take before the talk. 1. FIGURE OUT WHAT YOU ARE FEELING. You must figure out what you are feeling first before you talk about it. Think of a situation and how it made you feel and why. 2. WRITE IT DOWN. If you think that you will have trouble saying what’s on your mind, write it down. And 3. PLAN YOUR TALK. Plan who, who not, when and where.”
“When conditions are right- right people, right time, right place- start the talk. Start with what you need from the talk. Do you want the other person to… listen and understand? Give permission and support? Offer advice or help? Guide back on the right track if in trouble?”
“Here are a few tips on talking.” And I began listing, “Be clear and direct. Give details and examples as needed. If the person doesn’t understand what you mean, say it again in a different way. Be honest. Try to understand the other person’s point of view. Don’t whine or argue. Use a tone that is friendly and respectful. If talking doesn’t work with that person, try it again with someone else.”
“In conclusion, we don’t have to share every feeling, but it is important to share our feelings when we need help. We don’t have to solve every problem on our own. Sometimes we need help and that’s okay. Talking about our feelings can be the first step towards getting the help we need and solving the problem so we feel better.”
And that was our class on emotions. It was a tough class to teach and probably a tough one for the students to grasp, simply because the concept of expressing feelings is so contradictory to their typical practice. I also learned a lot teaching it. It reminded me that the next time my anger starts to rise and potentially blow like that volcano we were talking about because my bus has not arrived and I will be late for a meeting again, or a visit to the kitchen at the restaurant where I am sitting reveals that, after two hours of waiting for the food I ordered, they have not started cooking yet, or a group of children peering in my window refuse to leave and in fact become more amused the more angry I get, or so many other scenarios, I need to remind myself to take three deep breaths, count to 10, or do something to calm myself down. The next time I am feeling homesick, I can remember to remind myself that sadness eventually passes, even when it feels like it will last forever, as my experience in Rwanda proves with its constant ups and downs. These are all good lessons to remember, because these are also feelings I have, and what kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach?

A baby is born, classes resume, fundraising is completed, and life goes on…

2011-08-31T03:18:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, Big Mama had her baby. It was actually very chaotic, shocking, and eye-opening. She was in the house when she went into labor. A call was made. Her husband arrived with a pick-up truck. She was carried, with a bit of a struggle, and laid on a mattress on the bed of the pick-up and driven two hours to the hospital in Kigali. The road from my house is dirt and littered with ruts and potholes from the downpour rains we have had recently. The paved roads are little better but not much, bumpy and winding, up and down hill, the entire way. I was flabbergasted and am still stunned from witnessing the situation. That is what health care in this country really is- even the nurses won’t have babies in the hospitals in which they work. People who can afford it go to Kigali. And getting there is not a pretty experience. Imagine, back of a pick-up truck on a winding, bumpy road all the way to the hospital hours away. It’s something we read about in books, something very different and surreal to experience in reality.
She had a baby boy, quickly too. That evening, she was brought back to the house, this time in the cab of the pick-up with her addition. She arrived dressed in a new traditional African outfit. Only hours after giving birth, she was full of energy, standing, walking, talking, as if nothing had happened. She resumed her role as mother hen of the house, directing all her children and servants like little chicks, arranging and preparing the house after her absence and with the arrival of her new baby. What a strong African woman!
She called me over to visit. I entered the house and went to her bedroom where she showed me the baby boy nestled comfortably in his crib. I have never seen a not-even-one-day-old baby, but he was tiny… so incredibly small and fragile. He was still asleep, but waking, his eyes barely open as slits to the light and his frail arms trying to escape the cocoon of his blanket. The blanket and his crib were baby blue, trimmed in lace, and had a small net draped over the crib’s handle to protect the baby from mosquitoes and other insects or threats.
Bijoux joined us from the living room and the three of us stood around, peering at the baby and admiring him. I wrapped my arm around Bijoux. She is very happy, I know, but getting a new sibling, especially at her age of 11, will be tough. As my gift, I gave Big Mama (although I guess she isn’t so big anymore, minus one baby), a dream-catcher in the shape of a heart to hang over the baby’s crib. I congratulated the father and all the other visitors who came to share this special moment with the family.
There was more than one addition to the family that day. First, Grandma Bijoux came to run the house and care for Bijoux while Big Mama was gone giving birth. Then, Big Mama returned with an old friend in the back of the pick-up. Diane, her previous umucozi (housekeeper), and her baby boy, just called Baby and my “boyfriend” because of his unceasing curiosity in the muzungu and his tendency to follow me around the compound, bang on my door, and enter my house to stare when it is left open, returned. They will be staying for three weeks, an extra hand around the house but also to help Big Mama take care of the new baby because of her experience.
Oh, how I missed Diane when she left, and still do. She was a great friend of mine because it was typically just the two of us around the house, outside, doing chores. She was loud. Her shrill voice in the morning talking to our neighbors was my alarm clock. She was confident. She would shout out to me across the compound. We would find a way to communicate and exchange, even if we were just acting things out and laughing. After the initial shock of working next door to a muzungu, my skin color didn’t faze her, which was probably the best part. She treated me like every other Rwandan and respected my space. She didn’t stare when I went outside or sneak up to my windows to watch me, which is my difficulty with the current umucozi.
I was happy to see her and catch up. She looked well. She was wearing less ragged clothes, so she must have a good job. She is living in a neighborhood on the outskirts of Kigali. Baby grew, too. He was less curious about me now that he sees muzungus all the time around the city. He continued eating, staring at me with little remembrance. Think I am somewhere in his subconscious? Like that long, lost relative who you remember, but can’t identify. They are only associated with a certain smell, or feeling, or something else. Anyways, needless to say, the compound since the birth of the baby is crowded and alive, with everyone, literally a whole crew, lounging about, conversing, and doing activities. It’s like coming home from work to find your family celebrating Thanksgiving around the dinner table.
Speaking of celebrations, the tradition in Rwanda is not to name a baby until eight days after it is born. I guess this tradition is born out of the realization that the first week is usually the one during which a baby is most likely to die, which happened here very frequently, therefore families don’t allow themselves to become attached to a baby by giving it a name. If it doesn’t have a name, it never really existed, and life continues easier. At least that’s what I assume. Today things have changed a bit. Babies don’t die as frequently, but the tradition remains. This baby looks incredibly healthy, so no worries there. Eight days from now, the family will hold a Kwita Izina, a name-giving ceremony, and give the baby a name. I don’t really know what to expect since I have only attended Kwita Izina ceremonies for gorillas, which I assume are a bit different. I’ll let you know.

The students are back at school from break and our course on life skills and health education is resuming today at 4 PM actually. My first lesson will be on emotions and managing them. I am focusing on stress, anger, and depression. I am also sharing good communication skills. As I research and write my notes for class, I find myself thinking, there are some good suggestions and strategies in here for me as I go through the emotional rollercoaster of my Peace Corps service. That is one great thing about teaching life skills to youth. Many of these life lessons were once taught to me but have long been forgotten. I find myself being constantly reminded what it means to have self-esteem and how to get it, the importance of eating right and exercising, and yes, the strategies for managing my emotions. Now, these things have deeper meaning and make even more sense because I see how applicable and important they are. I highly recommend a refresher course in some of these lessons from adolescence.

We have finally raised all the funds for our Ubwonko Bwiza: Books for Rwanda’s Future Project. Thank you to everyone who contributed! We could not have done it without you! Your achievement- 14 libraries will be started or enhanced in communities around Rwanda! Now that we have raised the funds for the shipping and transportation costs of a container of 22,000 books, the books will be released by the organization and shipped to Rwanda. It will take about 6 months. In the meantime, we will be working with our communities to prepare for the books. This means, finding and clearing space, building bookshelves, training librarians, and setting up systems for managing the books. Again, it really is an amazing accomplishment and thank you to everyone for your support and contributions.

And that is life, going on, going up, may I add.

Work Updates

2011-08-25T03:45:00.000-07:00

To start with the Life Skills and Health Education Course, the students have been on break from school, which is why I’ve probably had so much time for pondering and unhappiness. BUT, they are returning this week. Well, they were supposed to return on Monday, but this is Rwanda. It usually takes about a week for all the students to actually return. It would have been useless to have class this week because only 3 students would be present. So, I have to wait until next week, when all the students will be present, to conduct class. Next week, we will talk about emotions, like anger, depression, and stress, probably mixed in with a little bit on peer pressure and standing up for yourself while making good decisions. Stay tuned.

We are still raising money for books through the Books for Africa website. I am working to raise money for a container of 22,000 donate books to be shipped to Rwanda. The books will be distributed among 14 communities and used to start or expand libraries there. I am receiving books to start a library at a community center at a child-friendly school. My coworker and close friend is on the Board of Directors and his brother runs the school. The books will be used to augment the curriculum at the school and will be available for loan to the greater community, improving their access to information and learning. We only have about US$2500 left to raise. For more information, please read previous blogs. To support this cause, please go to the Books For Africa website, www.booksforafrica.org, and donate to a specific project. Our project is called Ubwonko Bwiza: Books for Rwanda’s Future Project. Help us to end the book famine in Rwanda.

I will be starting new projects soon. The first is our second Camp GLOW. Last year, we did the camp nationally, and it was wonderful, although a bit limiting because of its size. This year, we will be conducting the camp regionally, in the east. I will be working with a team of volunteers from my region and although our camp will be smaller in size, when combined with all the camps organized by Peace Corps Volunteers in all the regions, more girls will be participating. In addition, we will respond to specific issues affecting our region, include more people from our communities, and have a greater role in the planning, organization, and implementation process. Second, I will be working with my organization, Plan Rwanda, to introduce and manage a youth newsletter. The details are still undecided, but I will keep you informed.

Further, it seems like focus is returning to the youth center project. The project has been spiraling downwards for reasons outside my control, but it looks like it might take an upwards swing. Keep your fingers crossed.

Citizen of the World

2011-08-25T03:38:00.000-07:00

I’ve been reading a book and I had a thought I wanted to share and promote.

The book is all about sustainable eating practices, basically the costs of a meat-based diet and benefits of a low-fat, high-fiber, plant-based diet for ourselves and the world. By adopting this diet, we can ensure that everyone in the world is fed and in a way that is sustainable. I am not going to get into the specifics of the diet nor promote it here, but I found myself pondering, and I have a lot of time to ponder, the greater idea read between the lines of the pages.

I get it… we are all one! And not in the way that I am you and you are me. That sounds insincere to me, because no, you are not me nor am I you. It is more in the way that we are all interconnected because we are a part of this world. It is a forced connection, but one that demands us to face the consequences of what we do (or don‘t do). We have no choice or escape. There are no other planets in our galaxy or universe that we have discovered and deemed fit for human habitation, so we are all stuck on this one. We have realized, studied, researched, and concluded the extent of our interconnectedness. Our perspective has changed from one of national sovereignty to a global worldview. We can no longer escape the phenomenon of globalization, which affects every aspect of our daily lives, from our coffee in the morning to the lights we use in the evening. We are interconnected and all in this together.

That is the importance of and motivation for helping out our neighbors, literally all other people who we inhabit this world with.That is my motivation for continuing to do the work I do. We have studied how gases released from industries into the air cause the greenhouse affect and climate change and how that climate change affects other countries around the world. We see that conflict in one country or between two countries can destabilize whole regions and the world as a whole. And we know that the choices we make in our daily lives affect others. The food we eat is just one example, but by eating a certain way we can cause mass hunger and starvation (which has it’s own far-reaching implications). The choices of others affect us, too. Therefore, we are all one!

So the point is, what I do matters, not because you are me, but because we are all connected and our interconnectedness is inescapable. We are all one! I really want a bumper sticker that says “Citizen of the World” because it has a whole new meaning for me and that is what I am.

Love of a Place

2011-08-25T03:30:00.000-07:00

It is a funny phenomenon about love, love of a place that is. When we initially decide to travel to a place, we have reasons. But those reasons are not the same as why we decide we like or dislike a place. Overtime, you see what the real importances are.
When I received my country placement for Peace Corps, I was excited. Rwanda sounded like a great country. I began reading and researching about Rwanda. Many sources described it as beautiful, the Switzerland of Africa, with its lush, rolling green hills. Yes, it had a difficult past, but the country had overcome that and was developing. Change was happening quickly. The country was full of energy. Rwanda was emerging as a beacon of light and hope in Africa. All that was interesting and exciting for me to be working in. In other places around the world, it was the food, the reputation, the landscape, and other such superficial things that initially lured me there. I rarely asked or worried about the culture or national psyche.
Now, after being in Rwanda for a year and a half, I realize that while these things are important, perhaps only initially, they are not what really makes or breaks a place. The thing I miss most about America is the culture, not the specifics of it, but the fact that it is alive, flourishing, and abundant. Rwanda has a culture of it’s own, sure, but it is weak. Most of it was destroyed along with the rest of the country during the war. The little that survived is impaired. There is some singing and dancing and drumming that occurs, but not often enough to make me feel like the culture in Rwanda is existing and vibrant.
I like the idea of culture as the ocean you swim in, imperceptible around you until you emerge from it into dry space. Rwanda is culturally dry. What I took for granted in America, a culture that is nourishing and sustaining, does not exist here. Therefore, I have stepped from a wet ocean of culture environment, into one that is as desiccate as the desert sands that Africa is better known for than green hills.
I miss going out to restaurants with friends. I miss live music. I miss theatre performances. I miss visiting museums. I miss festivals. I miss events. I miss sports games. I miss any of those value-added activities. I miss choice. I miss being able to do what I want to do.
The most obvious hindrance to a vibrant culture in Rwanda is the lack of community that exists here. Any sense of community was destroyed alongside their culture and the rest of the country during the war. Community is the backbone that supports culture- without it, a culture can not exist, let alone flourish. Perhaps it is not so much that I miss those specific cultural activities more than I just miss the sense of community and trust that encircled them. It didn’t matter what I was doing, as long as that sense of community was there.
The second obstacle is poverty. Here, the mindset is all survival and little pleasure. Rwandans are some of the most hardworking , motivated, and serious people I know. In fact, one of the biggest insults you can give in Rwanda is to tell someone that they are not serious. One of the biggest compliments is “You are smart.” Rwandans who are working hard to survive have little time or patience for non-serious pleasure. The importance we place on culture depends on the pleasure we, as a society, derive from it. If you are struggling to make enough to support your family, you will probably be quick to point out that a singing, dancing, and drum circle is going to do little to help. Plus, it’s just not serious, therefore Rwandans place little effort on reviving their culture, especially compared to the energy they exert on developing the economy of their country.
I take a different view on the culture question. Culture is important- very, very, very important- and for this reason, may be serious it another way. It is not separate from economics and the overall development and stability of a country. It is greatly integrated. The sense of community and trust that is built and nourished by a shared culture and cultural activities is one of the greatest promoters of peace, and a peaceful nation is one more likely to develop, economically and in numerous other ways. Culture is important to the development process and not exclusive from economic development.
I have come to realize the importance of community, trust, and culture in determining the overall happiness and greatness of a place, over the terrain, food, and other initial lures. After a year and a half in Rwanda, these initial lures seem trivial, even my missing of cheese has been replaced by that of culture! The initial superficial attraction has been replaced by something emotional, and the feeling, whether positive or negative, is what determines whether we like or dislike a place. Dare I say, does it sound, like love? And like all love, it is much more difficult than lust.

Sometimes It Just Happens...

2011-08-20T05:39:00.000-07:00

I can’t pretend that Peace Corps service is always good. That would be misleading. There is a reason they tell you that it is the hardest job you’ll ever love. This statement expresses perfectly the spectrum of emotions that define your Peace Corps service. It is something you love to hate and hate to love.
Sometimes, Peace Corps service is just plain tough. You experience periods of unhappiness. The difference is, here you are given a pair of shinny, ruby red slippers as a constant temptation and reminder that you can leave and go home. These slippers are necessary, but also a curse. They make you think that all your problems will go away when you go back home. They make you blame all your problems on being here, instead of just life. It’s true, some specific problems will disappear when you leave, but all problems in general will not. Problems are universal. They are everywhere. So is unhappiness and periods of it.
Peace Corps takes an extraordinary amount of personal sacrifice. More than is comprehensible and more than I would have ever anticipated or imagined before I left or during the first part of my service. The personal sacrifice is physical, mental, and emotional. Peace Corps service consumes you, completely, absolutely. The physical sacrifices are obvious- no running water, no toilets, limited electricity, difficult or no access to certain types of food. The mental and emotional are a bit more obscure.
Unhappiness during Peace Corps service is a concoction of frustration, anger, self-loathing and confusion that finally boils over and stains a period of your experience, with these negative feelings but also lessons. It is not that one thing happens that causes such an abrupt change, but many small things pile up and eventually you can no longer hold the weight and you crack, break, crumble, and tumble. You slip into a world of negativity and cynicism where once joy and optimism reigned. Awful thoughts cloud your brain and you feel the worst about yourself you have ever felt. You question your own sanity and how much craziness is just a part of the experience. We are all a bit crazy, and it is an accepted part of the service. You wonder what you are doing here, and are confused about how much of yourself you should sacrifice and is healthy to stay.
There is always an easy road, and human nature is to find it. It is our choice whether or not to take it and sometimes it is the right way to take. The easy road of Peace Corps service is going home and forgetting everything you have seen and learned here. With those shinny, ruby red slippers, this is an available option. There is a reason they say ignorance is bliss. It is an easy bliss. Sometimes, I wish I could pretend that I haven’t experienced what I have, that I didn’t feel obligated to help, that I didn’t care passionately about others, and could live a life of ignorant bliss. But although I wish for this, I don’t honestly feel it. There is a reason I do what I do and love what I do, although my relationship with it is not always easy. My happiness is a convoluted bliss.
I have come to the brink of quitting on numerous occasions. I have come close to throwing in the brightly colored piece of African fabric and walking away with my arms above my head in a position of defeat. I am so convinced of this decision in the heat of the moment, so discouraged and disgusted and wondering if there is any possible way I can continue. But somehow, I bounce back and persevere. It is an interesting phenomenon because nothing changes but my mental perspective. I find ways of changing the environment I live in by altering how I view and experience it. Oh, the power of the mind. Perhaps the greatest lesson I have learned in Peace Corps is resilience. I am staying, again, after another period of extreme difficulty and unhappiness.

Friendship Funk

2011-08-19T03:17:00.000-07:00

Today, I’m going to talk a little bit about friendship. Not friendships with Rwandans, although I know that making friends with nationals is an important goal and responsibility of Peace Corps Volunteers in country. No, today I am going to talk about friendship among volunteers. I know it is not as important to Peace Corps, but it is very important to us volunteers.
They say that when you go to university you meet some of your best friends for life. You are finally able to choose who you want to be friends with because you meet a diversity of people, unlike high school. You can choose to hang out with the people who are most like you, have similar interests, thus strengthening your bond. These people become your family away from home while at university and you learn to depend on them.
McGill University in Montreal was an exceptional case, too. Montreal is a cold city covered in five feet of snow for eight months out of the year. As a result, we students spent a lot of time indoors, hanging out. We got very comfortable spending time together in close quarters. We learned to accept the ups and downs of constant interaction and the goods and bads (not bads really, but quirks) of our friends. Not only were our friendships accepting, but very close, quite literally. My mom used to tell me how fortunate I was with my group of friends in university because in other schools in places where students can be outside and are involved in other activities, it is harder to establish these sorts of friendships. You win some things, lose others.
Friendship in the Peace Corps is like that in university, only on a whole new level. Here in Rwanda, we are completely cut off from family and friends and any familiar life we knew. Our fellow volunteers become our only support system and family. We learn to depend on them, completely, utterly, and they depend on us, to be there no matter what. The stakes are also much higher. There is nobody else, really nobody else. At university, we still had our real family back home, even if they weren’t right there, and they could understand because our experiences were not that unfamiliar. And we could always visit them when the going got really tough. Here we are constantly under situations of stress where friends, family, nay other volunteers are that much more important, to comfort you, ground you, keep you. These stressful situations bring out the worst in people, and we volunteers accept that and help people through it. In addition, volunteers are the only people in the whole world who understand completely what you are going through. You can tell and explain to people from home, but their understanding is still incomplete, lacking. The friendships I have made in the Peace Corps are a whole new depth of friendship, unbreakable.
I know that integration is the ultimate and most important goal of Peace Corps. At this point, we’ve been here long enough to be integrated. Friendship among volunteers is looked upon with a critical eye. We’ve got to be careful. Our friendships with other muzungus, volunteers, people like us, pulls us away and distracts us from complete cultural and community integration. But, some interaction with our fellow volunteers and friends in Peace Corps is necessary for survival. We need those moments of comfort, understanding, and just plain fun with no work attached. Friendship with Rwandans, although very important to our service and integration, is still work because we need to take into account cultural sensitivity and a foreign language.
One of the hardest things about friendship in the Peace Corps is, although the friendships will last a lifetime, the experience is short, dynamic. Two years is not really that long and it flies by. People you have become close friends with decide to go home within those two years. That is what has happened. Two years ago, we were a group of 35 trainees and we are now down to between 15 and 20 volunteers. Many of the close friends I have made here have decided to go home for a variety of reasons over the last year and a half. It is hard to say goodbye to each one of them and the longer they are here, the harder it gets. As time goes on and our numbers dwindle, our bonds with those who are left strengthen to compensate.
This week, I had to say goodbye, again, to one of my closest friends here. It was that much more sad and difficult because we have been one of the few survivors of Peace Corps service among our friends. I wonder what the rest of my service will be like without her. I also miss her presence and support. Another goodbye has made me slip into a temporary friendship funk. But, it made me realize and appreciate the depth of my friendship with these people who were strangers only two short years ago. What we have been through together it surreal and incomprehensible. One of the biggest critiques made of Peace Corps Volunteers is that we act like a cult, and I am beginning to understand why people might say that.

A Couple Things (About Cheese, Rollercoasters, And Zoo Animals)

2011-08-13T02:02:00.000-07:00

Just a couple more things about cheese, rollercoasters, and zoo animals. This is probably the only time in your life you are going to hear these three things in the same sentence.

First, cheese, grating. Everyone is always looking at you, and not just side glances, but obvious turning and staring, not just one person, but whole groups. And they talk about you. I walk by and want to scream, “I can understand you!!!” They say a photo steals your soul. They stare long enough to take a virtual photo in their head. It is slowly stealing my soul.

Second, rollercoaster. It is not just the overall experience of Peace Corps service that is like a rollercoaster. Everyday is like a mini-ride. A rollercoaster inside a rollercoaster, if you will. I will be walking down the street and some kid will come running up to me and give me a big bear hug. I will walk away with a smile on my face thinking, “I love it here.” Twenty feet later, some adult will shout out, “Muzungu!” in a discriminatory manner, and I will feel angry and frustrated and ask myself, “What am I doing here if I am this unhappy?” My emotions are constantly changing. Sometimes, I feel like an unstable wreck, which is not a good sign when you are on a rollercoaster ride of your life.

Third, zoo animals. Today, I was taking the bus and some kid started petting me. This is not my first experience with this sort of reaction. Kids often pet me, to touch the muzungu, to annoy me, and because they think that my skin might rub off. I am sometimes one of their first encounters with muzungus and they don’t know what to make of my skin color. They think it is fake. Or if they rub hard enough, some will rub off on them and they will become muzungu too. I will let you make up your mind about that.

Life as Cheese

2011-08-12T04:00:00.001-07:00

Peace Corps service in Rwanda is grating. It is an ironic description. Cheese is one of the items I miss most from home. Here, I am the cheese in my current life, metaphorically of course, slowly being grated away, sliver by sliver. Let me explain
Life in Rwanda is draining. Everything is harder and work. You want a simple sandwich, the image of easiness in America, and you have to build a Peace Corps oven, make the dough, and bake your own bread. Doing laundry requires hours of scouring by hand. You have to get down on your hands and knees to scrub the floor with a rag to make it clean. You have to heat water liter by liter to take a bucket bath. Even going to the bathroom requires walking across the yard to the latrine. Nothing is simple, easy. Overtime, you start to crave the simple and easy. The fun of being a Peace Corps Volunteer struggling through daily life fades. You wonder when it is going to end and start counting down until that time. You can’t wait and start daydreaming about the “good life.” The hard work of daily life starts to consume you, grate you, as you force yourself to go through with it.
Everyone in your life in Rwanda wants something. People constantly ask for things. You can not give them and you refuse them. But, this interaction takes a toll on you. First, you feel bad about yourself and guilty that you can not help. Second, you become tired of the same exchange, day after day. It frustrates you, and each time, it takes away a little part of you. It is disappointing to know that any person you meet will eventually ask for something.
Its hard to keep your moral up throughout your Peace Corps service. You’ve got to keep reminding yourself of the little good things about life here and what the big picture of your service it. But sometimes that is hard because daily life and frequent interactions overshadow the rest. But, it is by struggling that we learn the most about ourselves and have the greatest sense of accomplishment. I just hope that I am able to grow back the sections that have been grated away by my service so I don’t end up like Swiss cheese, holy and missing parts, for the rest of my life.

The Youth Center Framework and Approach

2011-08-05T04:36:00.000-07:00

I want to talk a little more about this framework I have been developing and using to guide activities at the youth center. I call it the action team framework, although youth action team in the case of the youth center. Basically, the central idea of the action team framework is to develop action teams that learn, share, and do action on things they identify and care about in their communities. Action teams can be made up of anyone in the community, but in the case of the youth center, I have been developing them with youth and they mostly consist of the youth themselves. The framework is a training-of-trainers meets pay-it-forward approach. It fosters volunteerism, self-development, ownership, a sense of community and has an exponentially higher level of effect.
The idea of volunteerism is new in Rwanda. It’s hard to get anyone to do anything for nothing. Volunteerism was recently introduced with the establishment of the community health system. Community Health Workers (CHW) were identified and elected in each umudugudu (village). These CHW are volunteers. They don’t receive a salary, but the position comes with benefits, like training and practice in health care, performance-based gifts, cell phones and other perks, as well as membership in CHW cooperatives operating in a variety of income-generating activities. Then, of course, you have us Peace Corps Volunteers. I can not count how many times I was asked what I was doing here and how many people did not understand my response during the beginning of my service. They thought I was like every other muzungu working in their country, receiving a high salary and living a life of comfort. They were rudely mistaken when I moved in next door and explained that I made no salary whatsoever. I receive a stipend to live on, but it is for that, to live on. It is not a salary and I do not “gain” money in this job. They nodded their heads, but didn’t believe me. Then, over time of observing me (which they do, everything, all the time, everyday), they realized I was not lying. I live frugally because I am here, volunteering my time and services to the development of them and their country. They have come to grasp the difficult concept of volunteerism, although they are still far from employing it. To this day, Rwandans in my village still contemplate the benefit or gain they will receive when I ask them to do something. If I don’t immediately supply it, they ask for it. Sometimes, it makes work and trying to do projects very frustrating.
But, Rwanda is realizing how important volunteerism is to the development of their country. That is why they held a conference on Youth and Volunteerism in Kigali last year. Further, they require all adults to participate in umuganda (community service) on the last Saturday of the month. Local authorities choose a project in their community and everyone meets to work and complete it. This isn’t considered volunteering, because they are forced to do it, but it is doing a service for your community. Volunteering is starting to be considered something good, useful, beneficial in Rwanda.
Taking advantage of this bonhomie, I promote volunteerism through the youth action teams as the youth center. The youth who are trained in the courses at the youth center were chosen for their demonstrated leadership in their schools and communities. They will become volunteer peer educators, responsible for training other people with the knowledge they have gained and leading activities in their communities for the betterment of all. During the course, I emphasize, repetitively, their role and the responsibility that comes with it. I also stress the importance of being a leader and the skills and benefits they will gain from the position and experience. Volunteering isn’t just for others, it is for yourself too. Last, I am a role model and example to them. In other words, I live what I teach. They are fully aware of my status and what I am doing here. I am a volunteer in Rwanda for two years.
It’s a big leap and I’m not sure how it is going to work out quite yet. Here’s why. Even though my students seem eager and enlightened by their role as volunteers in their community, their initial, innate concerns sometimes resurface. Fortunately, I am here to address and calm them, but soon I will not. Every once in a while, they still ask themselves, why am I doing this? What am I gaining? The concept of volunteerism is still so new that they are not able to see the big picture or long term effects. Focusing only on themselves right now, they see that they are putting a lot of time and energy, taking away from time and energy spent doing something else, and it doesn’t feel very rewarding. Volunteerism is a hard concept to introduce.
On another note, self-development. One of the greatest challenges we Peace Corps Volunteers face in Rwanda, and I’m sure other volunteers around the world would agree, is what is referred to as dependency development, or development dependency, you choose. Basically, a bunch of organizations from Western nations come into developing countries and develop them. They do. The country nationals sit back and wait to reap the benefits. Over time, their mentality adjusts to take in this new phenomenon. Why work? Someone else will do it for you. And this mentality spreads across all areas, domains, and levels. Suddenly, the country as a whole has adopted this mentality. It’s a vicious cycle because now they can’t develop without these organizations, but they have lost some unforeseen benefits, like say learning to manage in an international environment, or hey, making your own income after the aid handouts cease.
Peace Corps Volunteers butt heads with this adapted mentality every time we undertaken a project. Our counterparts and communities expect us to do everything, based on their experience with other muzungus and organizations. We are required by Peace Corps to have a 25% community contribution. Most communities don’t take us seriously when we express our need and still expect us to do it all ourselves. Many projects have stopped dead the moment the community contribution is demanded or needed. Communities can not organize themselves to get it, or they don’t think it is worth the effort because someone else will inevitably come in and do it (who doesn’t require their contribution).
Self-development is an important concept that I explain to my students. By learning this information and helping their communities to develop, they are demonstrating self-development, which means they don’t have to spend their time waiting for someone else to notice them, come in, and do it. They can do it themselves, an important and empowering idea.
Third, ownership. By involving youth and community members in the whole process, they have ownership of the project. They are able to identify common concerns and work together to address them, building community. Without involving community members in the process, you risk making some of those textbook development mistakes, like putting in a dam where the locals don‘t want it. Plus, I’m sure that we all know from our personal experience that people who are involved care more. Projects for change have a much higher rate of success when people who need to change identified the problem they wanted to address and came up with a working way to address it. Same idea as the community contribution. People who have a stake in it are much more likely to make it successful.
All in all, these concepts work together to build community. Community can be defined in many ways, but what I am referring to is the invisible network that exists among members of a community. We have all felt this in our communities in America, which I’ve realized are so much stronger than the communities here, which are just defined by their area of occupation. Because of the history of Rwanda, neighbors here do not trust each other or share. People live side-by-side. They may talk and visit, but they are still closed and separated in many ways. It’s understandable, but the next step is to start building that invisible network from the ground up. It is a long process, but the first way is to engage community members in communal activities that demonstrate their mutual interests and caring.
I can not conduct trainings for everyone in the community on everything they want to know, which is why the action group framework is also a strategy that results in an exponentially higher rate of effect. I am only here for a short time, especially in the whole span of a life, and there is only one of me and many of them. I need some help. So, I train selected students, a small group in one subject of community interest, and they go on to train others. I train another group in another subject and they become the experts in that. In this way, my efforts are multiplied. A small course with 20 students ends up teaching an entire community. Think of the pay-it-forward approach. One person does something nice for three people, who each go on to do something nice for three other people. One person, then three people, then nine, 27, 81, 243, etc. You get it. Starts small, ends big and gets big fast.
Like I said, the action team framework is really good, a training-of-trainers meets pay-it-forward approach. I like this approach for the youth center and other projects.

Life on a Rollercoaster

2011-08-04T04:34:00.000-07:00

Life as a Peace Corps Volunteer is like taking a ride on the Guinness Book of Work Records largest rollercoaster. Imagine that rollercoaster in your head. Huge. Its metal track reaching into the clouds. The twists and turns, ups and downs are barely distinguishable. It could be something great, it could be something disastrous. Now, I am going to tell you how that is like Peace Corps service.

You get on board. You research the organization and do the application, still a bit unsure. But you get on anyways, especially after your family and friends give you supportive nudges and share what they know about the exciting adventure you will be on. You, personally, don’t know what to think.

The rollercoaster lurches and begins moving forward. You realize this is the beginning of the next two years of your life. It starts to make its way up the metal slope, click click click. Your excitement begins to grow as you climb higher. But, it is not all fun and games. There is packing to do, paperwork and documents to send it, and people and things to say bye to. Before you know it and without pause, you are pushed over the edge.

The rollercoaster starts moving downhill, gathering speed. You plunge into darkness, unknowingness, uncertainty. It’s thrilling. You are enjoying it, sure, but it is also scary.

The speed of the downward fall propels you onto level ground and you coast for a while. The thrill of the drop is still there, fresh in your mind, but the uncertainty and fear are gone. They are replaced with relaxation as the foreseeable future goes smoothly. You don’t know where your path is taking you. It changes unexpectedly. But that is the joy of it. One moment you are going in one direction, the next in another.

Suddenly and without warning, the rollercoaster shoots downward on a spiral track. Winding and winding in circles, lower and lower. Everything that was in the car is pulled outwards by some unseen force. You begin to feel sick and unhappy with your ride. “Why did I do this?” you ask. Those family and friends who told you it would be so great aren’t here now. It’s just you. They can’t see the turmoil you are experiencing.

Then just as unexpectedly as it started, you hit the bottom. The bottom of everything. You are angry, ready to jump right off onto the ground that is so close. Then, you remind yourself of that famous saying, “When you hit the bottom, the only way to go is up.” The rollercoaster starts going up.

Click, click, clicking as it makes it’s way up the second incline. This is the middle of the ride when you realize there is some time for readjustment. Your seat bones hurt from bouncing and jolting around in the seat. Your knuckles are white from holding so hard to the bar across your lap. And it is time for mental adjustment. You made it through the hard part. It will only get easier now. Time to give into it and just enjoy it.

As you perch on the edge of the second incline and begin to fall downwards, a smile spreads across your face. You throw your hands up into the air. I don’t care, you think, as a scream of release escapes your throat. Yipeeeeeeee!!! This is fun.

At the bottom, the rollercoaster travels over a couple of small bumps in the track, giving you that warm butterfly sensation in your stomach. Suddenly, the trials and tribulations of the beginning of the ride are far away and forgotten. All you can think about is that last fall and how amazing it felt to stop thinking and just let go, allow the motion of the coaster and energy from previous movements to take you. A sense of accomplishment consumes you. You enjoy the last moments of the ride, but they are relatively uneventful.

Finally, you turn the corner and see the landing with all your family and friends standing there. The rollercoaster pulls up, stops, the bar releases, and you disembark. You are full of excitement. “Did you see that last big hill?” you ask. They did, but they don’t really understand because they were not there next to you, peering over the edge. You can tell them about it, but no one will really understand what you felt coming out of that spiral and going over the hill. At the end you ask, “What have I really gained? What have I learned? I ended up back at the exact same place I started from, one thrilling ride more.”

Life in Animal Terms

2011-08-01T02:11:00.000-07:00

Humans are part of the animal kingdom, but we like to think of ourselves as something a little bit different from animals. Perhaps it is our emotions, cognitive level, or ability to develop and use tools and technology. Even so, sometimes I feel very much like an animal in my life here in Africa.
First, I feel for animals in zoos and now understand the phrase, ‘like an animal in a zoo.” I am constantly on display here. People are constantly watching me. Sometimes, it is a useful tool for informal education, but sometimes I just want a break. I want a moment in my house when there are not children peaking through my windows. I want to be able to sit outside in my house without someone walking over from next door to chat with me. I want to be able to work in my garden without a row of onlookers sitting on the stoop next door, watching and discussing me. I want to be able to walk to my latrine without the entire Rwandan family knowing and standing outside the door while I am doing my business. I want to be able to walk to work without someone shouting to me across the neighborhood. Is those such impossible desires? Here in Africa, they are and I have to accept that, but sometimes my annoyance boils over. I refuge in my house with all the doors and windows shut and my curtains drawn, as the air heats like an oven by the sun baking on the tin roof. I sit in my sweatbox and enjoy a moment of solitude.
I know it is not intentional. Rwandans are very used to living in crowded spaces and being heavily involved in each other’s lives, and they expect no less from me. Also, I am a muzungu, therefore, rare, odd, and interesting. In a village with very little to do, I am the perfect entertainment. But, sometimes it feels discriminatory. I am the minority here. I am treated differently because of the color of my skin. Sometimes, it can be mean, for example when people ask aggressively for things or shout “Muzungu!” with a negative connotation. It is an interesting position to be in. As a Caucasian, I am used to being the majority. I’ve gained a new understanding in minority psychology.
Skin color is an interesting conversation here. You see, talking about skin color in the states is a bit taboo. People tend to avoid those discussions. Here, people are very open. They have not had the same history with skin color that we have in America, and it is just the reality. You’re skins is white, mine is black. People call me “Muzungu!” everyday, literally meaning “white.” People often say bluntly, “You have white skin.” Okay. I usually reply, “Yes, and it is terrible in this sun. I have to wear greasy sunscreen everyday or else I turn bright red.” They laugh at this and say, yes, their skin does not turn red in the sun. Their skin is beautiful. It was even more interesting when Sean visited. One day we sat on a bench with a Rwandan and compared skins. Odd past time. We held our arms side-by-side- white, Latino, black-a spectrum of skin colors. We laughed. It was comfortable.
But, because of my skin color and foreign ways, sometimes I feel like an animal in a zoo. And such a feeling can take a mental toll. It can be draining, annoying, and cause anger that is constantly brewing because there is no escape from the treatment. It can even cause one to go a bit crazy. I have two options. One, I hide in my house and avoid it. Two, I open the doors, windows, and curtains for the world to see, and they do, and ignore them and go about my daily business like they aren’t there, maybe they will get bored, maybe they will learn something. One day, I employ the first strategy, another day the next . I can‘t decide which is better.. I think that is what those animals in the zoo do too.
The other day I walked out of my gate and on to the dirt road to town. A group of village mamas were gathered across the street and called me over, pointing down the road. “Muzungu, muzungu!” they said. I looked and indeed it was, another muzungu walking down the road in the opposite direction. We stood around in a circle, wondering what this muzungu was doing in the village, staring and discussing. Then, I realized, I am a muzungu too. I am happy they accept me as one of their own, in fact that is my goal and responsibility as a Peace Corps Volunteer, but what am I doing standing in a crowd of Africans gapping after the muzungu. I feel like the mammoth in Ice Age who doesn’t know what she is and thinks she is a opossum, trying to sleep hanging upside down in a tree by her tail. Your eye grazes over the image and suddenly you wonder, what doesn’t fit, focusing on the something out of place. From the other muzungu’s perspective, that is me, oblivious to my situation and pretending to fit in, the mammoth in an opossum’s suit.
And that is my life in animal terms.

Trip Highlights

2011-08-01T01:03:00.001-07:00

We often put faith in our memory to remember those experiences that are most amazing or life-changing. Our faith is exaggerated as the details of those memories slowly fade in time. I remember that I went on a month-long backpacking trip to Tanzania and Mozambique, but the little details are gone, forgotten, lost. What a shame. What a relief I preserved them in my journal and within the pages of this blog. I am going to share with you a few of the highlights of our trip; the things I thought I would never forget, but alas, they are already foggy with time.

DUSTINY
Dustiny is the name we gave to our experience across the Serengeti National Park and Ngorongoro Crater. Everything just seemed to work out perfectly, like it was destiny, except we were very dusty at the end of the day, therefore, DUSTINY!
The adventure began in Mwanza, where we spent two days looking for an office to buy tickets for the bus that would take us on the northern circuit across the parks. We wondered the streets of Mwanza on the faulty directions and whims of those we met. The office could not be found and the last story before we gave up was that the office was not actually in Mwanza, but a town two hour away. So we got on a bus for the two-hour ride that didn’t lead us to the office at all, but the Stop Over Lodge on the edge of the Serengeti and Vincent. Vincent helped us organize tickets for the bus, but during our walk down the road running parallel to the park boundary, we met another source of valuable information at the gift shop next to the entrance gate. He informed us that locals, and some tourists, arrive at the gate early in the morning and organize cheap rides with safari cars returning after jobs and dropping their clients. We opted to try. Fortunately, there was a driver of one such car staying at the Stop Over Lodge for the night. Vincent introduced us and we began negotiating. As we crawled into our tent that night to sleep, we were still not sure what we were going to do. The next morning, we made a last-minute decision to take the ride. We packed our camp and loaded our bags in the car, then we climbed into the backseat. The driver and his friend jumped in the front and we drove down the road. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, bathing everything on the plain in pink, golden sunlight. We arrived at the gates, paid the entrance fee, and, as we drove through the gates, the safari began.
I could tell the Serengeti was going to be different from our local Rwandan Akagera Park the moment we passed through the gate. I thought Akagera was an amazing opportunity to see typical, magnificent African animals, like zebras and giraffes, which we did when we visited, plus it is right in my backyard, only an hour or two from Kiramuruzi. It quickly became apparent how scarce animals in Akagera were and how populated the Serengeti was in comparison. The deserted plain near the boundary quickly became one teeming with animals. Huge herds of zebras and wildebeest were grouped everywhere. I love zebras and was astounded by the overwhelming number. In addition, it was almost time for the wildebeests annual migration north and we saw the first steps of the journey. Herds of wildebeest, thousands in total, were traveling in formation. At one point, they were crossing the road before our car. I was amazed by their organization, patience, and wisdom. They seemed to be standing in a long line crossing the road a few beasts at a time in single file to ensure safety. I swear. We saw packs of giraffes meandering and feeding in the distance, their awkward gait as they moved and their long necks stretching to reach the tops of the trees. We saw an overflowing pool of hippopotamus, their large bodies slipping past and crowding each other until they were just one large, moving amoeba in the mud. There was also a crocodile stealthily swimming nearby, eying the birds on the shore and contemplating his next move with intense yellow slit eyes. A highlight of the day was spotting two leopards napping in a tree. Our guides had eyes that were trained in spotting animals in the monotonous, but beautiful, countryside. They came to an abrupt halt next to the tree and pointed. It took Sean and I a moment to find the sleeping cats in the tree even with our binoculars. The leopards were suspended in the tree branches, their legs thrown over the sides and their paws dangling down, the midday heat causing them to fall into a deep lethargic slumber. In another neighboring tree, another type of cat, a female lion, was also asleep. The safari animals were taking their afternoon siesta to avoid the hot sun. Later, we passed another group of lions sleeping in the shade of a parked safari car. The passengers were a bit nervous, but lucky to see the lions so close. The lions cuddled, stretched and tossed in their shady refuge. We drove up and one separated and wondered to his own block of shade made by our car. I had the urge to reach down and pet him- he looked so sleepy and cute- but restrained myself by images of lions tearing their prey to shreds. We began moving again and passed another lion couple playing on the side of the road. In the crater, we saw a shallow pool with a flock of standing flamingos. Such strange, but cool looking creatures, flamingos. Pink, long-legs, cartoon-like, just like what you would expect based on our only impression from tropical images. Ostriches, another strange bird, were also abundant, their large bodies balancing precariously on their thin legs stuck out next to herds of zebras and wildebeests. Finally, as we began our ascent up the steep slopes of the crater, we saw wild elephants in the distance. I have only seen domestic elephants. Seeing such large and regal creatures in the freedom of their own environment is breathtaking. We also saw herds and herds of impalas and Thomson’s gazelles skipping by, families of baboons causing mayhem, vultures feeding on corpses, a few topi and buffalos in the mess, and a grey-crowned crane, long-crested eagle, and velvet money as we drove past. Many of these animals we never saw in Akagera, and definitely not in the great number that existed here. It felt like we had stumbled upon an animal paradise, like in The Land Before Time when they finally find the Great Valley, lush and plentiful and thriving. The Serengeti Park, full of animals, is also the land of the Maasai people. We passed natural hut villages surrounded by fences in the park. Maasai herdsmen were directing herds of cows across the vast, open space. Villagers were conducting their daily activities. Some Massai stood on the side of the road in traditional costumes and ran after cars, begging for money and goods. Their faces were painted, they wore brightly colored woven fabrics, jewelry was piled on their necks, wrists, and ankles, and they carried carved walking sticks. I have never seen such a traditional people, their culture nearly untouched by outside influence, definitely not Western. What an interesting thought and rare occurrence.
The only animal we did not see was the rhinoceros, but they are incredibly rare. Even so, the day came together perfectly, was better than we could have ever imagined, and we left grateful and in awe. It was just pure dustiny.

ZANZIBAR
Zanzibar was my first encounter with the ocean in over a year and a half. That is a long time for someone who grew up on an island and has never lived far from the shore. I love the ocean. It is a part of me. Without it, as I am in Rwanda, I feel incomplete, like there is a hole in my being.
We arrived at the main dock on Zanzibar by ferry. We were immediately captured by the small, winding, confusing streets of Stone Town. I knew the maze-like streets would be a challenge for me, so I stuck close to Sean and our guide, not wanting to get lost, which later I did, desperately, on numerous occasions, as soon as I set my foot out the door of our guesthouse. The ancient stone architecture was fascinating and beautiful. Buildings, walls, fortresses, archways, the stone white but touched by age. After finding a family-run guesthouse, we made our way out to the ocean. There are no large beaches around Stonetown and the one we found was small, littered with rocks, and near the port. But, it was the ocean and the beach. We swam in the water and relaxed on the shore. The water was warm and blue. Traditional dhow sailboats were anchored in the port in the distance. How amazing it felt to be in the ocean again in such a cool place, the imagery a mix of African and Arab influences.
On our way back to the hotel after our swim, we stopped a local restaurant for a drink while enjoying the sunset and observing the scene of people unloading a cargo ship that had just docked. The sunset was intense, everything you would imagine of an African sunset over the ocean, the colors of yellow, pink, and red churning with and sparkling off the azul of the ocean. As we walked, we stumbled upon a night fish market. The evening was deepening and lamps spotlighted the feast that was spread across each table in piles of different kinds of seafood. We allow ourselves to be ushered and convinced that a snack of brochettes of seafood, vegetables and bread was a good idea. We returned to our hotel to clean up after our exploration, before returning to the night market for dinner. This time, we sat on a wall along the shore as we ate our meal of fresh seafood. We treated ourselves to a drink, a real drink, another rarity of my life in Rwanda, at one of the fancy restaurants in town. The style of the place was rustic. We sat at an outside tables with a trellis of flowering vines protecting us. The night was warm and breezy. Perfect and comfortable. We ended the evening with dancing to live music at a local bar and dance club along the beach.
The next day we arranged for transportation. We drove to Paje, a town on the south east end of Zanzibar Island, where we stopped for lunch at a beachside resort, Sun and Shore. Their restaurant was in a huge and expertly-constructed gazebo, the beauty in the details of the roof, log supports, and décor. The fish was fresh, cooked until it flaked from the bone in bites of perfection, and drowned in sauce. After our meal, we lay in the chairs under an umbrella made from banana leaves. Needless to say, we didn’t make it any further that day. We spent the night at a place down the beach from Sun and Shore, but returned for drinks and dessert later that evening. After dessert, a terrible wind storm picked up. No rain, just howling wind in one, unchanging direction for hours on end. We sat on the bench on our deck and watched the storm rage around us.
We awoke to the fishermen wading out in the water to their knees to fish. Their calls and singing started at dawn. We saw the sun rise over the ocean, one of the differences between being on the east coast where the sun rises, instead of sets, over the water. We took an early morning swim, packed, and left to find Internet. We decided to leave that day. Although we would have loved more time to explore Zanzibar Island and get to know Stonetown, we wanted to move on to the next adventure in our limited time. That is one of the shames of traveling with only a short time. We must ignore our desires to “stick” in places we enjoy. We must move on to the next place, which we may enjoy more or not as much. Eventually, we understand that we had to move on to experience something new, but the moving on is extremely difficult when we have found somewhere we love and would love to stay.

MUROMBODZI, GORONGOSA
Boy, am I glad we moved on. On the flight to Mozambique, I read a story, two stories, in the airline magazine about a place called Gorongosa, a town, park and waterfall in central Mozambique. I looked it up in the guidebook and found one paragraph about it. It sounded like a cool place. In addition, we were busing down to southern Mozambique and needed to identify places along the way to break up our trip down the country. Gorongosa seemed like a great place to stop. We took a 10-hour bus from Quelemane, another breaking point, and arrived in Villa Gorongosa around midday. After lunch, we spent an hour preparing for our excursion and searching for a ride to the base camp for the hike to the waterfall that was mentioned in the guidebook. The villagers we spoke with had never heard of such a place, except one man, who said the waterfall was gorgeous although he couldn’t help us get there. Finally, we found an adventurous taxi driver and his group of friends who agreed to drive us in search of the camp. We climbed into the car with our stuff and provisions, and no idea where we were going or what the future would hold. We drove out of town, searching for the dirt road mentioned in the guidebook. At a turnoff, we asked the villagers around a group of huts if the base camp was up this road and they answered yes. We followed the dirt road until it turned to an overgrown path. After a while of jostling over the ruts and stones of the path, being whipped by overgrown and exploding grasses, we came upon a stream running across it. Sean and I exchanged looks that said oh too clearly that we were done, our efforts failed, we would not be going to the base camp or waterfall, before the driver pushed the pedal and the car launched through the water and up the opposite bank, to our surprise. After laughing and continuing on the overgrown path, passing through a small village of a few mud huts, we arrived at a clearing that we were told was the base camp. We got out of the car, as children gathered around us and a quiet man emerged from the darkness of a mud hut in the center. He introduced himself as Carlos. Sean began talking to him, sharing our plans to hike to the waterfall and our need of a place to stay. He agreed to let us camp there in the clearing and they left to inform the village chief. He even offered to be our guide to the waterfall. The driver and his friends left in their car, promising to return in two days to take us back to town so we could continue our travel.
We set up camp, much to the surprise of Carlos and the amazement of the children. You see, Carlos kept exclaiming, “You are going to sleep there, on the ground, with only that?!?” To which we answered, “Yes!” I think they expected “muzungus” (not sure what the word is in Portuguese, but muzungu seems universal and good to use) to stay in hotels with comfortable beds like the one we lunched at in town. Imagine, the first muzungus to stay in town, camping with blankets on the hard ground. They were confused by the contradictions taking place in their mind, but our action won their support and respect.
We spent the evening playing sports, soccer and Frisbee, with the kids who had gathered in Carlos’ front yard to watch us. Then, Carlos took us on a short tour of town, a very short tour because town consisted of a few mud huts hidden in the tall grasses and fields of corn. He invited us to accompany him to a community event, drum circle and dancing, that was taking place at the church next door that evening. He left us alone at our camp while he joined his family for dinner. We sat around a smoky campfire in the open gazebo in the field, making sandwiches from the provisions we bought earlier in town. Then, we crawled into our tent for a nap before the event. We were tired from our early, long journey. We planned to join Carlos later. Somehow, somehow, SOMEHOW, we slept through the pounding drums and loud singing taking place at the church next door. SOMEHOW. I don’t know how. We awoke the next morning. We missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and experience. We have never been so disappointed. In fact, taking a nap and missing the event may be one of my biggest regrets.
That morning, we set out on the hike to the waterfall. We walked outside of town, through cornfields on narrow paths, towards the mountain looming in the distance. The mountain is shrouded in local folklore. Very interesting. A magical place. At night in our tent, we could hear the sounds that Carlos informed us are local traditional witch doctors conducting their ceremonies on the hillside. Visitors are not allowed to wear shoes or red clothing when hiking the mountain.
A short distance into our hike, we passed what we soon learned was the real Murombodzi Base Camp. Carlos was just the community health worker and we were just camping on the lawn of the Muromodbzi health clinic. Great for me, as someone who is interested in community health and working with the health system in Rwanda. Silvestre, the old man in charge of the camp and organizing treks to the waterfall, joined our team. He was bursting with information about the mountain and waterfall, as well as just a nautral gossiper, enjoying the opportunity to converse with people. Not many people visit Murombodzi or the waterfall, probably because they don’t know about it. After a rigorous hike up the mountain, a view of the flat countryside interrupted by rock peaks and mountains stretching below us as far as the eye could see, we entered the forest and emerged at the waterfall’s edge. Silvestre led the way as we climbed up the side of the waterfall to the higher stage. The water rushed by and over the rim, falling to the depths below, as we stood in its shallow, calm edge. Magnificent. Beautiful. Furthermore, we had the whole waterfall to ourselves, no other tourists exploring nearby. It is not often we get such a unique opportunity, with attractions typically being exploited quickly and overrun by tourists. We were the only people, surrounded by nature, witnessing nature’s greatest example of beauty. We bathed in the clear water and lay out on a flat stone in the sunshine to nap.
On our hike back to camp, we passed many interesting experiences in our journey. The mud-hut towns were full of people, looking up from their activities as we walked through and curious about what we were doing there. Women sat on the side of the trail with big baskets and bags full of corn on their heads or laying next to them. We stumbled on a man passed out on the side of the road. In our worry, we awoke him, only to find he was drunk and began chasing the local children. More children were playing at the school. They began following us, singing and dancing. We met more children on the path and they joined in. One woman sent her child to give us a stick of sugar cane. We missed a turn in the road, got lost, and ran into Carlos who had ventured out to search for us.
The next morning, we were worried that our driver would not return to pick us up and about how we would make it back to town and civilization. There were no other means of transportation. Fortunately, the driver returned, although he was a bit late, picking the strings of our worry. We returned on the overgrown, bumpy path, through the stream, to the dirt road that led us back to town, the small village of Murombodzi lost in its surroundings. From there, our journey continued to southern Mozambique. But Gorongosa was an unexpected, surprising break. We ended up enjoying our experience there. In fact, it became one of the highlights of the trip. Who would have guessed based on the magazine articles and one paragraph in the guidebook that it would be so amazing?

TOFO BEACH
I have found a little paradise on earth called Tofo, Mozambique. We knew Tofo was going to be nice. We found this little destination while doing research before our trip. It was our final destination on the whole trip, a place we knew we would love and could relax for a few days before heading home. It turned out to be just that.
We took a matatu from Inhambane on the other side of the large point and arrived in the little beach town of Tofo. It didn’t look like much at first- sand roads with little shacks lining them, a few buildings, hotels, restaurants, and bars. But, as the sun set and evening fell, we walked out onto the expansive white sand beach. I could feel the frustration and stress of a years work in Rwanda and travel through Africa float right on off my shoulders and out to sea. The sand squeaked, yes squeaked, beneath our feet, it was so fine. We laughed. Even the sand is musical in Africa.
We found a palace outside of town, a stylishly rustic house we could rent for our stay, lost in the sand dunes and away from the commotion of town. There, we established ourselves, unpacked, and relaxed. It was across the street from the main surfing beach, the waves breaking on the point reef, so Sean could surf, close enough to town that we could visit everyday when we needed, but we could also walk in the opposite direction and find deserted stretches of beach, with nothing, absolutely nothing built in the rolling sand dunes from the shore. We took an afternoon walk in that direction to explore. There was no sign of civilization as far as the eye could see, only deserted, beautiful beach and ocean stretching for miles in every direction We were the only people, no more significant in our surroundings than a speck of sand. We flew our kite in the dunes. Our house was also right on a rocky point, with a great view of the ocean and a cooling breeze that brought the sound of waves right to our doorstep. I lay in bed, letting the sound sooth me to sleep and wake me in the morning as I came to consciousness.
Town was small. Nothing much. A market. Some shops and restaurants. We didn’t spend much time there beyond necessity. Our focus was exploring, doing things, taking advantage of the beach and ocean. The first day, we laid on the beach in the sun and swam in the ocean, bodysurfing on the waves. It just so happened that a swell came in the day we arrived, so the waves were bigger than normal and great for surfing. I went for a run along the shore, to clear my mind and stretch my legs after so much time and travel cramped in bus seats. We tried to kayak and snorkel, but gave up, our efforts pounded by the waves.
One day, we were walking along the beach when we saw a fisherman’s boat being hauled ashore. The fishermen pulled a huge sailfish from its belly. We were shocked that they were able to catch such a huge and aggressive fish with such a little boat, no bigger than your typical rowboat. We watched as they debated the best method of sectioning it, then went about the task. They cut and sawed and twisted until manageable portions lay on the beach caked in blood and dusted in sand. We bought two small fresh fish from the men. That night, we barbequed the fish in sauce and made potatoes, rice, and grilled vegetable to accompany them. Our feast was delicious and we were very satisfied chefs.
There happened to be a red moon eclipse our last night in Tofo. As we cooked our meal, we periodically ventured outside to check the status of the moon. As it turned to darkness, it was outlined in a red light. Further, unlike other eclipses I have witnessed, this one lasted hours. The following night, the moon was still red, although no longer covered in shadow.
Tofo supplied all the comforts of a resort without being built up and crowded like a normal destination. That is what made it such a little paradise. It was quite a discovery. I didn’t want to leave. I would have stuck if not for Sean’s rationalizations and the call of responsibility, work and home. I know that, even if I do have the opportunity in my life to return to this special place, it will never be the same. Tofo is the type of place that is going to be discovered on a mass scale, this blog is probably contributing to that, and will be built up and changed forever fast. Suddenly, the things we loved about it will not longer exist in the same way. That is why I am preserving it here and in my mind the way it was when we were there. Undiscovered and breathtakingly beautiful.

Here are the highlights of our trip, the places that I say I will never forget, but now I definitely won’t forget, because they, what we did and how they were, are preserved in the permanency of the written word.

Topic #5 Hygiene and Sanitation

2011-07-31T01:25:00.000-07:00

The next topic in the course is Hygiene and Sanitation. The students were preparing for their end-of-trimester exams and impatient for the school break that would follow. I knew they were working hard and would have little energy or concentration to expend on extra-curricular activities, so I decided to amend the class into one that was light and fun. No better way to do that than make it an art session for students who have little access to materials.
But, in order to learn something, put the art project in perspective, I had to teach, if only briefly.
I wrote the sentence, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” I asked if anyone could explain what the sentence meant. They were puzzled. I realized part of the puzzlement came from not understanding “ounce” and “pound” when they asked the meaning of these two words. I crossed them out and wrote “gram” and “kilo” in their place. Note to self- most countries around the world use the metric system. Then, I asked again, if anyone understood. They began working through it, and I encouraged and guided them. Finally, we came to the conclusion that prevention is worth more than cure, or treatment. Prevention is important, better, and should be our focus. “There are three things we can do to prevent most diseases. 1) Eat well, and we talked about nutrition, 2) keep ourselves, our homes, and our communities clean, which we are going to talk about today, and 3) be sure our children are vaccinated, and Rwanda has an impressive health system and vaccination program. If we took more care to do these things, we can prevent most diseases.” I wrote CLEANLINESS on the board as I said, “Today, we are going to talk about 2). CLEANLINESS is very important in the prevention of many diseases, especially infections. There are two types of cleanliness- personal and public. What is the topic of our class today?” “Hygiene and sanitation,” they answered. “Yes, so what do you think are the terms for these two types of cleanliness?” They managed to put two-and-two together. Good. Critical thinking skills are improving. “One is called hygiene and one sanitation.” “Ah, but which is which?” “Hygiene is personal cleanliness, sanitation is public.” And that was the extent of the lesson that day, well the extent of my talking and teaching. I told you it was brief.
Next, I explained that we were going to have some fun and relax as we did an art activity. I put some materials, colored paper and drawing supplies in the middle of the room. I handed each student a hygiene and santation practice on a small slip of paper. I told them to read their practice out loud, so the rest of the class could hear, and asked if they understood. After every student had shared, I told them to draw a picture demonstrating their practice using the materials provided. They made quick grabs for paper, colored pencils, and markers and got to work.

The following hygiene and sanitation practices were written on the slips of paper and use for their art projects.
1. Always wash your hands with soap when you get up in the morning, after using the latrine, and before eating.
2. Bathe often- every day when the weather is hot, after working hard or sweating.
3. Brush your teeth everyday and after each time you eat sweets.
4. Don’t let animals come into houses or places where people hang out or children play.
5. Wash sheets and blankets regularly. Hang or spread sheets and blankets in the sun often.
6. When you cough or sneeze, cover your mouth with your hand, a cloth, or handkerchief. Do not spit on the floor.
7. Clean house often. Sweep and wash floors, walls, and beneath furniture.
8. Keep wells and public water holes clean. Don’t let people defecate or throw waste or animals go near water sources. Keep rivers and streams clean upstream of water source.
9. Burn garbage that can be burned. Bury garbage that can not in places away from houses and water sources.
10. Build and use latrines. Latrines should be built at least 20 meters from houses and water sources.
11. Treat people who have diseases as soon as possible so the diseases are not spread to other people.
12. Clean up all feces (human and animal) near houses immediately.
13. All water that does not come from a pure water source should be boiled, filtered, or purified before drinking.
14. Don’t let flies or other insects land or crawl on food. Protect food by keeping it covered or stored. Don’t leave food scraps or dirty dishes lying around as these attract flies and breed germs.
15. Wash food well first before eating.
16. Wash your hands after preparing meat. Only eat meat that is well cooked.
17. Don’t eat food that is old or smells bad. Before eating leftover cooked foods, heat them again, very hot.
18. People with contagious disease should eat and sleep separately from others. Items used by sick people should be cleaned thoroughly.
19. Follow hygiene and sanitation practices. Teach other people practices and why they are important. Encourage people to help with projects to make their homes and communities a healthier place to live.

For the next hour, we worked on our projects. The girls were silent as they concentrated on their drawing, but the boys began talking, discussing, asking questions. We had a very interesting conversation. It was good to get to know them better in a relaxed, informal environment, and have the opportunity to share and exchange on topics not covered in class.
They asked about the education system in America. Was life skills and health education a course in schools there? Of course. I told them about our education system. Life skills, health, and physical education were all courses in America that they don’t have at schools in Rwanda. Further, many of the skills were learned through the education system and teaching methods. Skills like planning, organization, management, leadership, and especially critical thinking, are learned naturally as a student progresses. In Rwanda, the system is basic and opportunities for tandem learning of other skills are not included or taken. Students copy and memorize what is written on the blackboard by the teacher, but the information goes through no internal processing before the paper.
They asked, “What is the biggest difference between teaching students in American and here in Rwanda?” I don’t have a ton of teaching experience, but I said, “First, the language barrier, obviously. Students in America speak English and it is their first language. In Rwanda, that is not the case. Although your English is strong, there is still a barrier because of language. I have to change the course content to meet your skill level and change my teaching methods to respond to your language needs to ensure everyone understands.”
Then, our conversation took a turn towards the even more interesting. Conflict is an interest of many Rwandan youth because of the history of their country. They wonder about conflicts around the world and why and how they take place. There have been many questions in the question box about this issue. They asked about the current conflict taking place in Africa? What did I think? Who was to blame? I saw immediately where this was going. I let them take the lead of the discussion, kept quiet. Debate is an important skill and school activity. They are learning debate skills and I let them put their knowledge to use. They debated and I avoided participation. Finally, I could not deflect as they turned to me and asked, “Why do conflicts happen around the world when there are powerful nations like America to stop them?” Uh. I have never felt such strong heat from being in the spotlight. How to answer? I knew we were no longer talking about the current conflict in Africa, but another conflict taking place in Rwanda years ago. I took a deep breath. I answered, “Conflicts happen. They are incredibly complicated. Sometimes, they are just perfect storms, everything coming together to make a complete disaster. First thing you have to realize is that nations are sovereign and other nations must respect that. Second, the US has its own agenda and interests. Right now, it is involved in its own conflict, a war that has devastated its economy. We have large international organizations, like the UN, but those have their own limitations." They asked, “Why is the US involved in the current African conflict while they stayed on the sidelines during the one that happened here?” Again, uh. Another moment and deep breath. “It is a different time. The context during the previous conflict was different- its experience in Somalia immediately before conflict in Rwanda began. In addition, today we are living in a much more global world, where conflicts are no longer isolated situations to the few nations involved. Today’s conflicts destabilize whole regions with effects that ripple around the world. This reality is a great incentive for world peace and countries working to achieve it.” Whew. I am not sure that my answers were good, expert, or satisfied them. Later, I reflected on our conversation and I was relieved I made it out of the bullpen alive, only a little tormented.
The students here always amaze me, more than students in America who take education for granted. As much as they lack in English skills or critical thinking, they gain in perception and determination. These students have fought hard for their educational opportunities and are incredibly motivated, in school as well as for the development of their country. Their energy is just amazing to witness, feel, experience, work with, direct, encourage.

P.S. I finished cleaning my house. I have so much stuff I have acquired over the last year and want to get rid of. I have figured out what to do with it. I am going to give it away to my students. They will love it and use it more than I will, do, or need.

Two More People in Places

2011-07-31T01:21:00.002-07:00

I realize I forgot two people from the people in places of our travels. It is inevitable that I forgot many more, but these two came back to mind as people who deserve special mention.
Being on such an epic and fast-paced adventure has certain consequences. One is that the travelers experience periods or situations when they are a bit… unprepared, unorganized, overall just a complete mess. Our messy period came when we left Zanzibar. We were trying to figure out how to get to Mozambique because the overland visas would take at least a week, one third of our total vacation in wait, and we had a limited budget. We had spent the days in Zanzibar lightheartedly debating our options. One morning, we woke up on the beach, decided to take a flight, found Internet access after a desperate and hopeless search, and booked a flight for that afternoon in only a few hours. The chaos began. We packed, traveled back to Stonetown, caught a ferry to Dar Es Salaam, a taxi to the airport, somehow scrounged up enough cash for our tickets, made it through security and on our flight, and flew to Nampula, Mozambique. We laughed because it was one of a few times in our lives when we have taken a bus, ferry, taxi, and plane, all in the same day. Our laughing turned to worry when we landed in Mozambique and realized we were not carrying enough cash for our visas. In addition, the ATM at the airport was out of service, which we realized is the typical status for ATMs in Mozambique, especially the northern region. What were we going to do? Fortunately, in fact, thank goodness, Sean sat next to a very nice man on the plane who saved our day. We were delayed when checking in for our flight. We asked what the delay was and the attendant informed us that he was trying to seat us together. We said it was okay, we could sit apart, and we received our tickets for seats in different rows. These things have a way of happening and working out. Thank goodness we sat apart and Sean met this man. As we sat at the customs desk, wondering what we could do and to do next, the man asked if we needed help and offered us American cash. At first, we were hesitant, but when every other option failed, we asked him to borrow the money. He gave it to us and we bought our visa. The customs agent snapped a photo of me for my visa that became the second joke of the day. I am a complete wreck and I’m not sure how I survived in that state or how I made it in public or how Sean did not say anything. The photo shows me. I have a bewildered, intense, almost scary (okay, scary) look on my face. My eyebrows are raised, my eyes wide open, my head cocked to one side, my hair a mess, my shirt incorrectly buttoned. What happened to me? After we made it through customs and to our hotel, we took long showers and reorganized ourselves so we were prepared for the second stage of our trip… Mozambique. But, we never would have gotten there if The Money Man had not saved our day, and our trip.
As we were traveling down the coast of Mozambique on the bus, we stopped in a random town in the night. The bus’ headlights were not working and the driver jumped out of his seat to fix the problem. While he was pouring over the engine and dashboard, we got out and grabbed some dinner at a local street stall.
The town was awake. Music was blasting from all the restaurants and bars lining the street. Lights from the same restaurants and bars spilled out onto the road and lit up the night. The town was vibrant. It seemed like everyone was dancing. As we sat at one of the roadside picnic tables, we watched the crowds of people dancing down the streets. Later, as we stood on the side of the road waiting for the driver to fix our bus, a group of girls emerged on the street and began dancing. They were fabulous dancers and I couldn’t understand the movements of their bodies. I began to wiggle in the confines of my roadside stance, slowly moving closer and intensifying my dance. They giggled and we shared a moment of exchange and eye contact before the bus roared, headlights blazing, and we had to run to catch up and reclaim our seats. I’ll never know the name of that little town, but I will remember it and its dancing townsfolk forever.
If I think of any more people deserving of mention, I’ll let you know.

Helpless Romantic

2011-07-31T01:21:00.001-07:00

There is something about girls that programs us to think about love and dream about finding “the one” and our wedding. Maybe it is our biological role as caretaker of the animal kingdom. Perhaps it is our environment growing up, where epic love stories turn to romantic comedy films and magazine articles about men, sex, and love. I can’t lie, when it comes to love, I was as guilty of being a helpless romantic as any other.
Something about being in Rwanda has changed that programming. In Rwanda, I am constantly exposed to women, girls really, who marry and have children young. For example, the girl in my life skills and health education course who dropped out of school and the course to marry because she was pregnant. She was only in secondary school, 18 years old at most. Or Diane, my neighbor’s old umucozi. She went about her daily work with a baby strapped to her back. She was only 18 years old. The baby was two. Suddenly, I realize what we are really wishing for and dreaming about, and I stop. There is nothing that puts these things in perspective more than the complete opposite end of the spectrum. It reminds me of that ancient axiom, be careful what you wish for.
Seeing the reality of love, marriage, and children in Rwanda has rewired me. I have changed from helpless romantic to feminist tendencies. I see much more clearly the importance of staying single longer and having children later, leaving time and opportunity to pursue higher education and a career. I am grateful that I have the choice.
I am committed to living culturally sensitive in Rwanda. When my friend, who is male, came to visit, I had to stretch the truth a bit for it to be acceptable, or else he would not be able to stay with me. We told people in my community that we were engaged, that he was my fiancé. They were ecstatic for me, for us. After the initial humor of pretending wore off, I was tired of the constant and banal stream of questions that immediately followed every introduction- When is the wedding? Do you have children? When will you have children? I guess what I noticed and annoyed me was, people in my community had never showed as much interest in what I was doing or planned to do in my life. However, once marriage and children were the topic of discussion, everyone was interested. I couldn’t help but wonder, is that all I am good for? Is that all members of my community think about women? And the truthful answer to that is probably, yes. One man I met told me he was surprised to see me running errands around town. His wife stayed at home all day every day, cleaning and cooking and taking care of their children. I gapped, open-mouthed and in shock. I explained that I am independent and empowered, , that my “husband” does domestic chores, too. They refused to believe or accept it.
Something about this experience made me question my almost innate helpless romantic programming. Before, I used to dream about love and marriage. Now, I want to run through the streets shouting, “Girls don’t have to get married and have children. Women can get an education and have a job!” I have become an advocate for women in my community. I am an example of an independent woman. My blithe tale of marriage turned profound, something that changed me, made me realize what it really was that I was wishing for, and caused me to see it from a different perspective.
Any helpless romantic like me should come and witness the reality of men, love, marriage, and children in Rwanda, an experience that will reveal the hidden nightmares of their dreams. It truly is a lesson in, be careful what you wish for. The extreme is not something to dream about or aspire to. Be grateful of the choices and opportunities that we, women of other places, have besides marriage and children. Those should not be taken for granted, forgotten about, or disposed of lightly.

2011-07-26T03:22:00.000-07:00

Please donate to Ubwonko Bwiza, Books for Rwanda's Future Project. Please read previous blog or visit the link at https://www.booksforafrica.org/donate/to-project.html?projectId=75. Thank you for your help and support.

"With open hearts and open hands, we gave what we could and a little became a lot" -Wendy Smith, Give A Little

Topic #4 Nutrition and Exercise

2011-07-20T00:51:00.001-07:00

Next session, or wait, didn’t I decide to use the term, subject, or topic? Next topic, Nutrition and Exercise. Gear up, people, this is a fun one. Fun for me, because nutrition is a topic I am very interested in and exercise, well I just love exercise.
Today was an important day because we had visitors again. The donors returned and brought more representatives from their team. They also brought some secondary school youth from Norway to meet and talk with the students in my class. They wanted to observe a session. Because of the national holiday (it was another national holiday that day) and the late notice, we were a bit disorganized. As I set up the classroom, the donors introduced themselves to the students. We were a big group today, 20 students plus the group of visitors, so we moved everything, blackboard and chairs, into the main room of the youth center. We also had to disturb the guard at the front gate and borrow his bench so we would have enough space for everyone to sit.
So, nutrition. I was a bit nervous as I stood in front of the class. I had flashbacks to my first day teaching. The donors were here to observe. What if they thought I was a terrible teacher? Or even more mortifying, what if I answered a question wrong and they knew the right answer?
We began after introductions and once I was set up. I wrote the word DIET on the board and asked the class what they thought it meant. One student answered, “Food we eat.” “Good,” I said. “But what do we normally take with food?” I had to hold an invisible soda up to my lips and pretend to drink before they said, “Drinks?1?” “Yes, diet is the food we eat, but also what we drink. DIET is the food and drink we consume.” Then, “We need a healthy, balanced diet, why?” I asked. They stared at me blankly, then offered a few responses, hesitant and unsure. Actually, they were right on. They had the right idea and almost arrived at the correct words. I helped them get there. “1) grow well, 2) work hard, 3) stay healthy. A balanced diet consists of proper QUANTITY, we have enough, plenty of food, and VARIETY, different foods because they contain different things our bodies need. Now, we are going to talk about some of the things our bodies need, thinks that foods are made of.” “Do you have any ideas? Good, CARBOHYDRATES. What are CARBOHYDRATES? They are energy-giving foods. There are two types, does anyone know what they are?” No, no, no. “1) SUGAR, and 2) STARCH. During digestion, carbohydrates are broken down to GLUCOSE and used for energy. Any questions?” They were very curious about the difference between sugar and starch. “Sugar is sweet and dissolves in water,” I said, “Starches are not sweet and don’t dissolve in water.” Then, they asked about the digestion process, the process of carbohydrates being broken down and used for energy. What was the process called and how did it work? >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Then, we talked about PROTEINS. “What do proteins do for your body? Remember we talked about hormones, which are proteins, during what? Puberty, good. And what is puberty? Yes, change and growth. Proteins are involved in growth. What else? Also, repair of body and other very vital functions. In fact, proteins are involved in almost every process in the body. So proteins are very important. During digestion, proteins are broken down into AMINO ACIDS, the building blocks of proteins, and rearranged to make different proteins your body needs.” At first, they didn’t understand the idea of proteins breaking down, so I explained in more detail. “Proteins have 3-D structure that determines their function. They are made up of a long line of amino acids. Their structure, and therefore function, depend on the order of amino acids. But your body can not create these amino acids. It must get them from somewhere else, external. Therefore, you eat food containing protein, your body digests the protein and breaks it down into these little building blocks, and then builds the proteins it needs from them.” I tried to explain in simple terms and ideas, leaving my biochemistry background far in exactly that, the background. They understood, but wanted more information. I realized I have discovered their “soft spot.” The students have shown that they are very interested in science, especially biology. That was why they enjoyed the session on human development and were heavily engaged in the current session. I made a mental note to teach the science as much as possible. Maybe my biochemistry background will come in handy.
“What else? Our bodies need FATS. What are fats used for? That’s right, energy. What else? Warmth.” They didn’t understand the word warmth. “Heat. Our bodies have a thin layer of fat under our skin that works as insulation, keeping our bodies warm.” “There are two types of fats. They are 1) SATURATED and 2) UNSATURATED. The difference is simple. SATURATED fats come from animal products, while UNSATURATED fats come from non-animal products. Unsaturated fats are better for our bodies than saturated fats. Some of the fat we consume is used for energy, especially long-term energy, but the rest is stored in various area of the body.”
Now on to the fun ones- VITAMINS and MINERALS.
“Vitamins are needed to remain healthy and are involved in many essential processes in our bodies. They are ORGANIC, which means they contain carbon. A balanced diet supplies all the vitamins our bodies need, because they are found in a variety of foods. Does anyone know how many vitamins our bodies need?” They began guessing…4...5...6... “Nope.” I wrote a big 15 on the board and circled it. “Our bodies need tiny amounts of 15 vitamins.” And I named them. Their confusion came from the B vitamins. They counted B as one, whereas I taught them that there are many types of B vitamins. One student raised his hand and I called on him, “What does each vitamin do? Where do they come from? What foods are they in?” Darn, I had thought of this before the lesson, but figured that learning the number and names of the vitamins, while emphasizing that a balanced diet supplies them all would be sufficient. Perhaps that was a bit naïve, especially when working with such inquisitive minds. “I promise to make a chart of all the vitamins, where they come from, and what they do for next class.” I couldn’t think of everything off the top of my head.
“Okay MINERALS. Minerals are different from vitamins in that they are INORGANIC, meaning they don’t contain carbon. We need small amounts of how many minerals?” Again, they guessed…8...9...10. I wrote and circled a big 20 on the board. They gasped. I asked them to name a few. “Calcium… phosphorous…sodium…fluorine…iodine…iron…We began making a list. Again, I promised that I would make a chart with each of the 20 minerals, what foods they are found in, and what they do for our bodies, for next class. Embarrassed that I didn’t think about that or do it beforehand, we moved on.
“The last thing our bodies need is what?” They looked over what we had already talked about… Carbohydrates… proteins…fats…vitamins…minerals. They were stumped, couldn’t think of anything else. “Remember,” I said, “Diet is the food and DRINK we consume.” I acted out drinking. “What is in everything we drink?” “WATER!” they shouted. Yes, water. The forgotten one. “Water is vital for life. In fact, 75% of your body weight is made up of water. In order to be healthy, we must take water to replace what we loose through urine and sweat. Does anyone know how much water we should consume every day?” They began, “2 cups.” I waved my hands, “Higher.” “3 cups.” “Higher, higher.” “4 cups.” “Still higher.” They wouldn’t guess a number above 4, so again, I wrote a HUGE 8 on the board and circled it, twice. “8 cups of water per day.” They gasped. I think they were shocked. I have noticed that Rwandans don’t drink. While I show up at work with a big liter bottle of water, in fact, a liter bottle of water travels with me everywhere I go, my coworkers and friend don’t, and they don’t drink either. Then, at the end of the day, they drink a soda. I have discussed this unhealthy practice with some of my coworkers and a few of them have vowed not to drink soda again and drink juice instead. It’s not water and I’m not sure how long their ban is going to last, but it is a start. I told them if they ever needed to convince themselves again, all they had to do was stick a nail in a glass of coke and watch it dissolve. I have never tried it, but I hope it works and proves my point. Nothing beats water for your body. Maybe I should do that as a class activity. Nothing beats a good demonstration. I should probably try it at home first, to make sure that it works.
Then, we talked about diet, based on the Rwandan context. “Diet consists of 2 things, 1) MAIN FOODS and 2) HELPER FOODS. First, we are going to talk about MAIN FOODS. Main foods are low-cost foods we eat with every meal. They are typically kinds of cereals, grains, starchy roots, and starchy fruits. Do you know any examples?” We made a list on the board- rice, Irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, maize, cassava, plantains (green bananas), sorghum, wheat. “Good. Main foods provide most of our body’s daily energy and needs, but they are not enough to stay healthy. That is why we need helper foods. HELPER FOODS are combined with main foods to make low-cost, nutritious meals. There are three types, 1) ENERGY HELPERS, 2) PROTEIN HELPERS, and 3) PROTECTIVE HELPERS. First, we are going to talk about ENERGY HELPERS. We refer to energy helpers as “GO” foods. Why? Because they give us energy.. They are fats, food rich in fats, sugars, and some nuts and seeds. Next, we are going to talk about PROTEIN HELPERS, or “GROW” foods, because they help us grow. They are legumes, animal products, and some nuts and seeds. Last, we are going to talk about PROTECTIVE HELPERS, or “GLOW” foods. They are vegetables and fruits. Are there any questions about HELPER FOODS?” No? Okay, moving on. “The keys to a balanced, healthy diet are the following…” I turn to the board and begin writing, “1) Eat main foods we are accustomed to. 2) Add helper foods that are available. 3) Include helper foods from each group as often as possible.” Then we did an exercise. On the biggest wall of the class room, I posted papers with the words MAIN FOOD, ENERGY HELPER, PROTEIN HELPER, and PROTECTIVE HELPER in a row. I handed each student a small piece of paper with a food item found in Rwanda written on it. The students had to decide what group it was and tape it in the proper column. When they were finished, we went through each food item. I asked, “Does everyone agree? Why or why not? Where do you think it should go?” For the most part, they understood the concept, but there were a few food items that were out of place. First, they didn’t know what peanuts were. I didn’t know the Kinyarwanda word, so I began drawing pictures until we realized they referred to them as groundnuts, an English synonym. Second, they placed green beans under protein helper because it contained the word beans. I had to explain that, although green beans grow like beans and has small beans of its own, the fact of eating the whole thing changes it into a vegetable. They also considered sugarcane a protective helper, either a fruit or vegetable, I’m not sure, until I explained that we suck the cane juice out of sugar cane when we eat it, and that juice is used to produce sugar, therefore it is an energy helper. There was also a bit of confusion about butter, because it is a food containing fat and also an animal product, so does it fit under energy or protein helper? I said that when we make butter (and don‘t quote me because I am not an expert), we scrape the fatty portion of an animal product, therefore, it is no longer the same as an animal product and is more like a fat-containing food, and as such is an energy helper.
We closed the class with a brief discussion of malnutrition. I explained, “A person who is weak or sick because he or she does not eat enough or does not eat the right foods his body needs is MALNOURISHED. People who do not eat well develop MALNUTRITION. If they don’t eat enough, it is called UNDERNUTRITION. If they don’t eat the right foods, it can cause a variety of different kinds of malnutrition. If they eat too much, it is called OVERNUTRITION or obesity. Malnutrition results in many health problems. These are” and I listed them on the board, “weakness, tiredness, loss of appetite, anemia, sores in corners of mouth, and a painful and sore tongue. In addition, other problems may not be caused by malnutrition, but are made worse by it. Malnutrition weakens the body’s ability to resist or fight disease, especially infection.”
The nutrition class was a lot of fun for me because nutrition is my interest. Plus, the students enjoy science, making subjects that are science-heavy easier and more enjoyable to teach. After class, I did some research and made two charts, one of all the vitamins and one of all the minerals, their benefits and their sources, and posted them on the wall for next class.
The following Friday, I met the students at school as usual, with a box. The students were preparing for their examinations, which take place next week. They were reviewing all day in class and studying hard at night. I knew they would be mentally exhausted and in need of some outside activity. Perfect for a session on exercise. I began pulling equipment from the box- soccer ball, volleyball, Frisbee, jump ropes, hackysacs- and distributing them to their cheers, relief, and excitement that we were not going to be spending our session studying in a classroom. We walked across the dirt road to the soccer field. I had not reserved the field because of all the bureaucracy involved, but figured we could find a place to play. On that Friday afternoon, the field was being used for practice. Other village kids played around the perimeter. We spread out in an area of grass on the sidelines. The students formed two groups in circles, one for volleyball and one for soccer. They hit the volleyball and kicked the soccer ball around. A few outliers grabbed the jump ropes and began jumping. Some of the village kids began joining in the games or playing with the Frisbee, which, despite their initial confusion about how to throw it, they picked up the skill fast. I monitored to make sure that no disputes over the limited equipment broke out, everyone got their turn, and no equipment wondered down the street to someone’s home in the hands of some child. I felt like a P.E. teacher, an African P.E. teacher, walking around the groups of kids playing different sports. In the end, when I collected the equipment, making sure I had everything, I felt satisfied. I got the students out of the classroom, engaged some of the village children, and everyone had a great time. I decided that I would take the equipment to the field again sometime in the future because it was so much fun.
The students and I walked back to their school. I told them I wanted to talk with them quickly before I released them, so we found an empty classroom and established ourselves. I pulled a roll of flipchart I had prepared from the box. I told them I wanted to teach them briefly about exercise. I held up the sheets of flipchart and began. “Exercise is any activity that improves or maintains physical fitness and overall health and wellness. Regular exercise, 3 to 5 times per week, is an important part of keeping our bodies fit and healthy. The reasons we exercise are 1) to strengthen muscles and cardiovascular system, 2) to improve athletic skills, 3) to maintain or loose weight, and 4) for enjoyment. There are 3 types of exercise depending on the effect on our bodies. 1) STRENGTH- amount of force a muscle or group of muscles produce, 2) STANIMA- amount of time our bodies can exercise before becoming tired, and 3) SUPPLENESS- how flexible our bodies are. Different activities have different effects on our bodies and may effect our bodies in numerous ways. The benefits of exercise are: 1) more cardiovascular and respiratory endurance, 2) greater strength, stamina, and suppleness, 3) more power, speed, coordination, agility, balance, and accuracy, 4) build and maintain healthy bone density, muscle strength, and joint mobility, 5) strengthen cardiovascular system. When we exercise, our bodies need more oxygen and we begin to breathe quickly, strengthening our chest muscles and increasing the volume of our lungs. Our heart beats faster, strengthening our heart muscles. Our blood also flows quickly, keeping our vessels clear of fatty substances that build up. All these strengthen our cardiovascular system. 6) maintain healthy weight, 7) boost immune system, 8) prevent disease (heart, cardiovascular, obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, depression, insomnia), 9) improve mental health, 10) promote or maintain positive self-image and self-esteem. Finally, we have been talking about nutrition and exercise. Nutrition and exercise are both very important to health and wellness. When exercising, it is even more important to have a balanced, healthy diet. Always remember, before exercising, we should warm up, to warm muscles and prevent injury. After exercise, we need to cool down, to stretch muscles and prevent injury.” And that was my spheel on exercising. “Any questions?” They asked about types of activities, and I told them, “Do what you like doing. Everyone likes different activities.”
As I looked at their sweaty, smiling faces, I knew I had hooked some to the line of exercise. Hopefully, to nutrition as well, because the two go hand in hand. And I walked out of the school, hand in hand with my students, as is the Rwandan way.

On another note, I was mistaken. It is not often that I am happy about the mistakes I make. But, I am very happy about this one. I figured out that I misunderstood the school system. It is still the old system and the students will be on vacation for only three weeks before resuming for their third term. The class will not be ended, but will be interrupted. We will continue when the students return to school and Kiramuruzi. We will be able to finish all the topics as planned. I am so thoroughly happy for that mistake, and subsequent correction.

P.S. Where is the post on Sex and Gender? Ask me... it is coming. Promise.

Change

2011-07-19T06:01:00.001-07:00

One unique thing about being a Peace Corps Volunteer is that we get to witness change over a long period of time. Many volunteers work in countries for short periods of time and establish a static picture of the place in their minds. In addition, our understanding of what is under the surface, the underlying situation, is small in the beginning. Now, I have a deeper and dynamic understanding of Rwanda, one that has changed over the past year and will continue to change and develop over the next. Plus, the longer we are here, the more we realize that the “deeper understanding” is really that we don‘t know anything at all. The longer we are here, the more we realize what we don’t know and that things are so complicated and incomprehensible that we won’t be able to understand no matter how long we stay.
First, let’s give development a cheer. Despite all the issues and frustrations with development, I can tell that Rwanda is developing, and moving forward quickly! Progress is being made and quite fast! How do I know this? Let’s take Kigali. When I first arrived in Rwanda, Kigali was a city of villages, meaning it was a bigger version of my village. Sure, it had nice restaurants, “muzungu hang-outs,” but it also had dirty streets and slums in the middle of town. Now, Kigali is a (relatively) modern place, with high-rises going up all over the city, streets with checkered borders, beautiful greenery and gardens, and more nice cars everywhere. It might be a subtle change, but it is change, development all the same.
Then, let’s look at the cooperative stores in Kigali. When I first arrived in Rwanda, the cooperatives sold goods made from items that were cheap, available, and would otherwise be considered trash. For example, recycled bead jewelry (the beads made from cuts of magazines rolled up), earrings from carved metal bottoms of soda cans, and earrings woven from banana leaves could be found everywhere. Although beautiful, no one could argue that these handicrafts required expensive or difficult to find material. And of course, the price of the goods reflected that.
Now, the stores contain more… advanced handicrafts. The old ones have not disappeared, no, they are still there, but now one can find jewelry made from real glass beads next to the recycled ones. What has happened? Development, good positive change. The cooperatives made enough profit on the simple handicrafts they began selling that they were able to expand and explore new, more expensive, materials. And the price, of course, reflects that. The cooperatives are changing, progressing, developing.
I see positive changes taking place all over Rwanda and that is exciting and encouraging. There is so much building going on in my town, I sometimes wonder if I have taken a wrong turn in the trail home because I do not recognize a building. In the last year, my village has seen new roads and sidewalks. I was shocked when I visited two other African countries, because they were not nearly as advanced as Rwanda. I realized that I had no right to complain about Rwanda, because what I was complaining about was inevitably worst somewhere else. But, Peace Corps Volunteers are not only witnesses to great changes, we also experience changes that are not so positive.
Change has two sides. On the one hand, change implies improvement, moving forward, and yes, development, embracing the new. On the other, change can be a loss, leaving behind the old. I think back on the year and a half I have spent here, and I realize, I have lost so much in order to continue in my service. Many people have somehow been left behind to the dusty (everything in Africa during the dry season is dusty) cabinets of my memory.
First, Nepo. I used to work with Nepo, an employee of PAJER, everyday at the youth center. But, suddenly, he moved on and I have not seen him in almost a year. I don’t know where he is. And if we are on that note, Aaron, another employee of PAJER, left. Aaron spoke amazing English and helped me during the difficult period of adjustment and learning. I think about these two men and I wonder, where are they, what are they doing, if I will ever see them again. Time and change have taken them away from me.
On the home front, I have been in the midst of a turmoil of change. When I moved into my new house, I met my neighbor’s umucozi, Diane, with her baby strapped with fabric to her back. She didn’t speak a word of English, and my Kinyarwanda was poor and easily exhausted. However, over the next four months, we established a sort of friendship, a friendship based on mutual acknowledgement, laughing, hand gestures and acting, and sharing. In fact, I became closer to Diane than my neighbors, simply because we spent hours in the courtyard doing chores together. We were together everyday, unlike my neighbors who spent time inside the house and who I rarely saw except for the typical hello and brief conversation as we passed on our way to work or school and in the evenings. My relationship with my neighbors felt forced because they were unsure how to act around me and couldn’t let it just be. With Diane, our friendship was natural, born without expectations and allowed to grow at its own pace. One day, she told me that she and her baby were leaving to return home. She was going to stay with her family and farm. I was incredibly sad. She introduced me to the umucozi who would replace her, Chantal. At first, I was so upset about Diane leaving that I couldn’t open up to this new umucozi, who couldn‘t possibly be as good a friend as Diane. Then, I began to think positively. Chantal was younger, a city girl, had no baby, we had a lot more in common than Diane and I. We could be great friends. Alas, our friendship began to bloom, but it was terminated unexpectedly. Chantal did not get along with my neighbor. In my opinion, Chantal was too strong to be content working as an umucozi, slaving away all day every day for someone else. When Mama bossed her around or yelled at her, she got angry. One day, she packed her things and left, without telling anyone she was leaving or where she was going. I came home to find my neighbor and her child locked out of their house, wondering where Chantal had gone. Finally, they realized that Chantal was gone and had left the keys in a pot in the outside kitchen. They called Chantal all sorts of names. I couldn’t help but think, “She’s smart, she got away, she knew this wasn’t what she wanted to do, I hope she does something else, good for her.” But, again, that meant I had lost yet another friend to the changes of time. My neighbor found a new umucozi, but we are still tiptoeing around each other. She is shy and doesn’t know what it means to live in compound opposite to a muzungu. For that reason, she stares at me constantly as I go about my daily housework, and I get annoyed about being constantly on display, even in my home. Hopefully, time will change that, too.
Even if people are not completely lost in the changes that have occurred over the past year, in some ways they are further away. Our friendships have developed and deepened, however, I am no longer the child that everyone needed to baby sit. I have a lot more independence and freedom in my day-to-day activities. Now, I am working on my own projects instead of coordinating on coworkers’ project. I no longer go on long motorbike rides into the hilltop villages with Faustin to do work for the child sponsorship project. I rarely help the VSL team or visit VSL groups, except on special occasions. Our friendships are still strong, stronger than they were because we understand each other on a new level now, but the adjustments that have happened in the work place over time mean that we no longer have those opportunities of being and working together. We see each other less frequently and in our spare time. We have new ways of spending time together and sharing, and although this can be interpreted as evidence of our growing, maturing, deeper friendships, I still miss the connection we had those first days when my coworkers were my lifeline in Rwanda.
Graduations, babies, new faces, these are all the markers of time passing, change happening, my service progressing. Change has two sides; it is a double-edged sword, each side sharp enough to inflict pain. And the feeling is bittersweet. For some reasons, the new is welcomed. For other reasons, the old is longed for. But to look back on the old, makes me realize just how much time has passed, how much change has taken place. The old lets me put the current, the new, into perspective, and appreciate just how far I have come. But change is inevitable, especially for a volunteer who spends years in a country, and as much as we look longingly on the old we have left behind, the new is unknown and for that reason intriguing. It may not always be positive, it may sometimes be negative, but change is exciting. Since change can’t be stopped, we might as well accept it and enjoy the ride.

Effects

2011-07-16T07:01:00.000-07:00

I sometimes think about the effects I have had on my village in Rwanda. When we begin service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in our new villages, we think we are going to make some large and dramatic changes to improve the lives of the villagers. Over time, our perspective changes. We realize we won’t make the change we expected and are humbled in our pursuits. If we can make only a little change, a small impact, a tiny affect, we will be happy and satisfied with out service.
I’ve been thinking about the some of the effects I have had on my village during my service. Here’s what I think.
First, lets talk about Furaha. Furaha is my coworker. He is a VSL Field Officer for PAJER. We are also close friends. I was told by the Executive Director of PAJER that he has noticed a big change in Furaha since we began working together and hanging out. His English and writing skills have improved dramatically. Because of our success, he asked me to conduct English classes for the other field officers, which I do, three times a week for two hours. Back to Furaha, I have had an effect on his English and writing skills; two skills that will improve his future and job success. Furaha is also a curious fellow, and we spend a lot of time just talking. He loves to learn. We talk about Rwanda, global issues, American history, and on and on. He tells me that he has learned so much from me. As my go-to-guy, he has also answered many of my questions and taught me so much about Rwanda. He has been an infallible source of help for me. When I returned from my trip, I found that Furaha was not at work or in Kiramuruzi. He hadn’t returned for two weeks and I began to wonder where he was and what he was doing. So I called him. “Furaha, where are you?” He told me that he was at a training for new VSL groups in Rulindo in the Northern Province. He said that he missed me; he learned so much when we were together. I told him I missed him too. He is such a smiling character and a joy to work with and be around. He said that he would return before the end of the month to greet me. Sure enough, a few days later, I came into work in the morning to find Furaha sitting at a computer working. We greeted each other with the traditional Rwandan head rub and hand shake, reserved for old friends, usually only men. Then, we sat and talked about all that had happened since our last visit, until Furaha told me that he had to leave tomorrow to return to the training. He traveled from the north, across the country, just to greet me because it had been so long. I can truly say, I have at least one really good Rwandan friend, Furaha. It is funny though because he is not a friend I would have made anywhere else, yet our bond is strong and lasting.
My counterpart at Plan Rwanda, Emile, has also improved his English significantly. You see, Emile is from Burkino Faso and spoke only French, in addition to Kinyarwanda and the local language of his home country. His English upon my arrival was very poor. Plan recently started an initiative to help its employees improve their English skills by paying for classes. Emile attends these classes. But, he wants to do more. So, he uses me. I have come to accept that I am a useful tool for my organization, even if that objectifies me. He sends me work documents in English and I edit them and provide comments. We started big and are slowly narrowing down to specific improvements in language and writing. Emile is very enthusiastic and incredibly motivated to improve his English and I enjoy being the one to help him achieve his goal.
Some effects I’ve had are not as significant, however they are still effects. One day, I was playing with the village children on the soccer field and we began a simple game of tag that progressed into me making faces and noises like a monster and chasing them around while they squealed and ran away. Now, whenever I meet kids on the road who participated that day, they make monster faces and noises at me as I walk by, before running away giggling. I laugh, and sometimes I return the greeting. Alas, sometimes we must think closely about the repercussions of our mindless actions before we do them.
I have also been working to introduce a culture of reading in Kiramuruzi. I used to enjoy reading at home in the afternoon and evenings. One day, I decided reading at home fulfilled no purpose except selfish reasons and I packed my book and walked to town. There, at the tea shop on the corner in the middle of town, I sat in broad daylight and read. People gathered around me. At first, it was a little intimidating to read while people stared at me. They wondered what I was doing and I told them. The following days, I returned to the tea shop and read. Same thing. It was good for people to see me and take interest in me reading. Then, I began reading all over town- at the tea shop, restaurant, bus stop. Reading is not a common activity in the village because it is not valued and of course, there is a lack of books here. But, I wanted to change that, because if they understood the importance and value of reading, they would put energy into finding reading material, possible take part in setting up the library. One man finally came up to me and exclaimed, “You like to read!” to which I replied, “Reading is important to our development.” They like that word. I have also thought about dressing up like a princess and holding story hour for the children at the youth center, but I haven’t gotten there yet. Yet, I said. I already have the hat and the storybooks. Now all I need is the desperation.
The kids are also learning. Instead of shouting “Good morning!” at three in the afternoon, I have taught them to scream, “Good afternoon!” Instead of “Muzungu,” they yell “Muhorakeye!” Mission accomplished.
When my mom visited, she gave Bijoux a pink jump rope. Bijoux loves it and I come home some evenings to find her jumping rope in the front yard. She also uses the jump rope as a swing by weaving it through the branches of the tree in our front yard and knotting it. Sometimes, her friends and neighborhood kids come over to play, passing the jump rope between them or making it into a three person activity. Since then, I have noticed a large number of children with ratty pieces of rope they use to jump on the side of the road to town. It has become the village kids’ favorite activity. I can’t help but think that news of Bijoux’s jump rope spread, and the village kids heard and picked up on it, making their own jump ropes out of the any material available. I am happy because jumping rope is such a healthy activity. Instead of hanging out, inactive and bored, they are entertaining themselves with a positive activity. I am reminded of the program Jump Rope for Heart in elementary school. I have, well actually that is incorrect, my mom, through me, changed the practice of the village kids in a positive way. Go jumpers, go!
Bijoux is a lucky kid, living next to me, the muzungu, because she gets to play with all my random stuff, like colored pencils and paper, that other kids in the village don’t. I have to be careful that I don’t spoil her, although I think my efforts not to are in vain. Sean brought a volleyball when he came to visit and left it for the village of Kiramuruzi to use. I use it around the youth center, with the students, or bring it to the soccer field and hold informal physical education class. Basically, I hand out equipment and watch as the kids play, observing, having fun, but also monitoring to make sure no arguments break out or equipments go missing. The other day, Bijoux asked for the volleyball and I told her it was at the youth center because I was using it for one of my classes. The next day, she asked again. On the third day, she asked and got mad at me because I didn’t have it. She walked away, didn’t talk to me, and sulked. Finally, I brought it home and gave it to her. She was excited and invited her friends to play in the front yard. I could hear their shrill screams and the bounce of the ball outside as I cooked dinner. Bijoux is not giving the ball up and at the end of the night, she took it into her house and stored it in her room. I am not sure if I will be able to get it back from her. Perhaps, Bijoux will be a future player for the Rwandan women’s volleyball team.
Bijoux also likes to watch me do my workout. I do a lot of exercise in my village, to keep myself fit and healthy, to feel better, and to occupy time. I mostly exercise in my house because, as much as I would love to run, I know the moment I walk out my gate I will have village kids hanging on my arms and following me, defeating the purpose of an enjoyable, relaxing, get away from it all, run. I do aerobics exercises, some circuit training, and yoga with the meager equipment I have, two weights and a yoga mat, that make up my personal gym. Bijoux thinks I am strange and sneaks into my house or up to my window to watch. But, she also absorbs what she has seen. Sometimes, I hear her doing “quick feet” in the front yard in the evenings and giggling as she imitates me. Hopefully, what she sees sticks and she maintains her interest in volleyball and habit of exercise.
Bijoux is not the only person who watches me and copies me. I live by example. I used to be annoyed by everyone always watching me, but now I have come to see it as an informal teaching opportunity and I take advantage of it. Peace Corps Volunteers learn to accept and use informal education as the basis of their teaching, and teaching by example is probably one of the most successful methods of teaching. Before I used to close the curtains on my windows to work out, cook, and do other healthy, positive, beneficial chores because I didn’t want people to see or thought it would be out of place. Now, I open my curtains and doors and let the outside world look it. I no longer hide what I do, because they may learn from me. I have noticed a big change in the practices of my neighbors. First, when they wash dishes, they no longer lay them on the ground in the sun to dry. They have built a stand out of sticks much like my dish drying rack. In addition, they were curious about my compost pile and I told them what I do and why. Now, my neighbors have started one of their own, to use in their garden. They also conserve water by dumping the used in their garden, like I do, especially now that it is the dry season and we will have no rain for the future months. I often see Big Mama, the nurse, brushing her teeth in the yard as I crouch outside by my drain, doing the same. Bijoux gulps water in the front yard all the time. They tell me when they are cooking vegetables, as if it is a sacrifice made to the alter of good living, and I have noticed it happening more frequently, especially since I shared my vegetable dishes and own eating habits, and taught about the importance of vegetables in diet, especially for loosing weight. All and all, add that to Bijoux’s exercise practice, and I would say they are living healthier because they get to observe and copy me.
As you can see, the overall effect a Peace Corps Volunteer has on a village is small, smaller than we expected in the beginning, but it is still meaningful. Our mentality changes over the course of our service. These things might not be big, but they are important because they are how behavior change starts. Maybe Furaha will get a better job. Emile will be able to succeed in English. Maybe one day, Bijoux will be a famous volleyball player and her kids will know the importance of exercise, all because I did some funny aerobics movements in my house with the door and windows open so she could watch. Maybe the village children will pass their jumping ropes to their friends or future children to use, so they will also know the benefit of exercise. Maybe my neighbors will teach their neighbors about the importance of compost, water conservation, brushing teeth, drinking water, and eating vegetables, so the message will continue to spread even after I am gone. Little changes, but changes for the better all the same.

Blurb2- The Follow Up

2011-07-16T05:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, not to pick on Hollywood or anything, BUT… BLURB2 is now a major…blog!
I said that I would let you know about the graduation ceremony for my friend, Faustin (see previous blurb from the blurb blog- I love that!). How does it compare to ceremonies from home?
Well, in the simplest sense, the ceremony was about the same. Graduates wore long gowns with square hats. Go figure. Where they got them, I do not know. Speeches were given by honorable guests, school faculty, and representatives from the graduating class. Names were called and graduates handed a diploma. In an open clearing, tents were set up for guests to sit under. Traditional Intorero dancers and drummers performed (okay, now we are back in Rwanda). All in all, your typical graduation ceremony.
Actually thinking back on it, I guess it wasn’t THAT typical. I guess I am adapted to Rwanda now. Dancing and drumming- that’s just a typical day in the village.
But, as I sat there, watching Faustin get his diploma, listening to speeches I didn’t understand, enjoying the traditional dance and music, under a tent in the blazing sun next to thousands of other guests, crammed together while the national television cameras and professional photographers raced around us, I began to appreciate it.
First, I appreciated that my friend was graduating. It was such a special moment and event for him. He has worked so hard over this past year to get there, juggling a full time job with getting a degree. I appreciated that he invited me to share this with him and his family. Way to go Faustin!
Second, I appreciated what this ceremony meant. In America, to graduate from university with a Bachelors degree is the norm, somewhat expected in this day and age. For that reason, it is not always celebrated for what it is- a huge accomplishment. Some are even expected to graduate with a Masters, and only then does it get really fun. Here, to graduate with a Bachelors is a major, major achievement. Today, what I witnessed was the second graduating class from one of the few universities in the country, and I think, don’t quote me on this, the only university in the Eastern Province. Imagine, Stanford as the only university on the West Coast. The ONLY. And witnessing the second class to graduate from Stanford. Crazy.
The university is a private one, and that had an effect on the students there today. Most were in their thirties or forties, already married, with families and full time jobs. They had to pay their way, accounting much of their income to tuition and educational supplies. Because many worked during the day, most classes take place in the evening. Actually, I think that there is only one class that takes place during the day. It was strange to look at the graduating class as they filed by and think, “There are no people my age in that crowd!” Definitely doesn’t make for your typical university experience.
One thing I was glad about was the number of women I saw standing up for their diplomas. It was great! I’m reading over the program now, and they have some statistics. 48% of the graduating class was women. That is just AWESOME ladies!
After a few more speeches and a couple more performances, we shared a fanta, again, very typically Rwandan, before it ended. The buses were a complete disaster. In the morning, on my way to the ceremony, it took me an hour to get a bus out of my village. Everyone was going to the ceremony. I thought I would have to cancel. But, finally I pushed my way onto a bus and made it there. The fun part was making it back at the end of the ceremony. I jumped in a matatu that took me to the roundabout in the middle of town next to the taxi park. The men driving the matatu asked where I was going, and when I said “Kiramuruzi,” they said, “Ah, you must be Muhorakeye.” I was shocked that they knew me, but hey, small country and apparently news gets around. Anyways, I made it home in time for class with the students.
And that, my friends, is your typical atypical Rwandan graduation ceremony.

A couple blurbs. Call this two and a half.

I sent some postcards home the other day. The mail system in Rwanda has officially reopened and I can now send mail to the US and Canada. Yay! That is very exciting since the mail system has been down for a good part of my service. The funny part was, there were five stamps, and large ones at that, needed to send a postcard to the US, so the entire back of the postcard ended up being covered by them. So much for writing.

My neighbor just got a new umucozi, since the other one ran away. She is fifteen and doesn’t go to school. She works all day in our yard, doing chores and taking care of the house. It is hardly the life or job for a child. I am not sure how I feel about this situation. I don’t know what the culture says about it. I have to do more investigation, ask around. Unfortunately, despite my own feelings about a child umucozi, maybe there is something I don’t understand about the system. This may be one of those tough situations I face as a Peace Corps Volunteer, where my own ethics conflict with those of the culture I am living in. If that is the case, I will have to accept it as just the way it is here, even if I don’t agree with it or like it. Let’s just say, my mind is ethically conflicted, and I must think carefully about how to approach the situation.

It is now avocado, and the dry, season in Rwanda. One… good…one…bad. Bet you can’t guess which one? Ladies in colorful African fabric and baskets filled with avocados on their heads meander by me as I walk home. I stop them and buy an avocado for 50 rwf, oh less than ten cents. They are a wonderful addition to my salads from the fresh lettuce growing in my garden. Yum! But, with the dry season here, everything is once again covered in the red earth of Africa. The dust gets everywhere. It invades my house, covers my clothing, and sticks to my shoes and feet. Forgetting after a year has past and in the midst of the wet season just how dry and hot the season can be, I wane for the rains to come again already, although they won’t for at least a few more months.

My class is ending next week. I am incredibly sad and a bit disappointed. We have not made it through the entire curriculum and it not because we are behind. The school system here is incredibly informal and the dates that students are released for the holidays are not always determined in advance. When I began planning for the course, I was told that school would end in August, so I planned my curriculum accordingly. Now, students are being released from school next week. They have examinations, then they will return home. Since the school is boarding, most students will return to other places around the country and will no longer be in Kiramuruzi. It is a shame because they are such great kids and I can’t continue to teach them. Many are in Senior 6, the last grade, and won’t return to school next year. I think that the reason for the sudden change of dates is because Rwanda is shifting its school year to coincide with the American one. Students will go to school in September and finish in June or July. Before, the school year reflected the seasons in Rwanda. Students were released during the dry season to help their families with the harvest. Oh, how Rwanda is modernizing. What this means for me? Well, I have to be flexible. Since I won’t be able to work with students from schools, I will target youth in the community, since many students around the country will be returning home to Kiramuruzi. Youth have very little to do during school breaks and typically hang around their homes and villages. Great target group. Pull them in and teach them something. That is my goal. As attached as I have become to my current students, I am sure I will meet new ones that are just as amazing.

Another Blog of Blurbs

2011-07-14T05:27:00.000-07:00

Here are just a few little thoughts and stories, blurbs as I have called them previously. Another blog of blurbs.

BIG (literally) news- Big Mama, as I call my neighbor, is pregnant. She was always fat, a compliment in Rwanda, but now she is getting even bigger. She is about 7 months and will have a baby boy. Big Mama is happy because she wanted a boy. Bijoux, her 10 year old daughter, on the other hand, wanted a sister. Oh well, not every wish comes true. I am excited to meet him. They don’t know what they are going to call him or they are not making his name public yet. In Rwanda, it is tradition not to name babies until they are at least eight days old. Then, there is a celebration and ceremony called Kwita Izina, the name giving, to give the baby its name. Everyone has two names- one French and one Rwanda. The Rwandan names have special meanings. I can’t wait to share this special time with my Rwandan family.

I went to the market yesterday. Tuesday is market day in my village. I have not been to the market in a long time. First, because I have been traveling and second, because I haven’t found the time since I got back. Yesterday, I finally made it to the market to buy fresh vegetables for the upcoming week. My market mamas who I haven’t seen in two months were surprised and happy to see me. They thought I returned home, but I reassured them that I would be here for at least another year. They grabbed me and hugged me and dragged me around to see their friends. We chatted. They asked how my mom and Sean were, how my trip was, etc. I explained the best I could in my limited and broken Kinyarwanda. We all had big smiles on our faces. But soon, we got down to business, the “real” reason I went to the market- to buy vegetables. The mamas had their goods on display- piles of tomatoes, green peppers, carrots, onions, eggplant, dodo (green leafy vegetable that has no English translation except that, green leafy vegetable). It is the beginning of the dry season, so there are still many vegetables, especially since it came late and we had heavy rain until two weeks ago, but they are more expensive. As each mama ushered me to their display and played me to buy their vegetables, I found that I just couldn’t resist. One mama asked, “Do you want tomatoes?” I already had a whole bowl of tomatoes at home, but I used to buy tomatoes from her every week, I haven’t been to the market for a long time and therefore, haven‘t given her money she expected from me and depended on, and she really didn’t ask, but assumed, as she already started filling up a container for me. Instead of arguing, I said, “Yes,” - I couldn’t help it. Even though I am only cooking for one person (before the number used to be two), I figured I would find a way to use two containers of tomatoes. Then, I went to the next mama. Same thing. I couldn’t help it. I bought carrots, even though I didn’t plan or want to buy them. I felt obligated. I had just bought from one mama, and now I felt like I had to spread my (meager) wealth around. Granted, on a typical market trip I spend less than $5 for all the vegetables I eat in a week, and I love vegetables. Before, I used to visit one market mama, who had everything, and buy it all from her. Now, I have started spreading around, buying one item from each mama. I have come to know the mamas and I feel it is only fair. They seem to appreciate it, too. Anyways, the story ends like this. When I left the market, I had a bag full of vegetables, more vegetables than one person can eat alone, and all because I felt like it was my duty to buy them. I didn’t feel bad about it, I just laughed, because in some ways, that is my job in the community. Part of my role of living here, as I have been reminded on numerous occasions and not necessarily in the most polite way, is to boost the economy of the village by putting money into circulation. One man I met while eating at the restaurant told me it was good that I ate there because it gave them money. I agreed, but not for the same reason. But, for the small amount I am putting out there, I am okay with that mentality. Now, in an effort to put some money into the market mamas’ hands, I have an entire bag of vegetables, to carry home, clean, cook, eat. The things I get myself into, honestly.

I wanted revisit what I said about the girls in my class. Actually, we had a great class yesterday and I really enjoyed teaching them. Everything I said still applies, but they are so cute, such great girls, I really care for them. We were talking about hygiene and sanitation. I decided to make the class fun, so instead of lecturing, I gave everyone a hygiene and sanitation practice, then we used art materials to draw pictures representing the practice. At the end of class, we hung our drawings in the room as reminders of good hygiene and sanitation. For an hour, we worked. They were so concentrated on the task at hand and I sat watching them. They were smiling and giggling, still shy, but comfortable now. I can tell they really admire me, because of who I am, because I teach them and give them these great opportunities. They like that I give them the attention they have been denied and compliment and encourage them. I can tell they are becoming more confident. I like that I have taken a part in that. It is amazing to see them change, even if the road to change is a little bumpy at times.

On Friday, I am attending the graduation ceremony of my coworker and friend, Faustin. He is graduating with a Bachelors degree in economics. Way to go Faustin! He invited me to attend the ceremony as his guest and I agreed to. I have no idea what that means. Well, obviously I go. But, I have no idea what a graduation ceremony in Rwanda will be like. I’ve been to a few weddings in Rwanda, so now when I get an invitation to a wedding, I know what to expect and what I should do- dress up, bring a present, etc. But a graduation ceremony is a whole different ball game. In the states, we wear funny gowns and hats, speeches are given, diplomas handed out, music plays, there is a ceremony. I am curious how this graduation will compare to that. It will be an interesting experience, for sure. I’ll let you know.

I was thinking the other day. Sean bought a hat at the market when he was here. I wore it on our trip around Tanzania and Mozambique until I accidentally forgot it on a bus, the bus with the driver who had great style (see previous blog). I am sure he found it and kept it. He probably wears it as he drives his bus- it fits his style. I wonder where it is now? I don’t care that I lost it, but this thought builds on another blog from a long, long time ago, when I wrote about clothes. Most clothes for sale in Africa are secondhand, from some Western country. At home, we all give clothes away to thrift stores. Say they end up being shipped to Africa. It is possible to walk by some of your old clothes on the street here. My hat has been left to the same forces. It has been released into the world. If only it could remember and tell stories of it’s travels, like the story of he traveling pants. Where is it now?

It is amazing how much we acquire. I live off almost nothing, and I still feel like I have acquired so much stuff here in the past 17 months, especially compared to my Rwandan neighbors. Most of the reason is cultural, whereas Rwandans prefer simple, Americans like to surround themselves in the memories and chaos of everyday life to feel safe, comfortable. Stuff means baggage, weight, literally when I fly back to the states, and figuratively, when I walk into my home. There are books and papers everywhere, things I don’t need or haven’t touched in months, just stuff, STUFF, STUFF!!! So, I’ve decided to do my semi-annual purge, when I go through everything and get rid of all the stuff I don’t need. I think hard about the stuff I want to keep, asking, “Is is worth it to lug this halfway around the world?” Trust me, it is a very useful question and really makes you think hard about whether or not you want to keep something. This activity, combined with getting caught up on all my work after traveling, and getting back into my daily practices of eating, cleaning and exercise, feels great! Plus, I started feeling a little embarrassed about the amount of stuff I had. One day, my water boy brought water to my house, popped his head in the door, and exclaimed, “Ufite ibinyu byinshi.” You have a lot of stuff. I looked around, and although I couldn’t agree because compared to anyone back home or what I had back home, I have very little, I decided it was time to do something about it. So I got to work, organizing and disposing. If you are like me and you feel the weight of your stuff on your shoulders, I recommend a thorough purge. Now that I am done, I feel lighter, like wings on my shoulders instead of weights. Having few things is such a release, the same high a backpacker feels when he knows he is living off the few items he has packed. For some reason, without things, one feels like they can conquer the world. Things just weigh us down. I had a discussion with a friend the other day about this. I grew up in an environment where everything was saved, and I have developed my own packrat tendencies. My friend had the opposite experience, where nothing was saved and she saves nothing. We wondered how our different experiences affected how we act today? She wanted to save more and I wanted to save less, or think more carefully about what I saved. As I go through all the stuff I have acquired over the last year, it is in many ways, like reliving the last year. By throwing stuff away, I feel like I am throwing away the memories attached to them, too. I have to remind myself that I am not. The reassuring thought I keep reminding myself is that those memories are preserved within my mind or the pages of this blog, not in the things that have collected, because no paper, basket, clothing, or carving, can begin to describe the things I have seen or been through.

It has also recently come to my attention that I have been in Rwanda 17 months. The total Peace Corps service is 27 months. That means I only have 10 months of service left. I know it sounds like many at first, especially when I think about how long a single day in my village lasts, but in the big picture, it is not. If the days seem to go by slowly, weeks and months fly by at a speed I can not control, which is an interesting characteristic of Peace Corps service. 10 months will continue to fly by. Plus, with only 10 months left, we are on the downhill slope, moving faster and faster, bringing it home, sliding into, literally, home base. The pressure and the unimaginable length of service have disappeared and I am just enjoying it. We all know, time flies when we are having fun. 10 months, not that much time. What that means is that I have to start preparing for my departure, not seriously, but slowly. I need to start asking and thinking about those questions like, what is going to happen to the youth center when I leave? Who is going to take over my responsibilities when I am not there? Who is going to care for it? 10 months may seem like a long time to answer these, but in Rwanda, where things just take more time, I will be lucky if they are all answered by the time I leave. It also means I must start thinking about, what next? Where do I want to go and what do I want to do post-Peace Corps? That is a scary, almost unimaginable though. I am scared to go back to the “real” world of chaos, grocery stores, running water, flushing toilets. The whole thing seems quite intimidating to be honest. I am happy here in my “little” world. I am content. Although I need to have this discussion with myself, I don’t want to, because it will be verification that my service is ending. Plus, it just seems so surreal. I never thought, had no plan, for life beyond Peace Corps, because it is what my life has been leading up to since I wrote it as my graduation plans at the end of high school. Now that I am free-floating, there are so many options for where to turn next. Which one to choose? The last part of realizing that I only have 10 months of service left is the sadness it causes. I am sad to look around and realize that I will be leaving my home, the people here, my village, probably never to see them again. I look around as I walk down the dirt road leading to town or think while I am waiting for the students in my class to get out of school, “I am really happy here. This is the lifestyle that feels comfortable to me now. I don’t want to leave.” And just the people. I have made such amazing friends, people I am so close to, who are interesting, different, people I would have never met any where else. How am I going to leave them? I am not ready to leave them. So obviously, then I think what is inevitably coming to your minds right now- what if I stay longer? In my head, I make a list of the pros and cons of such a decision, but I am still torn. The good news- thank goodness I have 10 more months to think about it and make that decision.

I have often wondered what the long-term effects of my service in Rwanda, two years living and working in Africa, will be. I believe some effects will be assumptions that I make based on my experience here. One such assumption is that things don’t work. It may seem like a very cynical approach to life, but the truth is, that is just the reality here. I see something, and I assume it doesn’t work. For example, whenever I see a toilet, which is not often, I assume it doesn’t flush. Why? And will that continue when I return home? I also assume that personal space doesn’t exist because we share it. On buses, we are squeezed together until our shoulders crunch. Some people sit on their neighbor’s lap or sleep on their shoulder, even if they don’t know them. When getting on or off the bus, we pass our bags to people in the front, crawl over people in the middle, and stick our butts in the faces of people in the back. People on the street hug, hold hands, walk with their arms around each other. Everyone knows everything about everyone because we live right next to each other, almost overlapping. The other day, a visitor came to the youth center who was a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. We rarely have visitors at the youth center and I rarely have the opportunity to chat with another muzungu from home. I was excited. I ran up to him and grabbed his hand and began shaking. I assumed, being an RPCV, he knew how I felt and was used to people who greet each other warmly and closely like they do in Rwanda, and would appreciate having a taste of culture. I was wrong. The moment I began shaking his hand, he backed away, uncomfortable by my excitement and invasion of his personal space. I was a bit shocked and hurt and it started me thinking, am I going to be overwhelming for Americans because I have embraced the culture of close contact that exists in Rwanda or will I learn to guard my personal space? Another thing I wonder about sometimes is if I will turn into, wait remain, a hermit when I come home. Let’s be honest- my lifestyle in Rwanda is not the most outgoing. I spend most evenings alone in my house, entertaining myself with hobbies. I have receded into my inner nerd and am focusing on “self-development.” And you know what, I really enjoy it. In addition, I feel overwhelmed when I am around big groups of muzungus. Will this change? Will I become social, outgoing, and comfortable again? Also, I wonder, what will be the effect of my service on my work ethic? You see, as much as I try, given the circumstances I am working under, I am not as active as I was back home. It is hard to accept and I feel guilty, but that is just the way it is. It seemed the more I tried to be active and move forward quickly, the more the forces worked against me. I became stressed out and exhausted until I decided not to push back anymore, but let things happen at their own pace. What that means for me is less work spread over a longer time. I don’t work as hard as I could or am used to. When I return home, will I continue these work habits? I hope not. And on that note, I have noticed that planning in Rwanda is almost useless. Don’t tell my coworkers because I am always encouraging proper planning in the workplace. The truth is, I used to spend so much time and effort putting together detailed plans, but found that plans were never followed. Things usually came up, changed, or the information I had based my entire plan on was incorrect. Now, I know that planning is not the approach to take in Rwanda. Instead, I have a goal and I work towards reaching it, taking small steps, one at a time. I no longer operate with a long-term plan, but respond to each situation as it presents itself, on the spot, in the moment, spontaneous.. So, will I once again become an avid planner or has my service in Rwanda introduced me to a new way of operating that will stick?
Will I ask coworkers about the wellbeing of their family and cows?
Will I greet everyone I meet on the street?
Will I call people fat as a compliment?
Will I faint in shock the first time I walk into a grocery store?
Will I wash my clothes in a bucket?
Will I shower regularly?
Will I bleach my drinking water and my vegetables?
Will I cook two hours before I am hungry?
Will I eat once a day?
Will I eat every morsel of food on my plate?
Will I save every other morsel of food?
Will I worship water?
I guess the real question here is how much of Africa will stay with me when I return home? Or will I go home and find that everything returns to normal, quickly, meaning my service had virtually no effect on me? I don’t know which is better.

Villagers

2011-07-14T03:26:00.000-07:00

I realized that it is unfair to talk about all the people we met during our travels if there are people in my village you still have not met… through my blog of course.
Let me take a moment to tell you about some of the people in my village.
Of course, there are the people I work with, but you have already “met” many of them.
Then, you have the bus boys, but I have already talked about them, too.
There is one kid who is the owner of a store by the bus stop. He is young, but always hangs outside his store with the bus boys. When I am waiting for a bus, he comes outside and leans against the pillar or sits on the bench next to me. We talk. Mostly, he is curious about whatever book I am reading, so I tell him. He is quiet, but has a calm, sure smile that seems to me to be a mark of his acceptance. This is his life. Sometimes, I go to his store to buy something.
Next door to his shop, still near the bus station, is an old railroad car, stationary and converted into a typical Rwandan store, overflowing with random, small items. The owner of this store is a nice, old man who always greets me with a smile. His wife is sometimes tending the store and they have a new little baby boy.
Sometimes, I eat at the restaurant in town. It is a little oasis, with separate, open rooms containing tables and chairs, and vines weaving around the doorways and roof. The people who work there are my friends, by default. By going to eat there, I inevitably hang out with them. There are two girls. They know exactly what I want before I order it and nod knowingly when I do. One is excitable. When she sees me, sometimes across the street on my way to work, she waves dramatically. The other is shy and giggles when she comes near me. There is one male server named Davoid. Davoid is timid, but always stops to have a conversation when he sees me sitting in a chair, reading. In a sweet way, he keeps asking for a picture of me to keep, so he won’t forget me, and because he loves me. I tell him that I am flattered, but I have no pictures of myself, and I don’t feel the same way about him. We have gotten to the point where we can laugh together about his lost hope.
Further down the street, next to the youth center, is a stall made from sticks of bamboo. Sometimes, when I don’t have time to go to the market, I buy vegetables here. It is also the place most likely to have papaya, which I love. When I walk by on a papaya day, the mama of the stall calls out my name, trying to entice me. She doesn‘t have to work hard. I venture over to purchase. From behind the mama peer two children. They are twins, a sign of good luck in Rwanda. I bend down and wave to them. They giggle and hide behind their mother’s legs. When I am just walking by, they are not shy at all and run up to the edge of the road and wave. Sometimes, there are other people hanging out there and they are pleased to meet the muzungu who speaks Kinyarwanda. We chat. I have also been fondled by one of the mamas here to determine my eligibility for marriage. Apparently, I passed her test and she has been trying to play matchmaker since then. Adjoining the stall is a house made out of mud. Usually, there is a row of old men sitting on a bench in front of it. They sit, chatting, watching, wearing drooping felt hats and brandishing canes. When I get off work and begin to walk home, the whole crowd waves and yells my name.
Across the street is another mama who is a hairdresser. She has been begging to braid my hair in crazy cornrows and small plaits like many Rwandan women wear. She offers me a good price, only 5000 rwf, about $8, for my whole head. I have not accepted yet because of how ridiculous I would feel, the terrible sunburn I would get (can you tell I’ve had experience with this before), and how much it would hurt. However, I feel like I should try it out at least once before I leave, no matter how ridiculous and painful it may be.
If you walk towards the center of town, you pass a row of stores. I recently discovered that there is a video rental store in my village. Yeah. For 500 rwf, less than $1, you can rent a video for a night. Of course, the choice of videos is small, most are old, and many star actors like Bruce Willis, Jackie Chan, and Mr. Bean. But, it is a movie store, all the same. It is also a music store and in the evening, music blasts from the speakers outside the door. It can be heard all over town. Sometimes, a popcorn machine is set up and pops corn, the smell wafting down the street. There is a group of boys who manage and hang out at the music/movie store. They sit on a bench all day, joking and discussing. I can’t help but think as I pass that they are preparing for their later years when they become old men with drooping hats and canes like the ones sitting in front of the house next to the vegetable stall.
In another store on this strip is my banana mama. I make fruit smoothies almost every morning for breakfast. I need a constant source of fruit and sometimes fruit is difficult to find in my village or at the market. My banana mama always has plenty of bananas, so I visit her often, even if her bananas are not always the best quality. She is a fragile middle-aged woman, soft spoken, always seems tired, but is sweet. Sometimes when I walk into her store, she is hanging out with her friends or customers. She always introduces me as “umukobwa mwiza,” good girl. Sometimes she has items in her store that I don’t know what they are, so I ask. She informs me, “That is a fruit that is like a papaya, but not, also like a passion fruit.” I decide to give it a try. It is a papaya-passion fruit, large like a papaya with soft meat that can be scooped out, but with seeds that are eaten like a passion fruit. The other day, she was pouring honey from a jerry can into small jars. I couldn’t guess what the golden syrup was, so I asked. “Honey,” she replied, handing me a spoonful. I sucked the sweet sticky goo. Yum.
There is an old man who spends the day sitting on a three-legged stool under a tree in the middle of town, selling goods like cookies, candy, and cigarettes, from a wooden box set on its side. Every time I walk by, he shouts, “Hello!” He calls me “American.” Sometimes we exchange greetings. The other day, he jumped on a bike as I walked up and began to ride away. His hat fell off and landed on the ground before me. I picked it up and handed it back to him. He thanked me and rode off.
There is a group of children who hang out around the tea shops that make up the next row of stores. When I pass, they run out and wave to me. Sometimes they run up and give me hugs. We exchange greetings. Their parents are always sitting in the shade and comfort of their stores. When they see this, they watch and laugh. I laugh with them as I shout a greeting, wave, and continue on my way.
One of these tea shops belongs to my chapatti lady, Violet. Violet and her sister own the shop on the corner of the main, three-way intersection. When I am at work and need a snack or a break, I go to her shop and order tea and chapatti. Then, I sit at the one long table in the shop, next to the rest of the customers. Violet makes the best chapatti I have had in Rwanda, in the world for that matter. Chapatti is thin bread, a mix between naan and pita. I have asked her to teach me how she makes it and she just laughs and promises she will. No, really, you have to, I think, because I won’t be able to buy it from you forever. When she sees me walking towards her shop, she knows I have come there for chapatti. If I haven’t come for a while, she wonders why. Sometimes I eat there, sometimes I take the chapatti home and she rolls it in paper. Violet is a beautiful, caring girl.
Up the street on my way home is another store I often stop at for nearly everything else I need. I met the man who owns it my first week in town and we have been friends ever since. I visit his store almost everyday, for one thing or another. Everyday, he teaches me new Kinyarwanda words. I tell him that he is “umwarimu wanjye,” my teacher. He laughs and seems to enjoy that title. When I lost my living allowance and lived on the brink of poverty, he saved me, but he doesn’t know that. I had almost no money to last me a week, and he unknowingly gave me an entire bunch of bananas as a gift for coming to him regularly over the last year. I survived on those bananas for a week until I could go to the bank and get my next month’s living allowance. Even when I walk by without visiting his store to buy something, I wave and I can just see him waving back from the store’s dark interior.
Across the street is another store selling vegetables and fruits. If I don’t have time to make it to the market, I visit this store to buy food. There are piles of tomatoes and onions on the floor and I pay less than $1 for a heaping mound. Sometimes, there are other vegetables, like peppers and carrots, in the display case. The mama behind the counter is named “Murakatete” and she is seven months pregnant. Her big belly sways down as she bends over to pick out the best tomatoes for me from the pile on the floor. Many times, she throws in a few extra, as a gift.
There is another group of kids along this street who run out to the road every time they see me. They start a chorus of “Muhorakeye, muhorakeye!” A few of the bold ones run up and hug me. I greet them and wave to their parents, watching protectively from their stores. They smile and wave back.
On the way home, I sometimes run into a real village mama. She is the mother of one of the children who used to hang outside the gate at my first house. I used to see her more frequently because she was my near neighbor. She also helped manage the children when they got out of control or behaved badly at my first house. Then, I moved, and although I didn’t move far and she is still my neighbor, I no longer use the same road to get to town and don’t run into her as often. Once in a while, I see her walking along the road and we stop and catch up. She is a very nice village mama, but like any village mama, she can talk! She talks so fast that I can not always understand her, but that’s okay. I let her words fly by me as I try to make sense of them and guess their meaning. In the end, we manage to communicate, and most importantly, we shake hands and hug before we part on our separate ways.
I also frequently run into another village mama, usually when walking home from the market. She is my neighbor, but sells vegetables at the market. I first met her at my neighbor’s house, when my neighbor had a birthday party for her daughter. She was a guest there. Later, I saw her at the market. She walks with me back from the market, stopping and introducing me as “Muhorakeye! Yes, her name is Muhorakeye!” to all her friends we meet along the way. She can be a little pushy and overpowering, like many village and market mamas, but she likes to joke. We laugh as we walk down the dirt road back to our homes together.
Before I reach the gate to my house, I am usually spotted by my neighborhood kids, and the shout of “Muhorakeye!” precedes me down the dirt road. Then, a big group descends upon me. They run up to me, greet me, touch me, pull me, slap me, grab me, and hug me. I feel like a glob of dough, at the mercy of the children to mold me into something that entertains them. It’s okay. I don’t even mind that they stick their heads in my lap, rub their running noses on my pant legs, or leave imprints of their hands on my clothing. It is all a sacrifice in the game.
Two kids stand out in my head. First, one I call “Cookie Monster” because he wears a sweatshirt with an image of Cookie Monster from Sesame Street on the front. One day, I asked him if he knew who it is on his shirt. He didn’t, so I told him, “It’s Cookie Monster,” and explained. After that, every time he sees me, he runs up and says, “Cookie Monster,” thus the birth of his name. He always wears the same shirt. Another boy rides a bike that is clearly too big for him, so he sticks his leg through the opening under the body bar supporting the seat to push the petal with his foot and rides at an angle. When he passes me on the road, he says, “Muhorakeye, bite?” What’s up? I answer, “Ni byiza. Amakuru?” It’s good. How are you? He has a great grin on his face as he rides away and I feel like I have made his day a little brighter. Sometimes, he is so consumed with getting and keeping my attention as long as possible that he forgets he is riding a bike in the middle of a busy road. He totters and swerves around people and bicycles also on the road at the last minute. He waves as he wobbles away into the distance and I laugh.
Those are the people in my village who I engage with on a daily basis or frequently. They have all made an impression on me, affected me in some way, and found a place in my heart. I write to introduce them to you, but also preserve my memory of them. These people have been such an important part of my experience in the village, our little interactions meaning much more to me than I expected. Sometimes, it is the little people, who make the biggest difference in our lives, who are forgotten first.