Posh Corps. Not to be confused with Peace Corps.

In many ways this is not the Peace Corps experience I originally envisioned. I must admit, part of me applied to Peace Corps with idealistic and grand visions of life in a rural African village, cut off from the world. There would be no electricity, I would wake with the sun, and write letters to my family by candlelight until I fell asleep, usually by 8pm. Running water would be non-existent, and every day I would find myself clustering around the village well with my neighbors, gathering water to drink, wash with and cook with. I would have a simple house (though I wasn’t naïve enough to picture a mud hut with a thatched roof) with a grass fence and no gate, welcoming neighbors, children and all sorts of animals to cross in and out freely. I would toil for hours over a wood fire, concocting spicy stews and carb-filled porridges. I would walk everywhere, to work, to the market, to visit friends, to do anything; or maybe if I was lucky I’d have a bike! My days would be filled with interacting in the community, dreaming up projects, attempting to get funding for them, attending weddings and baptisms and most likely even seeing babies delivered constantly. I would speak fluently with my neighbors and be basically adopted into the community, know everyone, know everything. But every day would still be a challenge as I dealt with language barriers and cultural barriers, adjusting to a solitary Peace Corps life.

So here I am, in Peace Corps, in Rwanda. I live in the 4th largest city in the country, where foreigners are rather abundant (everything from NGO workers to tourists off to visit the gorillas). I live in a rather beautiful four room house, with tall brick walls on all sides and an imposing brown and green metal gate. I have electricity (most days) and running water in my house (most days) with an indoor toilet and shower. I write blog posts, type emails to friends and family back home, listen to music, watch movies and do most of my work all on my laptop. There are more hotels in my town than I can count on one hand, offering yummy Western food, Fanta’s and beer, and fast wireless internet. I cook over a kerosene stove, concocting spicy stews just as much as grilled cheese sandwiches. I can buy wine, olive oil, peanut butter and jelly, Pringles, mustard and so many more “Muzungu” things at numerous stores in my town. I ride in a truck more often than I ever imagined, either for work or getting rides home from some American friends. I can easily go to a bar quite similar to one you would find in America, order a pizza and a glass of wine, and watch a soccer game on a flat screen television. I have an office in the district hospital and travel around to 17 health centers in two districts getting my bearings working for a large project founded and funded by Americans. I get outside and walk around every day, but considering the size of my town have an incredibly difficult time identifying even what my “community” is, let alone integrating into it. My Kinyarwanda is coming along, but conversation is limited when I can really only talk at the level of a five year old. I have yet to be invited to a wedding, though have attended a baptism; and despite seeing women about to give birth and several newborn babies, I haven’t witnessed one single baby being delivered so far. But every day is still a challenge, as I deal with language barriers and cultural barriers, adjusting to a solitary Posh Corps life.

So, there we go: Peace Corps vs. Posh Corps. Yes, it’s different, yes it’s not exactly what I expected, yes it presents its own unique set of challenges that I never even contemplated before coming here. But every day I’m still very much aware of who I am, where I find myself and what an amazing experience this will still be, hopefully even better than what I envisioned. Every day is new. Every day I learn a new word. Every day I explore a new part of town. Every day I talk to someone new. Every day I notice something new. Every day I hear a new animal sound. Every day I find a new solution to a problem.

And yet, I am constantly struggling with how to balance my desire to absorb and embrace Rwandan culture, integrate into my neighborhood and build relationships with Rwandans, with my need to remain sane as an American living in a foreign country. This manifests itself in a variety of ways. I spend the entire day in a room with two dozen Rwandans receiving Quickbooks training entirely in Kinyarwanda (two things still very foreign to me), and then retreat into my house in the evening to eat mac and cheese and M&Ms and watch The Hurt Locker. Or I spend a few hours gardening with my Rwandan neighbor and her three children, attempting to discuss everything from my job, to religion, to my family in America, and by the afternoon am at Americaland (or rather the home of my American friends) using their wireless internet, eating hotdogs and pickles, and watching a movie on their projector screen. But which of these is my life? Which one is “right”? When does support become a crutch? While attempting to be Rwandan, I often feel awkward and uncomfortable and long to be back in America. But while being “American”, I often feel guilty and awkward and long to be speaking kinyarwanda with my neighbors and colleagues. It’s the epitome of split personalities. My name is Amy and my name is Umugwaneza. I’m an expat working in Rwanda, but I’m also a Peace Corps Volunteer working and living amongst Rwandans. I like pizza and hamburgers, and I like cassava and dodo. But this contradiction is inevitable, right? And maybe it’s even necessary. Maybe it will be my ability to balance these two “personalities” that will allow me to not only survive, but thrive, here. Maybe by embracing these two sides I’ll be able to endure the successes and challenges of the next two years; learn, teach, give, take, adapt, grow.