Another Year Has Passed, and I'm Alright.

Today marks seventeen years since the beginning the genocide that killed nearly a million Rwandans in a span of just 100 days – one of the most gruesome and well executed massacres of all time. I have decided to use this solemn time to reflect back on the last year spent in Rwanda; on what I have learned, what I have experienced, how much I have grown, and how much has changed since I wrote about the Memorial Week just one year ago. The funny thing about change is that you usually do not notice it until it’s passed. We live from day to day, barely noticing the position of the sun or the passing of the seasons, but in reflection of the past year, I am overcome with the immensity of all that has changed, both in myself, and in the way I see Rwanda.

I remember very clearly where I was one year ago, as it was one of the hardest experiences I have ever had to go through – watching people I was unfamiliar with and a nation I was unaccustomed to grieve and writhe in pain with the memory of the ghosts of those they had lost. I sit today alone and quiet as everything around me is just as it has always been. It is a day of national mourning, and as I mourn with this nation, I also notice how very little is different from yesterday to today to tomorrow, because this nation, and its people are just as strong as they have always been. Last year, I was overcome with grief and sadness as I saw firsthand what historians and human rights activists had written about for years. This year, however, is different. It is not to say that I am not grieving, because I am. But I feel so much more directly affected by what happened. I have spent so much time here, making so many friends and understanding at the most basic and fundamental level what it means to be Rwandan. And so today, as I look out at my unchanging valley, I look not as an American grieved by what we failed to do 17 years ago, but as a Rwandan who, instead of pointing fingers, dreams only of moving forward and recovering from that haunted past.

Over the past year, I have come to know so many people - truly know them. I have my best Rwandan friend, who is in so many ways exactly like me, who I can talk to about anything, but yet who never ceases to amaze me with her stories, her past, her intellect, and her openness to everything worldly. We walk together, we watch movies together, we talk together, we joke, and we drink. And yet only last night did I find out where she was seventeen years ago. I have my colleagues, who in so many ways are the exact opposite of me, who are always there to give me hard time about my lack of computer skills and my need to always be in the sun while I give them a hard time about conservative worldviews and joke about things that could not possibly be true. This is my family, the people I see everyday, the people I love and hate at the same time, and the people whom I could not imagine living without. And so, on this day, and from here forward, why wouldn’t I be with them and see the world as they see it? Why wouldn’t I look at Rwanda the way they do, accepting what is, laughing at what isn’t, and moving on from what has been. It is with this philosophy that I now try to look at my life and at the world.

There are so many things that I encounter everyday that are so uniquely Rwandan, things that I have become used to, and things that once used to frustrate me but now rather amuse me. When my students are an hour late, or a meeting gets cancelled because of the rain, or there is a traffic jam because no one can figure out who has the right-of-way, or I have to completely rewrite a 47 page curriculum with clear step-by-step instructions in case it is confusing, I can honestly only laugh. This is Rwanda- this is my home. I have begun to speak in Rwandan idioms that I know make no sense, I have started switching my Rs and Ls, saying ‘solly solly’ and I have almost stopped noticing the signs that say things like ‘Flesh Milk’ and ‘Ear Welcome’. All this, and I have only been here one year – I can’t imagine how much of me will have changed after two years.

I could probably write a novel about all the ways I have personally changed over the last year – in fact maybe I will. But I think most of these changes are obvious. When I left LA last year, I was actually quite a pathetic mess. I let all the years before me affect me in a rather negative way. I was pessimistic, and often thought the world was against me. Though I always wanted to change the world, I was always expecting some sort of redemption of my past or restitution of my childhood. I can honestly say that all of that aged me. Instead of taking chances or risks, or living in the moment, I lived in stress, in vengeance, in blame. I don’t know what changed me, I don’t know if it was sudden or if it occurred over time, but I can honestly say I am different, and I think it is apparent. I am no longer angry, or bitter, but rather look at my past with a sort of satisfaction because of all that I have had the opportunity to accomplish. Even though I am year older, I feel five years younger. I feel like I am 18 again and finally enjoying my youth. Of course I am not 18 and have so much more responsibility and worldly experience than that of an 18 year old, but I do feel like I am finally enjoying my youth and my age. – And it feels amazing. My outlook on life has changed from one of stress and what-ifs to one of ‘ntakibazo’ (not a problem in Kinyarwanda). Of course there are still rough days and weeks, that has not changed, but what has changed is my way of looking at it all.

At some point in the last few months, I went from feeling like I was still new and inexperienced in Rwanda to feeling like I have been here forever, and being respected as such. I have taken over as the primary focal person for HIV/AIDS in my organization, and in a way Peace Corps Rwanda in general. In the last month, I have helped to facilitate a PEPFAR conference for HIV for Education volunteers, have rewritten the Peace Corps Rwanda Health Project Framework, and have been asked to assist in the training of the new Volunteers arriving in May. Not sure when I became the resident expert on HIV, but I am enjoying the new responsibilities. As I have also been finalizing the HIV curriculum for my organization and planning a training of trainers to be held later in the month, I have found myself overwhelmed with responsibilities and confidence. I feel finally that all my hard work is paying off and that I finally get to show what I know. Even as I was sharing the curriculum and explaining the delivery to my colleagues, I felt accomplished. I can’t wait to spend the next two months training Rwandans to train youth.

In March we had our Mid-Service Conference, which was a chance to come together as a group, share experiences and challenges and celebrate having come halfway. It was so strange to think of how far we have all come in the last year, but also strange to think that the next time we are all together will be when we close our service. The conference was in Cyangugu, Rwanda, a town at the edge of Lake Kivu, bordering the Democratic Republic of Congo. One day, I walked with another volunteer and our new program manager to the border. Between Rwanda and Congo lies Lake Kivu, but at the bottom of the lake runs a river, which is technically no-man’s land. My program manager asked the soldiers if we could cross the bridge to Congo, which we did. I got just to the edge when we were told to turn around because it was dangerous. On the walk back, I asked my program manager about it, and he told me what I already knew but failed to remember or recognize in my excitement in seeing another country. After the genocide in 1994, many perpetrators, also known as the Interahamwe, escaped to Congo, and in so doing extending the conflict in Rwanda into the Congo. Most people know that the Congo is dangerous, but few know that Eastern Congo is filled with these Interahamwe. My program manager informed me that they often are near the border and though we cannot recognize them, they can recognize some Rwandans, making it dangerous. It was an eye-opening experience that grounded me, but did not stop my excitement at having walked to the D.R.C.

More than anything else, I would say that our Mid-Service Conference reminded me of just how much I love my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. It was great to see how much we have all grown and how much we have learned. It was also refreshing to know that from here on, it will all be downhill. The next year will surely be much easier and will go by much more quickly. We came to Rwanda as a group of 37, and we are now down to 28. Though we miss the volunteers that have left us, we have become a very close and tight-knit group. I am not sure I have ever had a group of friends so amazing and supportive, who understand completely what I am going through (because they’re going through it too) than right now with these volunteers. I am positive that the next year will certainly strengthen our friendship and create bonds that will inevitably last forever.

I am currently in the process of trying to decide on the course of my future life and where I will go from here. Up until this point, every decision I have made has been easy. I always knew I wanted to go to college, and UC Davis was an obvious choice. As soon as I stumbled across the Peace Corps, I knew I wanted to join, and so moving to Rwanda was less of a choice, than a proper next step in my life. Now, I am at a crossroads. From here, I can go anywhere; I can make one of many decisions that would lead my life in a variety of directions. And it is that notion that I have been struggling with for the past few weeks. I made the decision about a year ago to apply to graduate school, and so I did. But now, as I receive my decision letters from different universities, I am faced with the decision of which university to attend, and when to go. I am told that whichever choice I make will be the right one, and that I am sure of, but it is actually making that decision which is so difficult for me.

The sun sets now on Kigali and tomorrow will be another day. I will join my colleagues back at work and I will be one day closer to the rest of my life. I will let my decisions come to me, and I will continue to learn and grow from this experience and from my Rwandan friends. I will accept what is, laugh at what isn’t, and move on from what has been.

Rwanda, one year later, I still love you, but in such a different way, as now, I’m with you.

To see pictures of our Mid-Service Conference, as well as my birthday dinner and celebration in the sun with my friends, Click on the Title of this blog.

Here also is a link to an article about the genocide, and the current state of Rwanda, better articulated than my rambling: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rebecca-tinsley/in-rwanda-the-past-is-nev_b_844144.html

Teaching and Tutoring and Loving Life

I think it is quite amazing how much a little time away did for me. I was not sure what effect my time in D.C. would have until I had been back for a few weeks. It took very little time, though, to get readjusted to life here and feel at home again. In fact I feel more at home now, than I ever have before. Day by day, things get easier and I love my life a little bit more. I am not sure if it was my time away, my counseling, or my immediate increase in productivity at work, but I am definitely loving where I am at in my service, and committed to finishing another year in Rwanda.

In addition to teaching my two English classes at SOS, I am beginning to teach at a cooperative called KORA an additional two days. I have also started tutoring a girl named Sandra who is applying to go to university in America. I am helping her with her English for the TOEFL exam and her math for the SAT. As a health volunteer, I am doing surprising little related to health, but for the first time I feel like I am actually making a difference. One day after class, a student came up to me, gave me a hug, and said, ‘teacher I love you,’ and it absolutely made my heart melt. At the end of every class, my students try to get me to stay longer and teach them more, and it feels quite great to teach to students who legitimately want to learn. They even bought me a rose for Valentine’s day!

Last week, I spent some time visiting the street kids, whom I hadn’t seen since being back from London. I spent a good portion of one day visiting with them, taking pictures with them in their home, and going to their school. It felt good to be back with them, even though I have so little time anymore to spend time with them or help. They missed me as well, and I have become so proud of them. Many are now attending primary school. One kid was hiding when it came time to go to school, and when we asked him why, he told us his pen was out of ink and he didn’t want to get in trouble at school. So I gave him the 100 Francs (about 15 cents) to buy a new pen. Normally I make it a practice not to give the children money, so they don’t expect it. But I am more than willing to help a child go to school to better his life.

Alaphat, the leader, has decided to start his own NGO to help these kids, to create a better livlihood for them and possibly put together a youth center in the capital. He has asked me to help him in anyway possible. Though I know very little about starting an NGO, and although I want him to do most of the work (so that it will still be sustainable after I leave), I am happy to lend a hand wherever I am needed. We have started having meetings to discuss the possible options, as well as missions, goals, and leadership positions.

Needless to say, teaching four days a week, tutoring a girl in English and Math, working on success stories, continuing to build a website, writing an HIV curriculum and planning a training of trainers for HIV, visiting the street kids, and starting up an NGO has kept me very busy. But that is how I am happiest. I really do have a new sense of purpose here, and I finally feel like I have my community. Even though I am in the capital, I feel so incredibly welcome here and I feel like I fit in. Knowing random people on the streets and getting calls from people just to ‘greet me’ honestly feels really good. I don’t think I would change a single thing about my service even if I had to. I finally feel like I am where I am meant to be.

This post will stay short, until I have more to say. Even this somehow took me a week to get out, perhaps because I am busy, or maybe because I am too caught in the moment to talk about it all. If you want to see pictures of my street kids and students, as always, click on the title of this post.

I'm Still Here

I find that I have very little to say right now, but I suppose I should address the fact that I have not written in three months. I am conflicted between exposing a great injustice and taking the high road. On one hand, people should know what I have been though, but on the other it will not change anything, but probably make me feel worse, so for now, I will just explain the basics.

In the last few months I went through a series of events that brought me to my knees and eventually to Washington, D.C. in emotional, mental, physical, and financial pain. I have been reluctant to share because I have not been entirely certain about how I feel about it all. I will leave names out to take the high road, but state the facts so you understand where I have been.

At the end of October, I discovered that despite promises, my student loans were not being paid and the total of all back payments and late fees was more than I had in savings. I convinced Peace Corps to give me a one-time advance on my readjustment allowance (which is supposed to be given at the end of service). I had temporarily saved my finances . . . or so I thought. Little did I know that was just the beginning. My loans had been 60 days past due, which means my credit was effectively destroyed. I was unable to contact the banks, and when I tried to sign into credit agencies online, I was told this service was only available to Americans, but didn’t provide me the opportunity of proving I was an American. When I finally was able to get my credit report, I discovered my identity had been stolen and someone had been using my social security number to open accounts without paying for them – destroying my credit even more. It all started unraveling.

In November, I went to England and was reunited with an old love: London. It was perhaps the greatest break I could have asked for. It was the first time in months I was back in the first world, with hot water, clean water, and a real transportation system. I had an amazing week, ending with a fantastic weekend with fantastic people in fantastic Brighton. For that week, I thought not of my financial crisis, but of how happy that country made me, how happy my friends made me, and how much I wanted to be there forever. I took my GRE and went back to real life.

The flight back to Rwanda was more emotionally disturbing that I could ever have expected. I had a complete emotional breakdown in the middle of security at Brussels airport during a layover because they wanted me to throw away the two Red Bulls I had bought at the airport in London. I could not stop crying and telling the security guard it was all ridiculous. He informed me that I was the ridiculous one for crying over a soda. And he was right. But I couldn’t help it. So I drank both Red Bulls right then and there just before boarding my 8 hour flight back to Kigali. The flight itself was not any better, as the man next to me seemed to forget about the concept of personal space and deodorant. Immediately upon landing, I felt a sense of anger surge through me. I don’t really know why, or what I was angry at, but I just felt angry, and frustrated, and exhausted.

Throughout the rest of November I attempted to fix all the financial issues that had arisen, and one by one, it became more and more difficult to fix anything. Agencies could not confirm my identity, I could not contact them because there were no agents in my time zone, and my credit card companies slashed my line of credit by thousands of dollars and doubled my interest rate. Soon the total of all my payments was more than I make as a volunteer. Not only could I not continue as a volunteer, but also the emotional effect was more than I could handle. Peace Corps thought it best if I was sent to D.C. for some time to deal with it all.

I was in Washington for a total of 45 days, where I sought counseling for all that I had been ignoring for the last 22 years, as well as for my current catastrophe. It was good to be surrounded by Peace Corps Volunteers from around the world, to share stories, and compare experiences. It was good to relax and get treatment and address my financial situation. At the end of my time, I felt good about returning to country, I reversed my identity theft, and found a temporary solution to my bills. For now, I am just dealing with it all as it comes, and if it becomes a problem again, I will deal with it when it comes. That is all I can do if I want to stay in Rwanda.

Adjusting to life back in Rwanda after 45 days back in America has been quite difficult for me. Sometimes I am overcome with immense happiness and reassurance that I am where I am meant to be. Other days I am completely exhausted from it all and want only to lie in bed all day. I have been back less than two weeks, and though I am confident I will regain my happiness, I am also aware that it will be a struggle. I am trying to regain my motivation to do good things, my motivation to work hard, and my desire to love what I am doing.

The first step toward all that came this week when I began teaching English at SOS Primary School. I was incredibly nervous for some reason because though I was supposed to be teaching English all along, the only thing I was ever successful at teaching was HIV to street kids. As soon as I stepped in front of the classroom with chalk in hand, I became incredibly excited and full of motivation. The class could not have gone better. The students were responsive, well behaved, and seemed to love me just as much as I loved them. I came in with a lesson plan from our well-established curriculum, but within the first few minutes I threw the lesson plan to the side and just talked with the students, going a little at a time and getting to know them. I was astonished at how well they did in their first lesson. It made me so incredibly happy. I never knew I would love teaching this much. Of course I know there will be good days and bad days, but if the good days are THAT good, the bad days can’t possibly be that terrible, right? I will teach at SOS twice a week for the next 6 weeks, before possibly moving on to another organization. The other three days a week are reserved for my primary projects (HIV curriculum, website, communications, etc.). I wouldn’t say I am busy, but I am happy to finally have something to love.

I still face difficulties in adjusting back to life here, and dealing with my past, but hopefully I will find a way of balancing it all and living in the moment. Believe it or not, no matter how much I whine, I love living here and I love those I am around.

Breakthrough

I wanted to take a moment to add a short addendum to my previous post before I forget all the emotions I am now feeling, because I know that if I wait another week until I have more to write, my brain and it’s emotions will certainly be overwhelmed.

Last time, I discussed my HIV lessons to the street kids that I do every Monday and talked about my plans for the next lesson. Well, I gave that next lesson on Monday, and I would like to devote this post to what transpired during and shortly after my lesson.

I decided to allow my students to show me what they have learned thus far about HIV/AIDS by coming up with a creative way to teach their friends and family. I divided them into four groups and told them they had the choice of creating a song, doing a skit, or creating a radio advertisement. I gave them thirty minutes to prepare because I know that is how long it would take me to write a song or skit about AIDS, but I guess I’m not very artistic or creative. Turns out these kids are extremely creative – all of them – and needed only ten minutes.

The first group, with only ten minutes of preparation, successfully performed, together, a song about AIDS and the need to fight it. The second group did a skit about the problem of ‘sugar daddies’ and ‘sugar mommies,’ (older men or women who seduce youth by giving gifts or money in exchange for sex. This is a big problem in Rwanda). The third group did a skit about getting tested for AIDS and the effect that a positive result can have on one’s life. The last group did a song about how youth can fight AIDS and how together they can be the army that defeats it. All groups were very well prepared and had amazing skits and songs, with choruses and verses, and meaningful plots. It made me so happy to see them so enthusiastic. After each group performed we watched a short film about sugar daddies. They like movies, no matter how corny they might be.

I finished the lesson by giving them a homework assignment. I told them that if they took their song or skit back out to the streets and taught someone they know, or even a stranger, what they know about HIV/AIDS I would give them a present. This was probably a bad idea because now they will do the assignment not because they want to, but because they know they will get a present at the end. The gifts will be wristbands for each of them that say ‘Sinigurisha’ (I am not for sale), which is part of the campaign to stop Sugar Daddies and Sugar Mommies. They were all very excited (though I didn’t tell them what the present would be) and one of the older kids took a moment to give a speech (as Rwandans do . . .) about how much he loved coming to my class and how much all the kids love me because I am nice and I teach them about HIV. I wanted to cry of happiness and pride. They asked me to put in a CD with music recorded by one of the kids. It was really great music because these kids really ARE talented. I am going to try to get a copy of the music to share with the world, because they need to be heard (of course it’s in Kinyarwanda, but that’s all the fun).

After class I started talking to some of the boys and the leader of the group, Alaphet, who speaks English. As it turns out, Alaphet is not a street kid, or at least he wasn’t. He has finished secondary school, speaks perfect English, and even had a job with the government. One day, he decided he wanted to make the world a better place and help out some street kids. So he quit his job, bought a house for these kids and has been providing food and shelter for 42 kids, all of whom have nowhere else to go! I am not sure how old Alaphet is, or how long he has been doing this, but needless to say, I was inspired. He invited me to come look at the house and meet the other kids and I was more than happy to do so. The house was only a short walk from the office, and just near Amahoro Stadium, down a dirt path. The house had only two rooms, maybe 10 feet by 15 feet in area each, there was no electricity, and the roof was full of holes. There was no furniture in the entire house. Actually, there wasn’t really anything at all in the house. All 42 kids sleep on the concrete floors, lined up together. Alaphet sleeps and eats there too. He took me out back to show me the ‘kitchen,’ which was really just a muddy corner consisting of one pot, one knife, and a charcoal stove. A few of the kids were cutting potatoes and preparing for dinner.

I asked Alaphet how he was able to afford to pay for the house and food for these kids (who range in age from 9-19 years old) since he didn’t seem too old himself. That’s when he informed me that he has recently exhausted his savings and has been relying on the generosity of the neighbors to help. Since people don’t want these kids begging, they are happy to give a few Francs to feed them. I met one woman who owns a restaurant nearby who sometimes gives the kids her leftovers.

Unfortunately, this generosity can’t continue forever. That’s where I come in. I can’t give money, but I can give time and ideas. I have decided to take up a secondary project with these kids to create an income generating activity that the kids will be able to sustain themselves so that they can hopefully make enough money to stop taking donations from others. We haven’t decided on the income-generating activity just yet, but we are all going to sit down and go through what everyone is good at, what talents they have, and what they would like to do for work. That way, productivity and interest are maximized. In the meantime, we are going to try to go to the World Food Programme to see if they can help get these kids some food.

As he walked me back to the office, Alaphet told me about how he came to love these kids and how even though he doesn’t have any money anymore, he is happy to help. He told me that his family has all but disowned him because they believe he is throwing his life away for nothing. They think he is associating himself with lesser beings and ruining his family’s reputation. I told him that regardless of what his family thinks, he is doing an amazing thing and the world is a much better place with him in it. So few people are willing to do something like he is, and for that, he deserves a prize of some sort. He certainly deserves recognition and praise, and if his family won’t give it, then I will.

I am going to do whatever I can to help these kids create sustainable income for themselves, whether it’s building crafts or selling eggs on the street. I am also going to teach them – not just HIV, but English, and whatever else they want to learn. Hopefully some of them will be able to go back to school next year. The saddest part of all of this is these kids are good kids, they are talented, and nice, and never asked to be put in this situation. Most of them are orphans, and the rest came from such poor families that they are better off alone.

I know I probably won’t be able to change all of their lives, but I am certainly going to try. I finally feel good about something I am doing. I finally see a need that I can fulfill. And as I left their house, I felt certain that I chose the right path for myself, and I wanted to cry of happiness.

Oh Heyy, October, Where Did You Come From?

Somewhere in the last eight months, I moved to Africa, went through ten weeks of training, swore to protect and uphold the Constitution of the United States, hated my job for four months, went to Malawi and Tanzania, changed my malaria prophylaxis several times, suffered from insomnia and gastritis, resolved to change my outlook on life and my job, and have now come to enjoy my job and life here.

I used to refer to Kigali as my new home, in fact I always refer to it as my ‘new home,’ but I am beginning to realize that after a certain amount of time, it isn’t new, it just is. This is my home. I have to remind myself that I am in Africa, because most of the time, I forget that my life is different, I forget that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. To be fair, while my official title is PCV, my unofficial title is intern at an NGO/expatriate. And that’s okay.

As days go by, and weeks turn into months, I become more and more used to what used to be known as my ‘new life,’ though now it’s pretty much just life. Every now and then, though, something happens to stop me in my tracks and make me laugh out loud because after all, THIS IS AFRICA.

One day, as I was walking to work, a full-grown man ran up behind me and pulled my hair as hard as he could, then continued running, without even looking back. As I put my hair back in the ponytail, I contemplated running after him, just to yell or throw something at him. I was outraged for a good 10 minutes and held some severe antipathy toward Rwanda for the rest of the day. After thinking about it for some time, though, I guess it’s funny. I mean, he probably went back to all his friends and laughed about it all. He pulled the white girl’s hair and maybe he even won some kind of bet for doing so. Maybe he has always wanted to, and finally got the courage. Or maybe he was just a freak. Haven’t decided which yet.

Another day, I was walking with a friend, a random man walking near us said, out of nowhere, ‘where to?’ In that brief moment, I forgot that I was in Africa and I forgot that there is no sense of personal space or privacy in this country, and couldn’t help but get offended by the personal question. In America, we would never walk up to a random stranger and ask where they are going, or where they are coming from, or if they are married with children. It’s just not something you do. But in Rwanda, it’s a very common question – it’s a greeting. Living in the capital, however, I am greeted a lot less, and therefore I forgot about the abruptness of Rwandan greetings. I should probably learn to be friendlier, particularly in response to these questions.

I’ve been teaching my classes on HIV to the street kids every week, and every week it gets better and better. I am definitely enjoying teaching, though sometimes I dread it. The first week we talked about basic knowledge of HIV, the second week we did a game called ‘transmission runaround’ to test their knowledge of how HIV is spread and to address any questions they had. I read a statement like ‘you can get HIV from a toilet seat,’ and they would go to one side of the room if they agreed with the statement or go to the other side of the room if they disagreed. I was again impressed with their knowledge. Sometimes they would disagree with each other and then an argument would follow wherein they decided who was right and why. It was perfect.

The next lesson, we played another game demonstrating how HIV becomes AIDS and how ARVs prevent HIV from turning into AIDS and protect the body. Unfortunately, language is a big problem in this country. Even though I was working with a translator, it is very difficult to explain what pneumonia is to someone while they are trying to translate. I am pretty sure the students received the information as ‘sickness’ instead of specifically pneumonia. It is also very difficult to explain how HIV becomes AIDS when the word for HIV in Kinyarwanda is SIDA, and the word for AIDS is SIDA. It basically came out as, ‘you just get more sick.’ At some points during the lesson, I would say a simple sentence, and my translator would go on for five minutes, and I had to wonder what she was saying, and if it was accurate. It makes it very difficult to give lessons, but I suppose that’s the best we can do.

At the end of the last session, one of the students told me he wanted to see me dance. Well of course I wasn’t going to dance, so I told him that he should dance for us instead. So he did. Not only that, he danced and sang and clapped in the strangest voice I have ever heard. He went on so loudly for so long that the entire office was drawn outside to the classroom to see what the ruckus was. Eventually everyone was standing around watching and clapping with his song. I guess it was a good lesson. Next week I am going to have them show me what they have learned so far by creating a Rwandan soap opera or a rap. It’s been quite difficult to come up with lessons every week that don’t require reading or writing since most of these kids are illiterate, but I am doing my best.

We have been planning a graduation ceremony for the youth that we have trained so far (all 616) and it has been taking up quite a lot of time. I have written a press release, designed the graduation certificates for both the graduates and the trainers, created a program to accompany the pamphlets I already created, and am currently putting a slide-show together of all our pictures from the program. It will be a really busy few weeks as we get closer, but it is nice to be busy and recognize these youth, because many of them actually have found jobs.

I am beginning to prepare for my trip to take the GRE. I am quite terrified because I don’t think I am ready to take the test, though I am not sure I will ever be ready. I am also very excited though; to be back in London, have hot water for a few days, and delicious food. It will be a great trip, and just what I need to come back to Rwanda invigorated and ready to work hard. I think time will just start flying by when I return. Pretty soon it will be my 1-year anniversary, and I think I am ready for that one. I plan to lock myself up in my room to study until my test on 3rd November, and hopefully I can improve my scores a little bit.

I am excited for the coming weeks and months. I think I am finally getting into things here, and finally understanding what my life is about, and that is something to look forward to.

Finally Living

I guess an update is in order, as I haven’t explained what I am doing since returning from Malawi, over a month ago. I have been incredibly busy, and it is at times like this that I forget to write. I find myself with nothing to say, while I try to remember what I have been doing for the past month.

Upon my return from holiday, I had a miniature breakdown. In addition to some personal issues, I was finding it difficult to appreciate being here when I didn’t feel like I was doing anything productive. I hadn’t felt productive in months, as so many of my responsibilities and projects faltered. I consistently questioned my reason for being here. One day, maybe three weeks ago, I woke up and decided I would start over, I would take on new projects, I would find a new appreciation for the projects I was already working on, and I would go at my hardships from a new angle.

For those of you who know me best, you know that when I resolve to do something, whether it is moving to Africa, buying something new, or forgiving someone, I always find a way to do it. I woke up and decided it was a new day, and then it was. I’m not sure if the world heard me, or if my change in outlook changed the world, but everything was different. I looked forward to going to work in the morning because I finally had something to do. All the things I couldn’t bring myself to do before, I somehow found the motivation to accomplish, and I was happy to do it. Suddenly my calendar was filling up with meetings and lessons and things other than surf the Internet for 8 hours a day. And it felt amazing.
While in fact not a lot has changed in my job description, I think my new perspective has helped me to appreciate what it is that I am doing and look forward to what I can do. I CAN teach HIV/AIDS to my colleagues and our youth beneficiaries, I CAN teach English, I CAN build a curriculum, I CAN write the content to a website, and I CAN interview youth and write their success stories. These are all things I not only CAN do, but have BEEN doing (with the exception of English because our organization is a bit chaotic right now and we can’t really organize it properly).

I now spend Monday mornings teaching HIV/AIDS to out of school youth and street kids and Friday afternoons teaching my colleagues. I am going to go into detail about these lessons in just a bit, but let my finish explaining my weekly routine. Monday afternoons and Wednesdays, I work on creating lesson plans and building the HIV curriculum to be used in further trainings. Tuesdays and Thursdays I meet with youth to conduct interviews, then I write their success stories on Fridays (or sometimes Mondays). Of course there are other random things thrown in that make my week a bit more busy and chaotic, like emergency literacy and numeracy tests that need to be conducted for 50 youth, or data entry for Monitoring and Evaluation that has to be done immediately, or an annual report that needs to be written.

HIV lessons have certainly been interesting. Last Friday was the first lesson to my colleagues and as I wasn’t quite sure about the knowledge base of my coworkers, I wanted to start basic, and give a lesson on HIV specifically in Rwanda (prevalence rate, who is most infected, what efforts are being done, etc.). I had an entire lesson planned out, but a few minutes into it, I was stopped and told that I should give a lesson on advancements in HIV, something I was unprepared for in that moment. I talked as best I could and ended the lesson early, as I ran out of things to talk about from memory. Afterward, I was told that the following week, they would like condom demonstrations. Little background about my office: I work with about 5 abazungus and about 6 Rwandans. Everyone is a University graduate and I am the youngest person. Though I have a lot of experience in HIV education, I am not sure I feel comfortable giving a lesson in condom usage to a group of educated male coworkers all ten years older than me and other abazungus. Alas, I guess that’s part of the job.

Today was our first lesson to the street kids about HIV. I was actually thoroughly impressed with what they knew about AIDS already. Of course none of them spoke English, but I worked with a colleague in the lesson, who could translate. We asked them what they knew about HIV and its transmission, what to do to prevent HIV, and different beliefs they had about the virus. It was honestly an awkward session and a little disheartening, but I think I learned just as much as these kids did. At the end, we asked if they had any other questions, and they replied by asking where they can get food because they were starving. Pretty much broke my heart.

Somewhere in the last few weeks we had our Peace Corps In-Service Training, which is supposed to come three months into service, but ours was a little late. We went to Kibuye, at Lake Kivu for a week, and though the training was not particularly helpful for me since my experience is much different from everyone else’s, it was a beautiful and relaxing time to spend with my friends. Unfortunately, not everyone is as happy in their positions as I, and I had to sympathize with my friends while they expressed their hardships. Pictures from Kibuye are in the same album as last time, so click on the title ‘And Then There Was Mud.’ It’s strange to think that the next time we all come together as a group will be our Mid-Service Training, A.K.A. HALF WAY.

I have registered to take the GRE on 3 November, so studying has taken up any free time I may have had before. It is quite stressful but I enjoy being busy. On the weekends I enjoy spending time with my friends in Kigali.

I finally feel like I am living, and after 22 years, it’s never felt better.

And Then There Was Mud . . .

The rainy season has returned to Rwanda, and this means two things: I am incredibly happy, and muddy adventures have also returned. Rain is one of my favorite things in this world, and can cheer me up when I am in the worst of moods, as I was with the first rain of this season, but being covered in mud is something I never expected to enjoy. But I am about to relay a story that both made me laugh until my stomach hurt and also made my time in Rwanda complete.

I decided that after 4 months of living in the capital, it was time to get out into the village and see what Rwanda was really like (excluding my holiday in Malawi and Tanzania and the three months in Nyanza, I’ve been only in Kigali). I joined a few of my friends in visiting another volunteer in a village called Gakenke, about an hour and a half north of Kigali. There were seven of us total, and as soon as we got off the bus, I knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore. No more paved road, everyone stared at us, and as we walked down the road, all the children began to follow us. Imagine: a pack of abazungus being followed by a pack of children. Now, of course this is normal for most other volunteers in this country, but I have been a city rat for too long, so this is all still fresh. We cooked a delicious meal together that night and had a great time catching up and enjoying each other’s company.

In the morning, we decided to go for a hike. The top of the mountain we chose for our hike was covered in clouds, which should seem intimidating, but not for us Peace Corps Volunteers – we were determined to get to the top. Normally, I would prefer to hike (as I prefer to do everything) in my chucks. But I decided it was best to use my fancy hiking boots my brother bought me before I left. Please keep this decision in mind as you continue reading. The day was pleasant, a little overcast, but not too hot or too cold. We left the house and began our ascent early. The path up the mountain was just outside our friend’s house. As Rwanda is the most populous country in Africa, you have to remember that the path up the mountain is also the path to people’s homes. So as we walked, we were joined by children and called muzungu by the men. One woman decided she was going to walk with us, for the sake of walking. It was Sunday, and she was clearly dressed for church – NOT hiking. She was wearing small heeled sandals, but ntakibazo, she wanted to see what the abazungus were up to. When we stopped, she (and the children who continued to follow us) stopped. You know that phrase about being in a fish bowl . . .

Around mid-day, we decided to stop to eat some bread and peanut butter. We could by now see the top of the mountain and knew we only had a few more hours to go, but we thought it best to eat first and continue on later. Of course we still had an audience, and I am sure you can see the problem with eating when they have probably been hungry for days, so we tried to talk them into leaving us alone. One of the volunteers has become very good at Kinyarwanda and was our translator. She told them that we liked to be alone; he said he understood, but then they continued to stand and stare at us. After about 10 minutes of this sort of dialogue, they finally walked away.

As we ate our bread and peanut butter, we noticed storm clouds rolling in, and thunder was letting us know we probably shouldn’t hold anything metal. We decided it was best to turn back and avoid the rain instead of continue to the top. While this was the best decision, it came a little too late. As soon as we started walking down the mountain, it began to rain. It was light enough at first that we thought we might be safe, so we stopped to buy sugar cane taller than me for about 15 cents, and stopped to hold a chameleon for a few minutes. When the thunder got so loud the children around us screamed, we knew we were in trouble. We started bolting down the mountain, but two of the girls did not have appropriate shoes for running down a mountain, so I stayed back with them while the others ran ahead. Soon, we were soaked head to toe and the clay of the mountain had turned to slippery mud. Luckily I was wearing my handy dandy hiking boots. First, one girl fell. We helped her up, and then the other fell. Soon, the path was so muddy that there were three inches of mud stuck to the bottom of my boots, which means I too fell. We were soaked and muddy, but couldn’t stop laughing at the hilarity of the situation.

We finally caught up with the other girls who had found refuge from the rain under an awning with about 10 other Rwandans, all women and children. There wasn’t enough space for us all to fit, so I stood in the rain some more, but I was already soaked, so it didn’t really matter. We talked the women into showing us how to eat sugar cane. For those of you who don’t know, sugar cane is literally a very long cane that resembles bamboo, and how they turn that into regular sugar, I have no idea, but we always see children and women sucking on the stick here, so we decided to try. Only, we’re not Rwandese and can’t figure this out on our own. Luckily, ignorance doesn’t need to be translated, and they understood that we needed help. One woman, probably 50 and smaller than me, took the stick (which is actually very heavy) and smacked it over her knee to break it in half, then again and again until we had many smaller sticks. She then hacked the smaller sticks so as to peel away the outer layer. Turns out you eat sugar cane kinda like you would eat corn on the cob – gnawing away while you hold the ends, only once you suck the sugar out, you spit out the rest. It’s very attractive - believe me. So there we stood, a bunch of white girls, wet and covered in mud, eating sugar cane with women who thought we were idiots.

After some time, we realized the rain was not going to let up anytime soon, and the path was only going to get more and more muddy, so we decided it was best to continue on our way. We left the women in the most fashionable way – falling on our butts almost immediately. We all clung to the side of the path as we made our way down, buhoro buhoro. The girls with poor shoes ended up taking their shoes off and going down barefoot, as that seemed easier. We all just kept slipping and sliding, getting covered in mud more and more the lower we went. We figured out that the best way down was not on the path, but through the banana plantations next to it, as that land was more rough and not walked on. Of course this wasn’t always realistic.

After a while the barefoot girls and I somehow got separated from the others. We weren’t too concerned until we came to a fork in the road and couldn’t remember exactly which way to go. We picked one route that looked right and were on our merry way, when a Rwandan boy wearing a poncho (no idea where he got this poncho, by the way, since I have never seen one in Rwanda, but the only thing smarter than my hiking boots would have been a poncho) told us we were going the wrong way. Note to self: when you’re lost on a mountain covered in mud and someone tells you you’re going the wrong way, LISTEN. Long digression short, the boy in the poncho led us down a not-so-beaten path about a foot wide through homes and banana plantations until we came back to flat land. We only slipped a few more times, though it took us ages to get down. The boy probably thought we were completely incompetent as he made his way down just fine wearing shower shoes. At the very end of the trail, there was a river, and we later learned that the other girls had to actually cross through the river and almost lost a shoe in the process. We were lucky enough to find a bridge, though I wouldn’t call it that. It was literally a few logs thrown across the river with large spaces between them that wobbled when you stepped on them. Going across on all fours seemed like the safest option. Of course poncho boy practically danced across. The people of this country never cease to amaze me. We crossed the bridge and walked through town and eventually made it back to the house.

It probably would have been easiest to spray us down with a hose as our mothers used to do when we came home dirty as children, but as this is Africa and hoses don’t exist, we peeled off our muddy clothes in the bathroom and showered as best we could. Our clothes went in bags to be washed once home, and we all curled up with a warm beverage and a movie. We were exhausted and cold, but so happy to have bonded over such an experience. The rest of the evening was relaxing and wonderful and we all returned to our homes the next morning. I didn’t realize until I got home, but falling down a mountain definitely takes a toll on one’s body. I could barely move all day and wanted only to sleep. Luckily this was possible as it was a public holiday for the swearing-in of the newly reelected president, His Excellency, President of the Republic, Paul Kagame.

I think this weekend was important, not just for appreciating my time in Rwanda that much more, or appreciating my fellow volunteers, but for getting to know myself. I never thought I would see myself in a mud bath. Please picture Truly Yours, the typical California Girl, in her Citizens of Humanity jeans and her Ralph Lauren sunglasses not only hiking up a mountain, but also sliding down it covered in mud – and laughing the whole time! Of course I spent hours washing those jeans later, but I would go back again and fall down that mountain any day. I think it’s safe to say my boots are broken in. And now I get to fall asleep to the sound of rain against my window and I couldn’t be happier.

As always, click on the title of this post (And Then There Was Mud . . .) to see pictures of this adventure.