Dear three women carrying tree trunks on your heads on my way to work: There’s no need to stop, turn around, stare at me for 20 seconds and discuss my skirt. Not only do I understand most of what you’re saying, but I don’t know if you noticed, you’re balancing a tree on your head, which seems far more important than my outfit decision.
Dear Mother Nature: I explicitly asked my friend in Kigali if I needed my raincoat and left it at home after she told me it hadn’t rained in days. You cooperated the entire weekend (thanks!), but why did you decide to pour rain on me as soon as I stepped off the bus in Musanze and force me to trek 20 minutes to my house in a downpour? I might forgive you, but can’t speak for my now water-logged copy of Eat, Pray, Love.
Dear woman I pass at least once a week wearing the “I’m a Keeper” t-shirt: I wonder if you have any idea what that actually means. I’ll attempt to figure out the Kinyarwanda translation and then maybe we can discuss.
Dear hole I constantly trip into at the end of my road: Yes, you’re winning the battles, but I shall win the war. Oh, and stop it, because I hate looking like the clumsy white girl in front of all the staring moto drivers.
Dear carrot lady: I’ll never forget the day you showed me that you also sell amazing onions. You were always my favorite, and now you always will be. But maybe you could start selling tomatoes and big green peppers and bananas, and then I’d never have to wander anywhere else.
Dear plantain tree that decided to suddenly crash to the ground in my backyard while I was cooking lunch the other day: Oh.My.God. You seriously scared the crap out of me, I thought the world was ending. And yes, second tree that followed the first, you also scared the crap out of me, just as much as the first one. At least I got a lot of yummy plantain-filled meals from the frightful experience.
Dear Kigali: I love you. You are beautiful and lively and feed me very well and I’ve greatly enjoyed our time together. But considering how little money I have every time I leave you, I think it’s time we take a little break. It’s not you, it’s me. Well, me, and my tiny Peace Corps bank account.
Dear cute, adorable, loving, neighborhood children: You make me happy every day when you greet me, help me carry my groceries and beg to visit me. You make me smile when you pick avocadoes from my tree or come in and read or color. However, you will stop making me happy and I will stop smiling if you continue to leave trash outside my door and using my gate as your classroom chalkboard. Where did you even get chalk? And FYI, 5x6 does not equal 24. We’ll work on multiplication tables next time you visit.
Dear volcanoes: I haven’t seen you in at least a week. Where are you? Stop hiding, I miss you.
Dear kerosene stove: Bet you thought you could just keep exploding in my face, huh? Well, let this be a lesson that you can’t mess with a resourceful Peace Corps volunteer wielding dental floss and pliers. I’m like the Rwandan MacGyver. Let’s never fight again, ok? My eyebrows will be forever grateful.
Dear Nokia phone: I know I only paid 16 dollars for you. I know we both know you are crappy and cheap. But I thought we had a good thing going. Then why have you suddenly decided to turn off and reset yourself every time I press the Clear button? I’m a terrible texter, that button is really important. Shape up, or you’re going to force me into buying the 20 dollar model.
Dear feet: No, you’re not tan; you’re just really, really dirty.
Dear truck that is currently stuck in the mud outside of my house: Sorry, that totally sucks. But I’m kind of trying to enjoy my Joshua Redman, almonds, tea and blog writing right now. Think we could be a little quieter, maybe?
Dear PiliPili cat: I love our new game, and I know you do too. However, my scratched-up hands and arms do not. Let’s play nicer, shall we?
Dear random moth that was clinging to the window of my bus: Kudos, you clung to that window in the roaring wind for a solid 42 seconds before being blown away. Impressive.
Dear Joshua Radin: Ok, ok, I guess one day I can have your babies too. Just don’t tell Mat Kearney, alright? It’ll be our little secret.
Dear lighter that either refuses to light or ignites fire more similar to a blow torch: You’ve been replaced. And your replacement even has a flashlight attached.
Dear USA soccer team: I rooted for you until the end, promise. But considering I live on the African continent, would you be terribly upset if I switched my support over to Ghana?
Dear person who now owns my wonderful, black cardigan sweater from America: You’re right, I forgot it in that room at the district office, so it’s not technically “stealing”. But I’m still very sad, since that was probably my favorite article of clothing that I owned. And honestly, I’ll notice when you wear it around town and most likely will try to ask you where acquired such a nice h&m sweater here in Rwanda. Consider this your warning.
Dear person who sent Sally that brownie mix and whoever decided to put an oven into the EDC office in Kigali: thank you times a million. My taste buds and tummy also say Murakoze!
Dear Gossip Girl: Thank you for existing. Especially you, season 3. Xoxo.
Dear spiders that like to crawl under my door every night: Ew, I hate you. You’re not wanted. Go away or I shall be forced to let Pili use you as her new playtoys.
Dear people who might be willing to send me a CD with music on it: I’m desperately in need of more blues, jazz. folk, hip-hop, reggae, classical, r&b, international, pop, rock…ok, make that just ANY type of music.
Dear Rwandan man at Cadillac: You are by far the best dancer I’ve encountered yet in this country. Thanks for picking me as your partner for the evening.
Dear Jigga: I can’t believe you’ve turned emails to me into a drinking game now. I’m still determining if this is a low point or high point, but regardless I discovered how truly embarrassing my current alcohol tolerance level is. *GOLD star*
Dear Andrew the psychologist and the cleaning lady whose name I haven’t asked yet: You are my only two friends at the hospital and I’m perfectly ok with this. But I think we should take our friendships to the next level and speak more than just greetings to each other in passing. Agreed? Ni byiza.
Dear citizens of Musanze: I need a Kinyarwanda tutor. The sooner the better. Any takers?
Dear America: Happy almost birthday!! I’ll celebrate from afar, but can’t promise fireworks. Though, rumor is I might actually get to have a hot dog. *fingers crossed*
Dear every Rwandan on that bus back from dinner on Friday: Thanks for being awesome and talking to us crazy, giggling Americans. And you pretty much made our evenings when you all turned and waved to us as the bus pulled away from our stop.
Dear first shower stall at St. Pauls: Oh how I already miss you and your hot water and your amazing water pressure once again. Until next time.
Dear boy who sells the tiny Rwandan flag pins near the bus station: You should just give up, I’m probably never going to buy one of your pins. Oh, and just so you know, it’s pronounced FLAG, not FRAK.
Dear woman walking past my gate the other day: I only realized halfway through my “Amakuru yawe?” that you were walking down the street with one hand holding your son while he nursed on your fully exposed boob and the other holding a bucket of green beans on your head. I was pretty impressed that I was able to still choke out a perfect Kinyarwanda greeting despite my shock, but you win with that impressive multitasking-balancing act.
Dear every Titulaire in the district of Musanze that I had to stand up in front of last week: I promise I know more Kinyarwanda than “Nitwa Amy. Muraho! Murakoze.” But I still appreciated your grinning and round of applause nonetheless.
Dear creature that lives in my avocado tree: I have yet to see you, let alone decipher what you are. But you sound like a horrid mix between an injured cat and a crying child. Please find a new home, I’d like my peace and quiet back.
Dear mashed potatoes I just made for lunch: You would have tasted better with real butter and real milk as opposed to blue band, nido and water, but you were still bomb.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Ubuzima bwiza (good health)
As I began writing this blog, several people (and by several, I mean at least six of you…thanks!) forwarded me a link to a New York Times article about the health care system in Rwanda. If you would like to read it (and you should, trust me) here’s the link: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/15/health/policy/15rwanda.html (Sorry blogspot is acting up and not letting me put it as an actual link, blah) But, imagine my surprise, considering the blog I was beginning to draft was about…the health care system in Rwanda. Coincidence? I think not.
So, I’ve been in Rwanda for almost four months and there has been what I can only describe as an excruciatingly steep learning curve; I am still, in fact, learning. Every day, every hour, every minute. Constant learning. Learning the language, learning the culture, learning how to survive and take care of myself without all of the creature comforts of American life. But most recently my learning has consisted entirely of wrapping my head around the health care system that exists in Rwanda, how the health centers are structured, how they function and how they continue day in and day out to provide medical care to the millions of Rwandan citizens in need.
Considering I will be here for two years, I’m sure this will be one of countless posts on the topic, so I’ll attempt to keep it to an introductory level. And again, as I am still learning, apologies in advance if any of my information is 1) accidentally wrong or 2) seems biased in anyway; I’ve really only observed the health system in three districts (out of 30ish) so what I’ve seen in all honesty might not be representative of the entire Rwandan system.
Health care here is provided at three levels, and is a mixture of public, private, and government/church/NGO funded. Wait, I’ll take that back, it’s more like four levels (and in all honesty I’m still quite confused by the funding structure that exists, but I’ll learn, buhoro buhoro).
1) At the umudugudu (or village, for you non-Kinyarwanda speakers) level, there are community health workers (CHWs). These are community members, who volunteer their time as CHWs, and there are at least three in each umudugudu (one for men, one for women, and one who specializes in maternal and child health). They make home visits or hold community meetings, informing, sensitizing and educating the community about different health issues (particularly nutrition, malaria, HIV/AIDS and other infectious diseases that are present in the community or region). They also refer people to the next level of health care: health centers.
2) At the sector level (much like a county back in America) there are health centers. They are headed by a Titulaire, who is usually a nurse (you rarely see doctors at health centers, they work mostly at district or national hospitals) and usually see at least 100-200 patients a day. The services that a health center provides depends a lot on what their main funding source is (be it the government, an NGO, or a church), but I’ll come back to this. All health centers have consultation rooms, where cases are reviewed and the appropriate tests and treatments are discussed. They have a laboratory which usually has at least one microscope, and other lab equipment if they are lucky. There are hospitalization rooms, with separate rooms for women, men and children. There is a maternity ward (which continues to be the most difficult place for me to walk into, though I did see an incredibly adorable set of newborn twins the other day) and a room for vaccinations. Each health center has a pharmacy (both a stock pharmacy as well as a distribution pharmacy) and then administrative offices for the data managers, Mutuelle managers (the community health insurance that the NYT article was about) and other staff. Most health centers have family planning services, though some health centers that are funded by churches do not provide such services (if this is the case the sector is required to also have a health post, where contraception methods can be provided). Also, most health centers have HIV/AIDS services, including Voluntary Counseling and Testing (VCT) and Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission (PMTCT) as well as ARV distribution, usually housed in a separate building funded and beautifully constructed by the Global Fund. Some health centers have nutrition programs, which include educational talks and sometimes a garden and demonstration kitchen, as well as food distribution programs for severely malnourished children.
3) Often, people are referred to the district level, where there is a District Hospital. While my “office” is at the district hospital, I haven’t been able to spend enough time there to walk around, ask questions and get an overall sense of exactly what goes on there. But from what I can see, it’s much bigger, the equipment is often more sophisticated, they have greater diagnosing and treatment capabilities, and can even perform some basic surgeries. I promise I’ll come back to this in a future post, as I know I’m not doing it justice whatsoever.
4) Then there are a couple of national referral hospitals, where I was lucky enough to be a patient once, but you already know that story. More on this level in a future post too.
So that’s your basic roadmap to the physical health system structure in Rwanda (sorry for not being more informative, but I’m going to go back to my defense that I’ve only been here four months and I still have A LOT to learn). I’ll try and put some photos up soon of the health centers and hospitals that I’ve visited, to give you a better visual. But until then, let’s just consider this one to be continued.
But of course I had a happy week...so...
Things that made me happy this week:
- Relaxing with Kitty, including dragging my heavy living room furniture into my driveway so we could watch a movie while attempting to simultaneously get a tan. We succeeded in getting sunburned while only being able to listen to Notting Hill on my tiny glare-filled laptop screen. But I still loved every minute of it.
- The woman who came to a training wearing a dress so fancy and beautiful that most Americans would have reserved it only for prom or an outing to the opera. There were ruffles, there were rhinestones; now that is “serious” and “smart” dressing.
- After 13 painful hours (spaced out over two weeks of internet visits) I successfully downloaded and am finally the proud owner of Microsoft Office. I’m beyond excited to once again spend hours playing with Excel and Powerpoint, and as always fully embrace my inner-nerd.
- When my water came back on after countless days without it. I (and my dishes, clothes and house were getting extremely dirty). Unfortunately, this sudden blessing of water was balanced by my electricity going out, once again supporting my hypothesis that I cannot have both at the same time.
- Epicly long, rambly, random, hilarious, shocking, gut-wrenching, wonderful emails from Jigga. Drinking games included.
- My easiest (and may I say, most successful) market experience to date
- Spending about 30 minutes attempting to pull down plantains from the tree in my backyard, using a 10 foot long stick that I’m assuming was only in my yard for that exact task. (They were delicious, by the way)
- Sleeping from 11pm to 9am. Amazing.
- The night my kerosene stove blew up in my face (don't worry, I'm fine, and no, that's not what made me happy) and I was still able to cook a fantastically tasty stir-fry dinner.
- Completing my first District Health Newsletter for work!! It’s mostly just photos, but hey, it’s somethin.
- Looking forward to an amazing weekend in Kigali with amazing friends.
So, I’ve been in Rwanda for almost four months and there has been what I can only describe as an excruciatingly steep learning curve; I am still, in fact, learning. Every day, every hour, every minute. Constant learning. Learning the language, learning the culture, learning how to survive and take care of myself without all of the creature comforts of American life. But most recently my learning has consisted entirely of wrapping my head around the health care system that exists in Rwanda, how the health centers are structured, how they function and how they continue day in and day out to provide medical care to the millions of Rwandan citizens in need.
Considering I will be here for two years, I’m sure this will be one of countless posts on the topic, so I’ll attempt to keep it to an introductory level. And again, as I am still learning, apologies in advance if any of my information is 1) accidentally wrong or 2) seems biased in anyway; I’ve really only observed the health system in three districts (out of 30ish) so what I’ve seen in all honesty might not be representative of the entire Rwandan system.
Health care here is provided at three levels, and is a mixture of public, private, and government/church/NGO funded. Wait, I’ll take that back, it’s more like four levels (and in all honesty I’m still quite confused by the funding structure that exists, but I’ll learn, buhoro buhoro).
1) At the umudugudu (or village, for you non-Kinyarwanda speakers) level, there are community health workers (CHWs). These are community members, who volunteer their time as CHWs, and there are at least three in each umudugudu (one for men, one for women, and one who specializes in maternal and child health). They make home visits or hold community meetings, informing, sensitizing and educating the community about different health issues (particularly nutrition, malaria, HIV/AIDS and other infectious diseases that are present in the community or region). They also refer people to the next level of health care: health centers.
2) At the sector level (much like a county back in America) there are health centers. They are headed by a Titulaire, who is usually a nurse (you rarely see doctors at health centers, they work mostly at district or national hospitals) and usually see at least 100-200 patients a day. The services that a health center provides depends a lot on what their main funding source is (be it the government, an NGO, or a church), but I’ll come back to this. All health centers have consultation rooms, where cases are reviewed and the appropriate tests and treatments are discussed. They have a laboratory which usually has at least one microscope, and other lab equipment if they are lucky. There are hospitalization rooms, with separate rooms for women, men and children. There is a maternity ward (which continues to be the most difficult place for me to walk into, though I did see an incredibly adorable set of newborn twins the other day) and a room for vaccinations. Each health center has a pharmacy (both a stock pharmacy as well as a distribution pharmacy) and then administrative offices for the data managers, Mutuelle managers (the community health insurance that the NYT article was about) and other staff. Most health centers have family planning services, though some health centers that are funded by churches do not provide such services (if this is the case the sector is required to also have a health post, where contraception methods can be provided). Also, most health centers have HIV/AIDS services, including Voluntary Counseling and Testing (VCT) and Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission (PMTCT) as well as ARV distribution, usually housed in a separate building funded and beautifully constructed by the Global Fund. Some health centers have nutrition programs, which include educational talks and sometimes a garden and demonstration kitchen, as well as food distribution programs for severely malnourished children.
3) Often, people are referred to the district level, where there is a District Hospital. While my “office” is at the district hospital, I haven’t been able to spend enough time there to walk around, ask questions and get an overall sense of exactly what goes on there. But from what I can see, it’s much bigger, the equipment is often more sophisticated, they have greater diagnosing and treatment capabilities, and can even perform some basic surgeries. I promise I’ll come back to this in a future post, as I know I’m not doing it justice whatsoever.
4) Then there are a couple of national referral hospitals, where I was lucky enough to be a patient once, but you already know that story. More on this level in a future post too.
So that’s your basic roadmap to the physical health system structure in Rwanda (sorry for not being more informative, but I’m going to go back to my defense that I’ve only been here four months and I still have A LOT to learn). I’ll try and put some photos up soon of the health centers and hospitals that I’ve visited, to give you a better visual. But until then, let’s just consider this one to be continued.
But of course I had a happy week...so...
Things that made me happy this week:
- Relaxing with Kitty, including dragging my heavy living room furniture into my driveway so we could watch a movie while attempting to simultaneously get a tan. We succeeded in getting sunburned while only being able to listen to Notting Hill on my tiny glare-filled laptop screen. But I still loved every minute of it.
- The woman who came to a training wearing a dress so fancy and beautiful that most Americans would have reserved it only for prom or an outing to the opera. There were ruffles, there were rhinestones; now that is “serious” and “smart” dressing.
- After 13 painful hours (spaced out over two weeks of internet visits) I successfully downloaded and am finally the proud owner of Microsoft Office. I’m beyond excited to once again spend hours playing with Excel and Powerpoint, and as always fully embrace my inner-nerd.
- When my water came back on after countless days without it. I (and my dishes, clothes and house were getting extremely dirty). Unfortunately, this sudden blessing of water was balanced by my electricity going out, once again supporting my hypothesis that I cannot have both at the same time.
- Epicly long, rambly, random, hilarious, shocking, gut-wrenching, wonderful emails from Jigga. Drinking games included.
- My easiest (and may I say, most successful) market experience to date
- Spending about 30 minutes attempting to pull down plantains from the tree in my backyard, using a 10 foot long stick that I’m assuming was only in my yard for that exact task. (They were delicious, by the way)
- Sleeping from 11pm to 9am. Amazing.
- The night my kerosene stove blew up in my face (don't worry, I'm fine, and no, that's not what made me happy) and I was still able to cook a fantastically tasty stir-fry dinner.
- Completing my first District Health Newsletter for work!! It’s mostly just photos, but hey, it’s somethin.
- Looking forward to an amazing weekend in Kigali with amazing friends.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
How to eat your way through a weekend
It’s Sunday night. I’ve just returned from a marvelous weekend in Kiramuruzi in the Eastern Province, where I spent a few glorious days with three of my dearest friends, talking, laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking. It was my first exposure to another PCV’s site, one far more rural than mine. And for all intents and purposes, much closer to the “Peace Corps Experience” I expected before coming here. It was interesting to notice the differences. As you head out of Kigali on the road to my site, you immediately begin ascending and descending, weaving your way through hills, which turn into mountains, which turn into volcanoes. But as you head East out of Kigali, the road levels out, the hills become scarcer, you can actually see miles and miles ahead of you. Physically, the East is flatter and hotter, with plantain trees stretching out all around, and I swear there were more stars and that they seemed even closer. Jessi’s site may be more rural, but her house is just as Muzungu as mine, bigger even, minus the fact that there is no running water inside the house and that I had to reacquaint myself with a pit latrine after a month of being spoiled by my western, flushing, indoor toilet. I loved her town. The people were friendly, though you could plainly see what a rare event it was having four white girls parade down the street in search of flour and sugar. It was much smaller than Musanze, but you could still find most things and apparently the Saturday market is amazing (though I missed this excursion after finding out that you should never mix benadryl and wine, oops). The children are the same. They still run out to meet you at the street and greet you in three different languages in the hope that you’ll stop, wave, and greet them in return. They still follow you straight to your gate, attempting to peer through it and over it, and in Jessi’s case, under it even, to see what exciting tasks the foreigners are undertaking (which unfortunately was usually just washing dishes, cooking, or sweeping…yes, exciting lives that we lead!).
One thing that has become clear about Peace Corps life, most things (from work events to weekend social gatherings) revolve around food. The majority of my life consists of thinking about food, talking about food, going to buy food, cooking food, eating food, do you get the idea? This weekend was no exception. And I must admit, we ate like queens. Dinners consisted of bread, REAL butter, cheese, and Smuckers jelly, or homemade mashed potatoes and chili, all accompanied by starbursts, gummy worms, and Kit Kats (much thanks to care packages) and of course lots of wine. Breakfasts included rolls dipped in butter, sugar and cinnamon or pancakes, all accompanied by starbursts, gummy worms, and Kit Kats (again,thanks!) and of course, again, lots of wine. And then there was one glorious lunch of honest to goodness Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. From America. And pineapple, lots of pineapple.
There was a huge mattress slumber party, and late night sing-alongs to Rent (including a full out recreation of Take Me or L-l-l-l-leave Me), Moulin Rouge and all things Disney. There was movie watching and file transferring (heck yeah, full seasons of gossip girl) and even a trash bonfire. All in all a magnificent weekend, and I know it’s these weekends that will get me through the bad days, and the bad weeks, ahead. But I feel so blessed to have found such hilarious, kind, and supportive friends here to share this experience with.
I must mention one other thing here. Despite having a fantastic weekend away, when I arrived back to Musanze tonight and to my house, it was the first time I truly felt that this was my home. The sights were familiar, the sounds were familiar, I knew where everything was and how everything worked. Three of my favorite children ran to cheerfully greet me at my gate and the cat greeted me even more cheerfully when I reached the front door. As I sit and write this, while munching on carrot sticks and heating water for a bucket bath, I’m just glad to be feeling more comfortable here finally, in this country, in this life.
So, as I reflect on this past weekend, I look forward to the week ahead, where I will be working mostly in Nyabihu district (did I mention that I’m actually working in two districts, Musanze and Nyabihu?) shadowing Bertin and Michee, the data management specialist. As data management is one of my preferred domains that Access works with, I’m excited to see what activities have already been conducted and in what way I can build off these and increase the skills and capacity of the health centers in this area. Yes, everyone, I’m still an Excel/numbers/graphs nerd, always have been, always will. I’m also anticipating a lot cooking experimentation this week, after stocking up on some much needed essentials in Kigali over the weekend. So wish me luck!! Until next time, here are some happy thoughts….
Things that made me happy this week:
- The day my computer finally recognized my iPod when I plugged it in, hence synchronizing my music for the first time since I arrived in Rwanda.
- The fantastically excited look on Carrot Lady’s face when I walked up to her in the market.
- All 100 children who stood against the fence of their school and simultaneously yelled “good morning” to me on my walk back from town.
- Putting up pictures of all of you on the wall in my room. Miss you, love you, always.
- Making plans to visit good friends in the Eastern Province.
- Visiting good friends in the Eastern Province and all the amazingness that followed.
- Discovering that, at last, my filtered water barely tastes like filtered water anymore. And that it is leaking far less than it originally was.
- Getting an email from a returned peace corps volunteer who served in Guatemala and is in Musanze for a summer internship, returning her email immediately, only to find out that we were in fact emailing each other from the exact same hotel.
- When I realized that the plastic crucifix my mother sent me glowed in the dark. Yep, just like St. Francis at the beginning of my Peace Corps journey.
- 3 words: Smuckers Grape Jelly
- Getting the “I’m for sure visiting you in July” email from my darling, Tiffany!!
- A fantastic package from my grandma, particularly the huge bottle of lotion and the 32-pack of Kit Kat bars (Grandma, you are the best!!)
- Successfully walking all the way to work without ANYONE calling me Muzungu (to my face at least). There’s no hope for the market or the bus station though, alas.
- Running into one of my favorite Kinyarwanda teachers at the bus station in Kigali and getting to speak Kinyafranglais for the majority of the winding trip back to Musanze.
- All of the persons and places involved in the ordering and delivering of my living room furniture. Couch, three chairs, coffee table and kitchen table, check. I even laughed out loud when 2 hours later I realized that one of the chair cushions is not the same material as the others. I like that it’s not perfect. It’s like Rwanda. It’s like me.
One thing that has become clear about Peace Corps life, most things (from work events to weekend social gatherings) revolve around food. The majority of my life consists of thinking about food, talking about food, going to buy food, cooking food, eating food, do you get the idea? This weekend was no exception. And I must admit, we ate like queens. Dinners consisted of bread, REAL butter, cheese, and Smuckers jelly, or homemade mashed potatoes and chili, all accompanied by starbursts, gummy worms, and Kit Kats (much thanks to care packages) and of course lots of wine. Breakfasts included rolls dipped in butter, sugar and cinnamon or pancakes, all accompanied by starbursts, gummy worms, and Kit Kats (again,thanks!) and of course, again, lots of wine. And then there was one glorious lunch of honest to goodness Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. From America. And pineapple, lots of pineapple.
There was a huge mattress slumber party, and late night sing-alongs to Rent (including a full out recreation of Take Me or L-l-l-l-leave Me), Moulin Rouge and all things Disney. There was movie watching and file transferring (heck yeah, full seasons of gossip girl) and even a trash bonfire. All in all a magnificent weekend, and I know it’s these weekends that will get me through the bad days, and the bad weeks, ahead. But I feel so blessed to have found such hilarious, kind, and supportive friends here to share this experience with.
I must mention one other thing here. Despite having a fantastic weekend away, when I arrived back to Musanze tonight and to my house, it was the first time I truly felt that this was my home. The sights were familiar, the sounds were familiar, I knew where everything was and how everything worked. Three of my favorite children ran to cheerfully greet me at my gate and the cat greeted me even more cheerfully when I reached the front door. As I sit and write this, while munching on carrot sticks and heating water for a bucket bath, I’m just glad to be feeling more comfortable here finally, in this country, in this life.
So, as I reflect on this past weekend, I look forward to the week ahead, where I will be working mostly in Nyabihu district (did I mention that I’m actually working in two districts, Musanze and Nyabihu?) shadowing Bertin and Michee, the data management specialist. As data management is one of my preferred domains that Access works with, I’m excited to see what activities have already been conducted and in what way I can build off these and increase the skills and capacity of the health centers in this area. Yes, everyone, I’m still an Excel/numbers/graphs nerd, always have been, always will. I’m also anticipating a lot cooking experimentation this week, after stocking up on some much needed essentials in Kigali over the weekend. So wish me luck!! Until next time, here are some happy thoughts….
Things that made me happy this week:
- The day my computer finally recognized my iPod when I plugged it in, hence synchronizing my music for the first time since I arrived in Rwanda.
- The fantastically excited look on Carrot Lady’s face when I walked up to her in the market.
- All 100 children who stood against the fence of their school and simultaneously yelled “good morning” to me on my walk back from town.
- Putting up pictures of all of you on the wall in my room. Miss you, love you, always.
- Making plans to visit good friends in the Eastern Province.
- Visiting good friends in the Eastern Province and all the amazingness that followed.
- Discovering that, at last, my filtered water barely tastes like filtered water anymore. And that it is leaking far less than it originally was.
- Getting an email from a returned peace corps volunteer who served in Guatemala and is in Musanze for a summer internship, returning her email immediately, only to find out that we were in fact emailing each other from the exact same hotel.
- When I realized that the plastic crucifix my mother sent me glowed in the dark. Yep, just like St. Francis at the beginning of my Peace Corps journey.
- 3 words: Smuckers Grape Jelly
- Getting the “I’m for sure visiting you in July” email from my darling, Tiffany!!
- A fantastic package from my grandma, particularly the huge bottle of lotion and the 32-pack of Kit Kat bars (Grandma, you are the best!!)
- Successfully walking all the way to work without ANYONE calling me Muzungu (to my face at least). There’s no hope for the market or the bus station though, alas.
- Running into one of my favorite Kinyarwanda teachers at the bus station in Kigali and getting to speak Kinyafranglais for the majority of the winding trip back to Musanze.
- All of the persons and places involved in the ordering and delivering of my living room furniture. Couch, three chairs, coffee table and kitchen table, check. I even laughed out loud when 2 hours later I realized that one of the chair cushions is not the same material as the others. I like that it’s not perfect. It’s like Rwanda. It’s like me.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Notes to self:
- If you have clothes on the clothesline and they are almost dry, and it starts raining, take them off of the clothesline. Unless you really think they need an extra rinse cycle.
- ALWAYS check the inside of your shoes before you stick your feet inside them, thus ensuring the safety of 1) your feet and 2) whatever creepy crawly critter has made your shoe its home.
- You don’t need a garbage disposal, all you need is a culinary adventurous, voracious, growing cat.
- When you wake up panicked in the middle of the night, it’s not because there are bees inside your mosquito net, it’s because you have Mefloquine (anti-malaria drug) in your bloodstream.
- It is perfectly acceptable to feel like you’re getting ripped off when the tomato lady charges you $1.50 for a kilo, but happily hand over $6 for a jar of Smuckers grape jelly.
- Just as much as you’re allowed to secretly cuss out every person who walks past you laughing and addressing you as “muzungu” you are equally allowed to grin and wave like an idiot at the adorable children who run after you yelling “GOOD MORNING” at 5pm.
- Yes, you need that Snickers bar. And the salt and vinegar Pringles.
- Bringing your bright red, worn-in, jersey knit sheets from home was one of the best ideas you’ve ever had.
- Sometimes you’ve got to spend $1 a minute to call America, just to hear your moms voice.
- Being afraid every time you start your kerosene stove is normal, being afraid of the sound your door makes when you open it is not.
- Your cat’s favorite sleeping spot is your stomach, especially when you’re typing on your computer; deal with it.
- Seriously, stop itching the mosquito bites, I want to be able to wear skirts without utter embarrassment when I get back to America.
- One day you will be able to drink water straight out of the tap, but that day is not today. Or tomorrow for that matter.
- I give you full permission to go sit at Gorillas hotel for three hours and order only one Coke, just so you can download one podcast of This American Life.
- You really need to figure out who this Justin Bieber character is. Even Rwandans seem to know who he is at this point.
- If you think Rwandan francs seem like Monopoly money now, imagine what American dollars are going to look like to you when you go back to America in 2012.
- Sitting around drinking and cooking with 11 of your closest friends is a great way to spend your weekends, but you may want to invest in some additional plates, bowls, cups and silverware. Two of everything is just not going to cut it.
- Don’t worry, one day you’ll have Mat Kearney’s babies. Be patient.
- Your OCD has reached new levels now that your two foot tall stack of magazines is arranged in chronological order and you’ve decided to watch all of the movies on your external hard-drive in alphabetical order.
- Speaking of movies, did you really think Avatar was going to be as good as it was the first time you saw it? Remember that time you watched it in 3-D IMAX, this time you’re watching it on your 8x6 inch netbook screen.
- I miss the days when you could just lie in bed and steal internet from your next door neighbors, too.
- Yes, it’s no coincidence that the sound your cat makes when she is “hunting” in your backyard is exactly the same sound that the birds make when they’re “hunting” your cat in your backyard.
- You live in Africa, the electricity goes out almost daily. Buy some gosh darn candles already!
- You’re rarely going to sleep in past 6am, and no one will judge you if you go to sleep as soon as the sun sets. Embrace it.
- ALWAYS check the inside of your shoes before you stick your feet inside them, thus ensuring the safety of 1) your feet and 2) whatever creepy crawly critter has made your shoe its home.
- You don’t need a garbage disposal, all you need is a culinary adventurous, voracious, growing cat.
- When you wake up panicked in the middle of the night, it’s not because there are bees inside your mosquito net, it’s because you have Mefloquine (anti-malaria drug) in your bloodstream.
- It is perfectly acceptable to feel like you’re getting ripped off when the tomato lady charges you $1.50 for a kilo, but happily hand over $6 for a jar of Smuckers grape jelly.
- Just as much as you’re allowed to secretly cuss out every person who walks past you laughing and addressing you as “muzungu” you are equally allowed to grin and wave like an idiot at the adorable children who run after you yelling “GOOD MORNING” at 5pm.
- Yes, you need that Snickers bar. And the salt and vinegar Pringles.
- Bringing your bright red, worn-in, jersey knit sheets from home was one of the best ideas you’ve ever had.
- Sometimes you’ve got to spend $1 a minute to call America, just to hear your moms voice.
- Being afraid every time you start your kerosene stove is normal, being afraid of the sound your door makes when you open it is not.
- Your cat’s favorite sleeping spot is your stomach, especially when you’re typing on your computer; deal with it.
- Seriously, stop itching the mosquito bites, I want to be able to wear skirts without utter embarrassment when I get back to America.
- One day you will be able to drink water straight out of the tap, but that day is not today. Or tomorrow for that matter.
- I give you full permission to go sit at Gorillas hotel for three hours and order only one Coke, just so you can download one podcast of This American Life.
- You really need to figure out who this Justin Bieber character is. Even Rwandans seem to know who he is at this point.
- If you think Rwandan francs seem like Monopoly money now, imagine what American dollars are going to look like to you when you go back to America in 2012.
- Sitting around drinking and cooking with 11 of your closest friends is a great way to spend your weekends, but you may want to invest in some additional plates, bowls, cups and silverware. Two of everything is just not going to cut it.
- Don’t worry, one day you’ll have Mat Kearney’s babies. Be patient.
- Your OCD has reached new levels now that your two foot tall stack of magazines is arranged in chronological order and you’ve decided to watch all of the movies on your external hard-drive in alphabetical order.
- Speaking of movies, did you really think Avatar was going to be as good as it was the first time you saw it? Remember that time you watched it in 3-D IMAX, this time you’re watching it on your 8x6 inch netbook screen.
- I miss the days when you could just lie in bed and steal internet from your next door neighbors, too.
- Yes, it’s no coincidence that the sound your cat makes when she is “hunting” in your backyard is exactly the same sound that the birds make when they’re “hunting” your cat in your backyard.
- You live in Africa, the electricity goes out almost daily. Buy some gosh darn candles already!
- You’re rarely going to sleep in past 6am, and no one will judge you if you go to sleep as soon as the sun sets. Embrace it.
Ukunda kurya ibitoki?
Our Kinyarwanda training book had a scenario about what to say when you need to take a bus somewhere. It taught us what to say while bargaining for a skirt at the market. I learned how to explain who I am, what the Peace Corps is and what I’m doing in Rwanda for the next two years. There was even a scenario about how to get the drunk people to stop throwing rocks at your house in the middle of the night (yes, I wish I was joking). However, unfortunately our lovely book did not tell us what to do in the event that your cat gets fixed and the veterinarian is on her way to your house to check on how she’s recovering, when suddenly two of your Rwandan friends stop by unannounced and ask “ukunda kurya ibitoki?” Well turns out you’ll need to use English, French and Kinyarwanda mixed with a lot of miming and hand gestures, all while persuading your cat that she can in fact walk while her stomach is bandaged up and getting a Rwandan cooking lesson.
So yes, Pilipili got fixed; no baby kittens for her. Watching her attempt to walk after her surgery was equal parts terrifying and hilarious, and she spent most of the day walking around in circles trying to get comfortable and sleeping on my lap. Around 6pm, there was a knock on my front gate, which I assumed to be the vet coming to check on Pili. To my surprise it was my Rwandan friend, Janviere, her friend Claire and Claire’s baby, Andika. I have already learned that in Rwanda, you must be ready for visitors wherever, whenever. So of course, I welcomed them inside, where they first scolded me for allowing weeds to sprout up in my driveway, then peered confusingly at the cat, who still doped up was fumbling around the living room. I used three different languages and various pantomiming techniques to attempt to get across that Pili had had surgery to stop her from having kittens and that she was on a medicine that made her sleepy and disoriented. I failed miserably, they just kept asking if her stomach was sick. Then the veterinarian showed up, and the last thing she was expecting to find was a dazed kitty, it’s overwhelmed adopted owner, and two Rwandan women confused about the entire situation.
In an attempt to stop Pili from licking her incision, the vet put a bandage around Pili’s stomach. Did you know that when you put a bandage on a cat they get confused and think that they’re unable to walk anymore? Well, they do, and now I know. As soon as the bandage was around Pili’s stomach, she lost all ability to use her legs and was soon falling over and lying still like a corpse. As if the Rwandan women were not scared enough, Pili’s behavior sent them over the edge. And I must admit, I was mildly freaking out as well, having never seen a cat react like that before in my life. Eventually Pili realized that her legs did in fact still work and she moved on to her next goal of the night: removing the bandage from her stomach.
After the vet left, Janviere, Claire and I settled into my living room to look at American magazines when suddenly Janviere jumped up exclaiming “Amy! Ukunda kurya ibitoki?” which translates to “Do you like to eat plantains?”. Why yes, Janviere, yes I do. Well within 5 minutes I found myself holding the baby (who simply looked at me wide-eyed as if I were an elephant) while Janviere and Claire were in my backyard attempting to pull down plantains from my plantain tree. After a few minutes of struggling, a huge bunch fell to the ground with a crashing THUD. Janviere quickly went to work peeling plantains and putting them into a pot with water. She asked if I had tomatoes, onions, peppers, carrots and garlic, which luckily I did (and luckily also understood all of those requests in Kinyarwanda!) and soon they were all added to the pot as well. Back to reading the magazines we went, as the food bubbled away on the stove. The reading continued, and continued, and on and on. Janviere glanced at her phone; I knew it was getting late, and the food was nowhere near ready. She looked at me, asking if I could finish the cooking by myself. Of course, I cook Rwandan food all the time..not! And then they were gone as quickly as they had shown up, leaving me with a simmering mix of vegetables, a cat still attempting to walk upright and a headache from being forced to speak only Kinyarwanda for hours.
My first task was to finish cooking, and I figured “experimenting” was the best course of action. I drained some water and then added peanut powder, cumin, cayenne and cinnamon, gave it a big stir and waited. Miraculously the water turned into this delicious, spicy, flavorful sauce and with the vegetables cooked to perfection I spooned out my meal into a bowl, sat back and enjoyed my first self-home-cooked Rwandan dinner. Yep, just another quiet evening in Rwanda.
So yes, Pilipili got fixed; no baby kittens for her. Watching her attempt to walk after her surgery was equal parts terrifying and hilarious, and she spent most of the day walking around in circles trying to get comfortable and sleeping on my lap. Around 6pm, there was a knock on my front gate, which I assumed to be the vet coming to check on Pili. To my surprise it was my Rwandan friend, Janviere, her friend Claire and Claire’s baby, Andika. I have already learned that in Rwanda, you must be ready for visitors wherever, whenever. So of course, I welcomed them inside, where they first scolded me for allowing weeds to sprout up in my driveway, then peered confusingly at the cat, who still doped up was fumbling around the living room. I used three different languages and various pantomiming techniques to attempt to get across that Pili had had surgery to stop her from having kittens and that she was on a medicine that made her sleepy and disoriented. I failed miserably, they just kept asking if her stomach was sick. Then the veterinarian showed up, and the last thing she was expecting to find was a dazed kitty, it’s overwhelmed adopted owner, and two Rwandan women confused about the entire situation.
In an attempt to stop Pili from licking her incision, the vet put a bandage around Pili’s stomach. Did you know that when you put a bandage on a cat they get confused and think that they’re unable to walk anymore? Well, they do, and now I know. As soon as the bandage was around Pili’s stomach, she lost all ability to use her legs and was soon falling over and lying still like a corpse. As if the Rwandan women were not scared enough, Pili’s behavior sent them over the edge. And I must admit, I was mildly freaking out as well, having never seen a cat react like that before in my life. Eventually Pili realized that her legs did in fact still work and she moved on to her next goal of the night: removing the bandage from her stomach.
After the vet left, Janviere, Claire and I settled into my living room to look at American magazines when suddenly Janviere jumped up exclaiming “Amy! Ukunda kurya ibitoki?” which translates to “Do you like to eat plantains?”. Why yes, Janviere, yes I do. Well within 5 minutes I found myself holding the baby (who simply looked at me wide-eyed as if I were an elephant) while Janviere and Claire were in my backyard attempting to pull down plantains from my plantain tree. After a few minutes of struggling, a huge bunch fell to the ground with a crashing THUD. Janviere quickly went to work peeling plantains and putting them into a pot with water. She asked if I had tomatoes, onions, peppers, carrots and garlic, which luckily I did (and luckily also understood all of those requests in Kinyarwanda!) and soon they were all added to the pot as well. Back to reading the magazines we went, as the food bubbled away on the stove. The reading continued, and continued, and on and on. Janviere glanced at her phone; I knew it was getting late, and the food was nowhere near ready. She looked at me, asking if I could finish the cooking by myself. Of course, I cook Rwandan food all the time..not! And then they were gone as quickly as they had shown up, leaving me with a simmering mix of vegetables, a cat still attempting to walk upright and a headache from being forced to speak only Kinyarwanda for hours.
My first task was to finish cooking, and I figured “experimenting” was the best course of action. I drained some water and then added peanut powder, cumin, cayenne and cinnamon, gave it a big stir and waited. Miraculously the water turned into this delicious, spicy, flavorful sauce and with the vegetables cooked to perfection I spooned out my meal into a bowl, sat back and enjoyed my first self-home-cooked Rwandan dinner. Yep, just another quiet evening in Rwanda.
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