As I pass the five month mark in Rwanda and two month mark at site, I thought it time to return to where it all began: The Southern Province. It was perfect timing too, as one of my friends in Musanze, Kelly, was hoping to see a bit more of the country before she goes back to America next month. With our other friend, Lauren, we planned an epic weekend touring Nyanza and Butare; there would be ice cream, there would be pork, there would be host family visits, there would be French baguette and there would be market exploration.
After spending Friday evening with Peace Corps friends bidding goodbye to one of our own, I met up with Lauren and Kelly in Kigali and boarded the always adventure-filled Volcano bus to Butare. As we drove out of Kigali, I was comforted by the familiar ride: familiar sights, familiar twists and turns in the road. And yet, as I gazed out the window, I couldn’t help but notice how brown everything was. To the non-Rwandan eye (or eye of someone who hasn’t lived in Rwanda for 5 months) it would still seem to be beautiful, green Rwanda. But for me, I saw the toll that dry season had taken; the effects were much harsher than they are even in Musanze, which still sees rain every couple of weeks. The bus continued hurtling down the road, carrying us on our way South. I settled into my iPod and staring out the window; Lauren settled in for a nap; and Kelly settled into a conversation with the Rwandan next to her. After an hour and a half, we passed the turnoff to Nyanza, so I knew we had anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes left on our journey (depending on how suicidal the driver was) and started to get excited. Two rows in front of us, a little boy was excited too. So excited he kept looking back at us, waving, smiling and giggling. We looked back, we waved back, we smiled back, we giggled back. Then all of a sudden, the boy was being passed back. To us. As he sat on Lauren’s lap, we started asking the usual questions. Witwa nde? (What is your name?) Ugiye he? (Where are you going?) Utuye I Kigali? (Do you live in Kigali?) Ufite imyaka n’angahe? (How old are you?) And wouldn’t you know, he started answering back to us in English. This little man, with the beautifully large brown eyes, answering in perfect English. His name was Gardise and he was five years old, though looked the size of maybe a 3 or 4 year old. He was a perfect angel and spent the rest of the trip flipping through a magazine, listening to music with the headphones of the Rwandan next to Kelly, and sleeping on Lauren’s lap. And then suddenly we were climbing the familiar hill and entering the town center of Butare.
The first people we saw were Jessica and Aime, who we’d been hoping to have lunch with, but instead had to settle for a quick five minute chat in the gas station parking lot before they boarded their bus to Kigali. After they left, we ventured across the street to Matar Supermarket and sat down for lunch at Cheers with Madison and Jacelyn, two PCV friends. Madison recommended the burrito, which wasn’t even on the menu, and although it was nothing like Chipotle (oh, Chipotle, how I miss thee!) it still did not disappoint. After lunch Madison showed us to the Africana hotel, where for $6 a person we got a room with a huge bed, private bathroom and even a small sitting room. Then we got to wandering. Our first stop: ice cream. Many of you probably know about the ice cream shop ( http://bluemarbledreams.wordpress.com/our-projects/inzozi-nziza-rwanda/ ) that opened in Butare, since it was opened by American’s who own a Brooklyn ice cream shop. It’s called Inzozi Nziza (which basically translates Sweet Dreams) uses local products and hired an all Rwandan women staff. Well we made it to the ice cream shop, but due to a city wide power outage, there was no ice cream to be had, although the carrot cake was delish! Afterwards, Jacelyn pointed us in the direction of the National University of Rwanda (NUR), nonchalantly mentioning that just past the campus there’s an arboretum, with monkeys. Huh? Monkeys you say? We were sold, and quickly walked down the road towards the university, in search of monkeys. NUR’s campus turned out to be beautiful; simple brick buildings tucked into grounds covered with towering trees, and a labyrinth of walking paths carving their way through green grass. As we were attempting to find the alleged “arboretum” Kelly turned to her right and exclaimed “monkey!!”. Sure enough, there were the monkeys, and not just a couple, but dozens of them! They were in the trees, they were in the grass, they were in the road, they were frolicking with the goats. There was a man and a small child there too, feeding them. We greeted them and I asked what he was feeding them. Ibumbati, he said; cassava. The little kid was playing with the monkeys, walking up to them and making growling noises at them, only to run away quickly giggling. The moment was perfect and soon we were surrounded by monkeys in every direction; I think I took enough pictures to cover an entire wall of my house with them.
After the monkey show, we returned to our hotel in town, to relax before finding dinner. That’s when I looked down and saw how ridiculously dirty my feet were. Thank you, dry season. I remarked that if you looked at just my feet I looked like a different ethnicity. Lauren and Kelly did not disagree. Needless to say, it was time to see if the shower worked.
Following our relaxation time, we met up with Lindsay, a current education PCV, at Igichumbas for beer and akabenzi! Akabenzi is pork; more like amazingly delicious pork, onions and spices that you order by the kilo and devour in less than five minutes. Wash it down with a room temperature Primus over some delightful conversation, and you have yourself a wonderful evening in Butare.
The next morning we caught an early bus to Nyanza, my old home. As we drove into town I was struck by a flurry of emotions; happy with how familiar it all looked, excited to show my friends around my old stomping grounds, nervous to see my host family again after a couple of months away. Our first stop was the French bakery in town, to buy a crunchy on the outside/soft on the inside three foot long baguette, for the grand total of about 60 cents. Baguette in hand, we wandered to Blue Bar, my old hangout bar from training, which was luckily open despite it being 9am on a Sunday. We ordered fantas, and began munching on our yummy breakfast, ignoring the stares of the two men drinking beer in the cabana next to us. After we ate I gave Lauren and Kelly a quick tour of town, showing them where our training center was, the road to my old house, the market, and the stores we frequented for Rwandan fabric, yogurt and Snickers. And then we were off to my host family’s house, after a quick stop for lollipops for the kiddies. Unfortunately, our timing wasn’t the best, as most of my family was at church, but I was still able to catch up with my mom, Jeanne, and two of my host brothers. It was nice to see them, to chat with them, and to realize I haven’t lost as much Kinyarwanda as I thought I had. The visit, while lovely, was too short, and after a quick photo op we boarded another Volcano bus bound for Kigali.
The final highlights of the trip included scrumptious coffee at Bourbon, buying out all of the earrings at the Kimironko market and making an unscheduled stop on the ride back to Musanze so that two passengers could scurry into the woods for a potty break. At home later that night, all I wanted was a hot bucket bath and a long night’s sleep, but I couldn’t help but reflect on the hilarious adventures from the weekend. It’s great to remember where I’ve been, all the things I’ve already done these past five months, and look ahead to the future. Future weekend trips, future new experiences, future work endeavors, future successes, future challenges. So, stay tuned to see what the future truly holds.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tales from Rwanda (and a vocabulary lesson)
Guhinga: To farm; to cultivate (or in this case: to weed)
I’m apparently incapable of taking care of my property. I’m going to blame the fact that 1) I’ve never really had a green thumb, 2) my backyard is twice the size of my house, and 3) I’m not home too often during daylight hours for long stretches of time that I can commit to weeding and gardening. That being said, I wasn’t surprised when Mama Providence (my favorite neighbor who lives across the street) came over one night to take some of my plantains and exclaimed how unkempt my yard and driveway were. Or at least I can assume she was scolding me for my lack of property maintenance, since I only understood every 3rd word she said as well as her animated hand gestures. She said her and her children would be back on Saturday to help me, took her plantains and bid me good-night.
Fast forward to Saturday morning when I was attempting to sleep in (of course I call it sleeping in when it was 8:30am) and there was a knock on my gate. I opened it to a smiling Providence and three of her children, Jono, Grace and Sifa, who have all become three of my favorite neighborhood children. We quickly got to work pulling weeds and sweeping my driveway, while I settled Jono down on my porch with some coloring books and a yo-yo. We chatted while we worked (in a wonderful mix of Kinyarwanda, French and English), discussing where I was from, where I work, church and how I’d like to attend (and how ecstatic my parents would be if I went as well), the children’s school schedule, and my family’s visit in December. As the morning went on I stole glances at Mama Providence, observing her weeding technique in the hopes of perfecting my own. It was a slow process (considering in what disarray the driveway was…cue blushing from guilt) but within a couple of hours we had the driveway and the side of my house completed. Mama Providence said they would return the next weekend to help with the backyard, and I thanked them profusely, shared lollipops with the kids, and bid them good-day. When I looked down at my hands, I realized how dirty and cut-up they were, but I didn’t care a bit. Not only did I have a pristine driveway to admire, but I was breaking out of my comfort-zone, embracing moments where I was forced to converse in Kinyarwanda, and attempting this crazy thing called integration.
Batisimu: Baptism
I woke up one morning to a text message from my Rwandan friend, Janviere. The text was written all in English, which Janviere is only beginning to learn, and yet it was sincere and elegant. It read: “Dearest! With great pleasure we are happy to invite you in baptism ceremony of our adoptive orphan child which will take place on 10th July at 2pm. It will be greatest of your presence with all of your friends at our home. You are welcome!!” I couldn’t help but smile, knowing how much effort she must have put in to construct this text in English. Then I remembered the day Janviere had told us about the girl she adopted, a genocide orphan, now 19 years old, who she had met one day on the street. Janviere became my first Rwandan friend in Musanze, after we were introduced to each other by my old sitemate, Jessica. Janviere works at the house of some NGO workers in town, and her husband, Damien, is a chef at a restaurant in town. They are young, lively and two of the kindest and most welcoming people I have met here. Janviere taught me how to cook plantains, and we’ve spent time sitting in my living room reading American magazines, smelling the perfume ads and disapproving of all the ridiculous American fashion trends. Whenever I visit their home I eat like a queen: brochettes, fries, beans, cassava, fruit, tea, fanta. We giggle as I attempt to speak Kinyarwanda and they attempt to speak English, all while enjoying the latest Rwandan music videos on their television. I was incredibly touched to be invited to join them for such a special occasion as the baptismal party of the newest member of their family, and looked forward to it all week.
We were already going to be arriving fashionably late, as Jessica, Aime, Emma and I were coming straight from a librarian training in Kigali. I ran home to change and then meet the others at Janviere’s house. I decided to wear the same dress I’d worn for swear-in, so it goes without saying I got many a glance, double-take, stare, and comment as I walked in my bright, flowy dress on a busy road that goes all the way to Uganda. As I turned to walk down the hill to Janviere’s house, the first thing I saw was the large canopy they had constructed in their compound, and the second thing was the dozen of Rwandan faces that turned to look at me as I approached. I entered the tent, searching frantically for a recognizable face; luckily it was Damien’s, followed by Jessica, Emma and Aime. But before I knew it I was being paraded around to meet all of Janviere’s family and friends, including their new baptized daughter, dressed beautifully in a crisp white skirt suit with matching hat (absolutely adorable). Finally, I was given a towering plate of food to eat while sitting in front of all of the other guests. I quickly asked Jessica and Emma if this had happened to them as well and they gave me a knowing glance with a hushed “Yes, of course”. So I settled into my feast, with 100 eyes watching my every move. The food was great, but all I could think was “Please, let me not accidentally miss my mouth and drop food all over my dress and the floor with all of these people staring at me.” Then the dancing began, which I was more than happy to simply sit and observe, as per usual it did not disappoint. At one point a huge horde of children came running in, creating a huge dust-storm that they then danced around in before giggling and retreating back outside. Then suddenly it began to rain, a much needed downpour in the middle of the dry season, and it was as we were being ushered inside to wait out the storm that I reflected on how equal parts awkward, hilarious and lovely my first Rwandan social event was, despite not even seeing the actual baptism.
Ibitabo: Books; Amahugurwa: Training
One of Jessica’s biggest projects since arriving in Rwanda has been the Rwanda Books for Peace Project; 8,000 donated books from America are currently being shipped to Rwanda, where they will be distributed to districts around Rwanda to start libraries at schools, health clinics and district offices. Musanze is one of those lucky districts, and next month (thanks to Jessica’s blood, sweat and tears) I’ll help to open Musanze’s district public library. The district has already set aside rooms for the library, desks and bookshelves and has hired a librarian, Gilbertine. In early August, 1,000 books and four computers will arrive and Gilbertine and I will begin the long process of starting and maintaining a public library.
Last week Gilbertine and I attended a two day librarian training in Kigali, covering such topics as library organization, cataloging, creative library usage, and fostering a culture of literacy in our communities. I must admit, memories from my years of working at the university library at GW came flowing back to me; all those years behind the periodicals desk and pushing my cart around the third floor while I restocked the newspapers, magazines and literary journals (yes, it was as fascinating as it sounds, it’s ok to be jealous of the thrilling life that I led). I’m not embarrassed to say that I’m extremely excited for every aspect of starting up the library, despite the inevitable challenges that we’ll encounter along the way. The library will be an ongoing secondary project for me, somewhere I can spend a couple of days a week, encouraging reading and research skills among the community; and hopefully soon I can even begin English and IT classes there. It’s a perfect way to promote the 2nd and 3rd goals of Peace Corps: “Helping promote better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served” and “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans”. And as such, don’t be surprised if you not only hear a lot about this over the next two years, but are even asked to contribute in some way. Until then, though, you can find me cataloging and organizing 1,000 books and designing library membership cards.
Gusura: To visit
After the baptism on Saturday, Jessica stayed in Musanze so that she could get a rejuvenating dose of her old home town. She came over Sunday morning, bearing fresh, greasy, delicious chapatti. We had some breakfast and looked through American gossip magazines, judging the fashion, the people, the stories, per usual. Then there was a knock at the gate, and we immediately knew who it was. And so began Kid Invasion 2k10. Soon my backyard was overrun with neighborhood children: climbing the avocado tree; lining up on one of my fallen plantain tree like a log laying across the banks of a river; sneaking into my trash pit to see what articles they could steal to make toys out of (Jessica told me that she once saw children wearing jewelry they had made out of her bank statement papers); reading magazines; dancing and singing Rwandan songs before breaking into a fantastic rendition of Shakira’s Waka Waka - This Time for Africa, dance moves included. (Yes I got video, so one day you shall see it too!). After the kiddies had amassed a towering pile of avocadoes we helped take them across the street to their respective homes, and visit Mama Providence. As we sat in Providence’s living room with her brother we discussed (and by “we” I mean Jessica, Providence and her brother, with me simply trying to follow the conversation and usually only responding in one word answers to any question that Providence or her brother asked) why Jessica moved to Kigali, our jobs, church and Jessica’s parents upcoming visit. It was a lovely time, over too quickly, and soon we were on our way back to my house, Providence following behind asking if we wanted any corn to take with us. We retreated back into my now quiet and peaceful house and relaxed for a bit, laughing about all the events of the past few hours. Then we were off to town for a yummy Rwandan buffet lunch at Vision 2020, where we made fun of the ridiculous 90’s American music videos they were playing on the tv and agreed what a wonderful visit it truly had been.
I’m apparently incapable of taking care of my property. I’m going to blame the fact that 1) I’ve never really had a green thumb, 2) my backyard is twice the size of my house, and 3) I’m not home too often during daylight hours for long stretches of time that I can commit to weeding and gardening. That being said, I wasn’t surprised when Mama Providence (my favorite neighbor who lives across the street) came over one night to take some of my plantains and exclaimed how unkempt my yard and driveway were. Or at least I can assume she was scolding me for my lack of property maintenance, since I only understood every 3rd word she said as well as her animated hand gestures. She said her and her children would be back on Saturday to help me, took her plantains and bid me good-night.
Fast forward to Saturday morning when I was attempting to sleep in (of course I call it sleeping in when it was 8:30am) and there was a knock on my gate. I opened it to a smiling Providence and three of her children, Jono, Grace and Sifa, who have all become three of my favorite neighborhood children. We quickly got to work pulling weeds and sweeping my driveway, while I settled Jono down on my porch with some coloring books and a yo-yo. We chatted while we worked (in a wonderful mix of Kinyarwanda, French and English), discussing where I was from, where I work, church and how I’d like to attend (and how ecstatic my parents would be if I went as well), the children’s school schedule, and my family’s visit in December. As the morning went on I stole glances at Mama Providence, observing her weeding technique in the hopes of perfecting my own. It was a slow process (considering in what disarray the driveway was…cue blushing from guilt) but within a couple of hours we had the driveway and the side of my house completed. Mama Providence said they would return the next weekend to help with the backyard, and I thanked them profusely, shared lollipops with the kids, and bid them good-day. When I looked down at my hands, I realized how dirty and cut-up they were, but I didn’t care a bit. Not only did I have a pristine driveway to admire, but I was breaking out of my comfort-zone, embracing moments where I was forced to converse in Kinyarwanda, and attempting this crazy thing called integration.
Batisimu: Baptism
I woke up one morning to a text message from my Rwandan friend, Janviere. The text was written all in English, which Janviere is only beginning to learn, and yet it was sincere and elegant. It read: “Dearest! With great pleasure we are happy to invite you in baptism ceremony of our adoptive orphan child which will take place on 10th July at 2pm. It will be greatest of your presence with all of your friends at our home. You are welcome!!” I couldn’t help but smile, knowing how much effort she must have put in to construct this text in English. Then I remembered the day Janviere had told us about the girl she adopted, a genocide orphan, now 19 years old, who she had met one day on the street. Janviere became my first Rwandan friend in Musanze, after we were introduced to each other by my old sitemate, Jessica. Janviere works at the house of some NGO workers in town, and her husband, Damien, is a chef at a restaurant in town. They are young, lively and two of the kindest and most welcoming people I have met here. Janviere taught me how to cook plantains, and we’ve spent time sitting in my living room reading American magazines, smelling the perfume ads and disapproving of all the ridiculous American fashion trends. Whenever I visit their home I eat like a queen: brochettes, fries, beans, cassava, fruit, tea, fanta. We giggle as I attempt to speak Kinyarwanda and they attempt to speak English, all while enjoying the latest Rwandan music videos on their television. I was incredibly touched to be invited to join them for such a special occasion as the baptismal party of the newest member of their family, and looked forward to it all week.
We were already going to be arriving fashionably late, as Jessica, Aime, Emma and I were coming straight from a librarian training in Kigali. I ran home to change and then meet the others at Janviere’s house. I decided to wear the same dress I’d worn for swear-in, so it goes without saying I got many a glance, double-take, stare, and comment as I walked in my bright, flowy dress on a busy road that goes all the way to Uganda. As I turned to walk down the hill to Janviere’s house, the first thing I saw was the large canopy they had constructed in their compound, and the second thing was the dozen of Rwandan faces that turned to look at me as I approached. I entered the tent, searching frantically for a recognizable face; luckily it was Damien’s, followed by Jessica, Emma and Aime. But before I knew it I was being paraded around to meet all of Janviere’s family and friends, including their new baptized daughter, dressed beautifully in a crisp white skirt suit with matching hat (absolutely adorable). Finally, I was given a towering plate of food to eat while sitting in front of all of the other guests. I quickly asked Jessica and Emma if this had happened to them as well and they gave me a knowing glance with a hushed “Yes, of course”. So I settled into my feast, with 100 eyes watching my every move. The food was great, but all I could think was “Please, let me not accidentally miss my mouth and drop food all over my dress and the floor with all of these people staring at me.” Then the dancing began, which I was more than happy to simply sit and observe, as per usual it did not disappoint. At one point a huge horde of children came running in, creating a huge dust-storm that they then danced around in before giggling and retreating back outside. Then suddenly it began to rain, a much needed downpour in the middle of the dry season, and it was as we were being ushered inside to wait out the storm that I reflected on how equal parts awkward, hilarious and lovely my first Rwandan social event was, despite not even seeing the actual baptism.
Ibitabo: Books; Amahugurwa: Training
One of Jessica’s biggest projects since arriving in Rwanda has been the Rwanda Books for Peace Project; 8,000 donated books from America are currently being shipped to Rwanda, where they will be distributed to districts around Rwanda to start libraries at schools, health clinics and district offices. Musanze is one of those lucky districts, and next month (thanks to Jessica’s blood, sweat and tears) I’ll help to open Musanze’s district public library. The district has already set aside rooms for the library, desks and bookshelves and has hired a librarian, Gilbertine. In early August, 1,000 books and four computers will arrive and Gilbertine and I will begin the long process of starting and maintaining a public library.
Last week Gilbertine and I attended a two day librarian training in Kigali, covering such topics as library organization, cataloging, creative library usage, and fostering a culture of literacy in our communities. I must admit, memories from my years of working at the university library at GW came flowing back to me; all those years behind the periodicals desk and pushing my cart around the third floor while I restocked the newspapers, magazines and literary journals (yes, it was as fascinating as it sounds, it’s ok to be jealous of the thrilling life that I led). I’m not embarrassed to say that I’m extremely excited for every aspect of starting up the library, despite the inevitable challenges that we’ll encounter along the way. The library will be an ongoing secondary project for me, somewhere I can spend a couple of days a week, encouraging reading and research skills among the community; and hopefully soon I can even begin English and IT classes there. It’s a perfect way to promote the 2nd and 3rd goals of Peace Corps: “Helping promote better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served” and “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans”. And as such, don’t be surprised if you not only hear a lot about this over the next two years, but are even asked to contribute in some way. Until then, though, you can find me cataloging and organizing 1,000 books and designing library membership cards.
Gusura: To visit
After the baptism on Saturday, Jessica stayed in Musanze so that she could get a rejuvenating dose of her old home town. She came over Sunday morning, bearing fresh, greasy, delicious chapatti. We had some breakfast and looked through American gossip magazines, judging the fashion, the people, the stories, per usual. Then there was a knock at the gate, and we immediately knew who it was. And so began Kid Invasion 2k10. Soon my backyard was overrun with neighborhood children: climbing the avocado tree; lining up on one of my fallen plantain tree like a log laying across the banks of a river; sneaking into my trash pit to see what articles they could steal to make toys out of (Jessica told me that she once saw children wearing jewelry they had made out of her bank statement papers); reading magazines; dancing and singing Rwandan songs before breaking into a fantastic rendition of Shakira’s Waka Waka - This Time for Africa, dance moves included. (Yes I got video, so one day you shall see it too!). After the kiddies had amassed a towering pile of avocadoes we helped take them across the street to their respective homes, and visit Mama Providence. As we sat in Providence’s living room with her brother we discussed (and by “we” I mean Jessica, Providence and her brother, with me simply trying to follow the conversation and usually only responding in one word answers to any question that Providence or her brother asked) why Jessica moved to Kigali, our jobs, church and Jessica’s parents upcoming visit. It was a lovely time, over too quickly, and soon we were on our way back to my house, Providence following behind asking if we wanted any corn to take with us. We retreated back into my now quiet and peaceful house and relaxed for a bit, laughing about all the events of the past few hours. Then we were off to town for a yummy Rwandan buffet lunch at Vision 2020, where we made fun of the ridiculous 90’s American music videos they were playing on the tv and agreed what a wonderful visit it truly had been.
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