Dear neighbors: Despite having a separate electricity bill it seems that if you do not pay your electricity bill my power and water go out too. Let’s be a little bit more punctual about paying, shall we? Although, I did get a one night mini vacation in Americaland where I enjoyed good food, fast internet and a hot shower. So I can’t be too mad at you.
Dear counterpart: You might need to think about a new automatic response to anything I say. It works for when I tell you I’ve finished a report or need to take a day off to go to Kigali. But when I say “I’ll be right back, I’m going to use the bathroom” maybe you should say something other than an enthusiastic “oh, that’s great!”
Dear library: Every day I discover another positively amazing thing about you. Most recently was the realization that I will never again lack for an outlet for my obsessive compulsiveness. Especially as long as I’m still teaching the kids and the librarian the art of putting the books back so that all of the spines face the same direction, let alone alphabetizing by author.
Dear owner of Volcana: I might never get used to your profuse amounts of affection but I can get used to the free cognac when Eli and I come in for Thirsty Thursday drinks. And I like that despite being Moroccan, you are seriously impressed, just like a Rwandan, when I speak Kinyarwanda to you.
Dear self: I believe it’s perfectly acceptable that you attempted to ignore the man next to you on the bus (who was giving you a play-by-play translation of the news and a tour of the Northern Province) by turning up the volume on your iPod and keeping your left eye closed so that he would think you were asleep.
Dear Mother Nature: There was a rumor going around that in December and January a short dry season appears. And yet, here we are, well into December, and it seems the rainy season is continuing, with newfound determination even. Care to explain?
Dear woman I passed on my way to the library: I guess you had every right to laugh at me; I did have 12 children grabbing at my hands, arms, bag and hair while jabbering away to me in Kinyarwanda. But I had every right to laugh at you too; considering you were carrying an umbrella…on your head.
Dear all the men who work in the carpentry area of town: It seems it’s strange for you all to see a woman in your section of town, even more strange to see a white girl, and unheard of to see a white girl pay 200 francs for a bag of wood chips. If you only knew I use them for my cats litter box.
Dear official stamp of the District of Musanze: It took me weeks to track you down and only got you after an impromptu meeting (and subtle pleading) with the Mayor. Then you arrived, in an engraved black box, with your own personal bodyguard (Mayor’s receptionist) and weren’t able to be used unless you were in her presence. You are like the Rwandan Holy Grail.
Dear self (again): Do not, I repeat, DO NOT accidentally leave your kerosene stove on all afternoon while you’re at work. Not only does it waste petrol, but it’s SO not safe. Bad self.
Dear Taylor Lautner: I know this is very, very wrong for me to say at my age, but mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Dear mosquitoes: No one else in my region has mosquito problems, so why do you love my house so much? Please, for your sake and mine, GO AWAY.
Dear sushi: Oh how I miss you. But our reunion might be sooner than we both envisioned. I’ve scoped out the possible sushi eateries in Zanzibar, Dar Es Salaam and Mombasa, which equals at least three opportunities for raw fish goodness over vacation. Commence the “I’m gonna devour you” happy dance.
Dear Trude and her random couch surfer friends: A thousand thanks for owning a pdf copy of every Lonely Planet written in the past 10 years. Sure is making my research for Amy and Andy’s European Adventure 2012 super easy.
Dear librarian: You’re teaching the kids English on a daily basis and showing the kids cartoons about hygiene. And then there was the week that you broke up the children by grade level so that you could give them age appropriate English vocab. You should have been teacher. Seriously. But I’m exceedingly happy that you’re our librarian instead.
Dear Muhabura Hotel: I sure do love your buffet lunch, especially when I get to watch 20 hungry Rwandans pile up food onto their plates. But next time we are having a luncheon with speeches can you maybe try not to blare horrible 80’s soft rock and country over the loudspeaker. It’s distracting, and I already have a hard enough time concentrating while listening to two hours of speeches in Kinyarwanda. Next time let’s skip the Dolly Parton, k?
Dear ladies who sell shirts near the Stella bus stop in Kigali: You’re kind of hilarious. And actually make me think that I speak Kinyarwanda. And after one short trip to you I pretty much doubled my Rwandan wardrobe for only $10. I’ll be back soon.
Dear feet: It’s rainy season, you deserve to be spotlessly clean. And yet you’re still not tan, you’re still only dirty. And you have no one to blame for this but me, and the fact that I have now adopted a Rwandan hygiene schedule. I’ll try to work on bathing more, promise.
Dear PiliPili cat: More than a few people have commented about how big you’re getting these days. Part of this might have to do with the fact that you’re not a kitten anymore. But I think most of it has to do with the fact that you’re becoming a fatty.
Dear yard: It seems there are perks to spending an entire morning clearing you of annoying, overgrowing weeds. It’s exercise, I got a tan, and I surprisingly found celery of all things growing amongst the weeds near my plantain trees. Yum yum yum.
Dear Christmas: As you’re drawing near I’ve been attempting to get myself into the holiday spirit. Today I tried listening to Christmas music all the way to Kigali. But it didn’t have the same effect, considering I was passing hill after hill of banana trees instead of hill after hill of snow. I’ll keep trying, but considering I’ll be spending Christmas Day on a safari in Tanzania, this isn’t looking too likely…
Dear Musanze District Library: You’re officially open! There were balloons and streamers, the Mayor ceremoniously checked out two books, and I miraculously avoided giving a speech in front of everyone. Took you long enough, but you were worth every struggle. Next challenge: English classes and science days. Nzagureba muri janvier. (I will see you in January).
Dear Papa wanjye, Mama wanjye na musaza wanjye: Umuryango wanjye, muzaza hano ku wa gatandatu! Murakaza neza mu Rwanda!! Ndishimiye cyane cyane PE!
Dear blog readers: I just want to take this opportunity to thank you for all of your support, love and well wishes this past year. Despite the constant ups and downs, my time in Rwanda has been an incredible experience and I’m looking forward to what the rest of my time here will bring. I’ll be traveling in Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya with my family and friends until January 10th. Happy holidays, be safe, and I’ll be “seeing” you all next year!!
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Insta-Thanksgiving + PiliPili escapes the compound + “I have to cook how many turkeys?!?!”
November (once again) flashed by in a blur and I soon found myself preparing for the Thanksgiving holiday. Only this time, there was no Lucy, no Hannah, no Kaitie, no Charlotte; no Zip-car rental to stock up at Shoppers in NOVA; no need to defend ourselves to the store clerk when we bought enough cheap champagne to make even a sailor wasted; no frozen, prepared turkey that I would name, clean and massage with butter before stuffing into an oven; no America. And yet, so much was the same. Amazing friends traveling from all around to join for the holiday, stocking up on essentials at the market (we even found celery – it barely resembles celery in the states, but is actually even more potent in flavor and smell), an annoying animal constantly voicing her desire to eat everything we were cooking, and many a food coma.
For actual Thanksgiving Day, three of my closest PCV friends arrived in Musanze Thursday morning to celebrate what we are now affectionately referring to as “Insta-Thanksgiving”. Trude and I tackled the shopping during the day, bargaining our way down our list (which included such extravagancies as cucumbers and real butter). And that night, we broke into the boxed wine before beginning to concoct our instant culinary masterpieces: stove top stuffing with canned chicken and instant turkey graving; instant sweet potato mashed potatoes, doctored up with tons of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, butter and marshmallows; and a cucumber, tomato, avocado salad with a small bottle of white wine vinaigrette my mother had sent to me (it took us until the next day to notice that the expiration date was in fact August 1998 – no one’s gotten sick though…yet). Everything was fantastic, even the chicken/stuffing mush which I could only describe as “it looks like vomit, but it tastes like heaven”.
As we were recovering from dinner one of the CCHIPs ladies called to see if we wanted to grab drinks. That’s when it happened. We were fumbling with the keys at the gate, when I saw a dash of white escape through my gate door out onto the road. PILIPILI! Several profanities exited my mouth while I reached into my pocket to turn on my phone flashlight, just in time to see my kitty hesitantly scurry across the road into the corn stalks in my neighbor’s front yard. The following ten minutes involved Trude and I shouting “here, PiliPili…psst psst” and wandering among the corn while I held a bowl of chicken/stuffing mush and avocado. At one point a passing moto driver skidded to a halt to check out what the two crazy Muzungu girls were doing wandering around in the dark. Of course, getting across “my pet cat escaped and is now frolicking in the corn in the dark” in Kinyarwanda was not an easy task. Suddenly PiliPili jetted back towards my gate, only to veer right and run down the path parallel to one wall of my house. It was then that I realized chasing her was a lost cause. Not only was it completely dark, but she’s far too fast and far too ornery to actually let me catch her. So, I resolved myself to the fact that if she wanted to come back she would, and decided to head out for a drink, even more needed at that moment. I can’t lie though, I held back a few tears at the thought that she might be found and hurt before she made her way home.
Before we could even walk away, though, PiliPili crept back, and I was fairly certain she was about to run back through my gate, but instead she decided to have a little adventure by running through my neighbors gate, which stood wide open, since they were outside to watch the Muzungu Chases Her Cat show. Jessi and I took off after her and for the next 10 minutes pursued her around and around their yard. Now, my neighbors moved in only a couple of months ago and ever since they have been a mystery to me. I’ve been told its some sort of construction company but all I’ve ever known is that they use an insane amount of electricity, have several large trucks with engines they rev at all hours of the day and night (and quite often stand on top of for the sole reason of peering over the wall at me and my house), and move around something that sounds similar to sheet metal. Well, mystery solved. Kind of. While searching for the kitty, we encountered a huge truck (ding ding), had to weave our way through and over large coils of some type of metal, and witnessed several power tools. The men just continued working (did I mention it was around 9pm at this point) or stood there and laughed at us as we shouted and chased the cat into every corner of their compound. Then miraculously, PiliPili jumped the wall between my house and theirs. I shouted “she’s in, shut my gate!” as our cat hunt came to a happy end. Needless to say we had quite a story to share with my friends when we arrived at the bar 45 minutes after we said we would; the beer didn’t taste too shabby either.
The next morning we were up early to get to the CCHIPs house to prepare the big Thanksgiving dinner. Earlier in the week, I had unexplainably been tasked with cooking all the turkeys. How many turkeys, you ask? Five. Five fresh Rwandan turkeys. And I do mean fresh. Apologies to the vegetarians and the squeamish out there, but the birds were actually transported back from Kigali and killed, gutted and cleaned on Wednesday, and while I was not present at their death, I hear they died peacefully and quickly (or at least that’s what I’m going to tell you). So upon arriving at the CCHIPs house I surveyed the birds, checked my supplies, had a mini panic attack, collected myself and then got started. Jessi and I made sausage stuffing, before I tended to my birds. They’d been brining in the fridge all evening, and as I pulled them out of the bucket one by one I realized that these were not the American turkeys I was used to. They were skinny. Where was the meat? If I laid them on their backs they were just going to tip over! Commence mini panic attack #2. Right around this point I was thankfully told I only had to make three turkeys in the oven, as the other two were going to get grilled (yep, grilled turkey, the Rwandan version of deep fried?). So, I didn’t name my three birds but they still got a pat down and a butter massage before two of them were filled with stuffing and the third filled with oranges, shallots, garlic and spices. Jessi and I got them into the oven around noon, filled glasses with wine and said cheers to our efforts. A couple of hours later, I went to check on them and the horror(!), the oven temperature had been turned up to double what it was supposed to be. Commence mini panic #3. I looked at the turkeys and well, they didn’t look so good. They looked dry and they looked rubbery, though they still smelled intoxicatingly good. We turned down the temperature, basted them a little with oranges and broth and said a little prayer. A little bit later (after some more wine and my first taste of turkey balls – yes, they taste as bad as you think they should) it was about time for the turkeys to come out of the oven. But where was the little red button that would pop when it was finished? Where was the meat thermometer? I could feel the mini panic attack coming…and then out of nowhere, Gabby (the CCHIPs cook extraordinaire) produced a meat thermometer! And just like that panic attack #4 averted! We let the birds rest for a little bit, while everyone else dashed to make and finish their side dishes. The kitchen was soon overcrowded with people mashing potatoes, stirring sauces, mixing green bean casseroles, and baking sweet potatoes and brie. And with all of those familiar dishes, came the most extraordinary familiar smells. Rwanda, and the CCHIPs house, officially smelled like Thanksgiving.
Once the side dishes were done, the carving of the turkey commenced outside on the back porch. Until Mother Nature decided to play an evil, terrible trick on us, by rolling in one of her signature afternoon monsoon thunderstorms. My entire back was quickly drenched before we ran to move the carving inside, where of course, the electricity went out. So there we were, huddled over three turkeys, carving knives in our hands and headlamps on our heads to ensure we didn’t chop our fingers off. It was by far one of the most hilarious “this is Africa” moments I’ve had to date.
But soon everything was done: the turkey was carved, the fixings were ready, we’d made a gallon of gravy and the tables were set. And for a moment we just stared at the table, being thankful for all of the people who had worked so hard to organize the feast, being thankful that we could share the meal and the day with so many friends, and being thankful that even here, in this Equatorial paradise so far from our homes, we could have our very own Thanksgiving.
The food was of course amazing. Followed by equally amazing pies and ice cream. After dinner, the turkey comas (and for some us…hangovers? - I mean, no, I wasn't drinking whiskey and wine at the same time...) set in quickly and the girls and I retreated to my house for naps before heading out to make our own Rwandan Thanksgiving tradition: dancing the night away at Musanze’s most happening nightclub, Silverback. Let me tell you, there’s no better way to burn off a Thanksgiving feast than by dancing until 3:30am! As we collapsed into our beds that night I want to say that I took a moment to think over the events of the day and reflect on how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family here in Musanze. But honestly, I was asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow.
So there you have it folks, Thanksgiving in Rwanda. Many things different, many things the same. Full of memories, and laughs, and a couple of tears. I’ll be honest and say that I’m already looking forward to next year and all the hilarity it will bring. Well, most of it. Maybe I’ll skip the turkey balls.
For actual Thanksgiving Day, three of my closest PCV friends arrived in Musanze Thursday morning to celebrate what we are now affectionately referring to as “Insta-Thanksgiving”. Trude and I tackled the shopping during the day, bargaining our way down our list (which included such extravagancies as cucumbers and real butter). And that night, we broke into the boxed wine before beginning to concoct our instant culinary masterpieces: stove top stuffing with canned chicken and instant turkey graving; instant sweet potato mashed potatoes, doctored up with tons of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, butter and marshmallows; and a cucumber, tomato, avocado salad with a small bottle of white wine vinaigrette my mother had sent to me (it took us until the next day to notice that the expiration date was in fact August 1998 – no one’s gotten sick though…yet). Everything was fantastic, even the chicken/stuffing mush which I could only describe as “it looks like vomit, but it tastes like heaven”.
As we were recovering from dinner one of the CCHIPs ladies called to see if we wanted to grab drinks. That’s when it happened. We were fumbling with the keys at the gate, when I saw a dash of white escape through my gate door out onto the road. PILIPILI! Several profanities exited my mouth while I reached into my pocket to turn on my phone flashlight, just in time to see my kitty hesitantly scurry across the road into the corn stalks in my neighbor’s front yard. The following ten minutes involved Trude and I shouting “here, PiliPili…psst psst” and wandering among the corn while I held a bowl of chicken/stuffing mush and avocado. At one point a passing moto driver skidded to a halt to check out what the two crazy Muzungu girls were doing wandering around in the dark. Of course, getting across “my pet cat escaped and is now frolicking in the corn in the dark” in Kinyarwanda was not an easy task. Suddenly PiliPili jetted back towards my gate, only to veer right and run down the path parallel to one wall of my house. It was then that I realized chasing her was a lost cause. Not only was it completely dark, but she’s far too fast and far too ornery to actually let me catch her. So, I resolved myself to the fact that if she wanted to come back she would, and decided to head out for a drink, even more needed at that moment. I can’t lie though, I held back a few tears at the thought that she might be found and hurt before she made her way home.
Before we could even walk away, though, PiliPili crept back, and I was fairly certain she was about to run back through my gate, but instead she decided to have a little adventure by running through my neighbors gate, which stood wide open, since they were outside to watch the Muzungu Chases Her Cat show. Jessi and I took off after her and for the next 10 minutes pursued her around and around their yard. Now, my neighbors moved in only a couple of months ago and ever since they have been a mystery to me. I’ve been told its some sort of construction company but all I’ve ever known is that they use an insane amount of electricity, have several large trucks with engines they rev at all hours of the day and night (and quite often stand on top of for the sole reason of peering over the wall at me and my house), and move around something that sounds similar to sheet metal. Well, mystery solved. Kind of. While searching for the kitty, we encountered a huge truck (ding ding), had to weave our way through and over large coils of some type of metal, and witnessed several power tools. The men just continued working (did I mention it was around 9pm at this point) or stood there and laughed at us as we shouted and chased the cat into every corner of their compound. Then miraculously, PiliPili jumped the wall between my house and theirs. I shouted “she’s in, shut my gate!” as our cat hunt came to a happy end. Needless to say we had quite a story to share with my friends when we arrived at the bar 45 minutes after we said we would; the beer didn’t taste too shabby either.
The next morning we were up early to get to the CCHIPs house to prepare the big Thanksgiving dinner. Earlier in the week, I had unexplainably been tasked with cooking all the turkeys. How many turkeys, you ask? Five. Five fresh Rwandan turkeys. And I do mean fresh. Apologies to the vegetarians and the squeamish out there, but the birds were actually transported back from Kigali and killed, gutted and cleaned on Wednesday, and while I was not present at their death, I hear they died peacefully and quickly (or at least that’s what I’m going to tell you). So upon arriving at the CCHIPs house I surveyed the birds, checked my supplies, had a mini panic attack, collected myself and then got started. Jessi and I made sausage stuffing, before I tended to my birds. They’d been brining in the fridge all evening, and as I pulled them out of the bucket one by one I realized that these were not the American turkeys I was used to. They were skinny. Where was the meat? If I laid them on their backs they were just going to tip over! Commence mini panic attack #2. Right around this point I was thankfully told I only had to make three turkeys in the oven, as the other two were going to get grilled (yep, grilled turkey, the Rwandan version of deep fried?). So, I didn’t name my three birds but they still got a pat down and a butter massage before two of them were filled with stuffing and the third filled with oranges, shallots, garlic and spices. Jessi and I got them into the oven around noon, filled glasses with wine and said cheers to our efforts. A couple of hours later, I went to check on them and the horror(!), the oven temperature had been turned up to double what it was supposed to be. Commence mini panic #3. I looked at the turkeys and well, they didn’t look so good. They looked dry and they looked rubbery, though they still smelled intoxicatingly good. We turned down the temperature, basted them a little with oranges and broth and said a little prayer. A little bit later (after some more wine and my first taste of turkey balls – yes, they taste as bad as you think they should) it was about time for the turkeys to come out of the oven. But where was the little red button that would pop when it was finished? Where was the meat thermometer? I could feel the mini panic attack coming…and then out of nowhere, Gabby (the CCHIPs cook extraordinaire) produced a meat thermometer! And just like that panic attack #4 averted! We let the birds rest for a little bit, while everyone else dashed to make and finish their side dishes. The kitchen was soon overcrowded with people mashing potatoes, stirring sauces, mixing green bean casseroles, and baking sweet potatoes and brie. And with all of those familiar dishes, came the most extraordinary familiar smells. Rwanda, and the CCHIPs house, officially smelled like Thanksgiving.
Once the side dishes were done, the carving of the turkey commenced outside on the back porch. Until Mother Nature decided to play an evil, terrible trick on us, by rolling in one of her signature afternoon monsoon thunderstorms. My entire back was quickly drenched before we ran to move the carving inside, where of course, the electricity went out. So there we were, huddled over three turkeys, carving knives in our hands and headlamps on our heads to ensure we didn’t chop our fingers off. It was by far one of the most hilarious “this is Africa” moments I’ve had to date.
But soon everything was done: the turkey was carved, the fixings were ready, we’d made a gallon of gravy and the tables were set. And for a moment we just stared at the table, being thankful for all of the people who had worked so hard to organize the feast, being thankful that we could share the meal and the day with so many friends, and being thankful that even here, in this Equatorial paradise so far from our homes, we could have our very own Thanksgiving.
The food was of course amazing. Followed by equally amazing pies and ice cream. After dinner, the turkey comas (and for some us…hangovers? - I mean, no, I wasn't drinking whiskey and wine at the same time...) set in quickly and the girls and I retreated to my house for naps before heading out to make our own Rwandan Thanksgiving tradition: dancing the night away at Musanze’s most happening nightclub, Silverback. Let me tell you, there’s no better way to burn off a Thanksgiving feast than by dancing until 3:30am! As we collapsed into our beds that night I want to say that I took a moment to think over the events of the day and reflect on how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family here in Musanze. But honestly, I was asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow.
So there you have it folks, Thanksgiving in Rwanda. Many things different, many things the same. Full of memories, and laughs, and a couple of tears. I’ll be honest and say that I’m already looking forward to next year and all the hilarity it will bring. Well, most of it. Maybe I’ll skip the turkey balls.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Dear…
Welcome to another wonderful installment of "Dear..." where I write notes to all of the people, places and things I meet along the way.
Dear Pilipili cat: I understand that you’re enthusiastic about my new workout regimen. But could you refrain from attacking my foot every time I do ballet? And maybe not decide to lie on my stomach when I’m doing P90X Ab Ripper? But feel free to join in during Tae Bo, you’ll be one buff kitty in no time!
Dear rainy season: I’m still glad you’re here, promise. But doesn’t your presence mean that I should always have water? I would like an essay (10,000 words or more) on why that one time I went without water at my spigot for almost 5 whole days. As well as a guarantee that it will never happen again. Mk?
Dear Stieg Larsson: You were taken from this world too soon. Especially because you’ve done it again. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. Remarkable. Intriguing. A page turner. Unlike no other. Captivating. Perfect. Shall I go on?
Dear GRE (yes, you, the Graduate Record Examination): Darn you and your 5 year expiration date. I took you in the summer of 2007. Which means you expire in the summer of 2012. This presents a problem considering I was planning to apply for grad school AFTER I got back from Peace Corps. You’ve given me no choice but to apply next year for admission for Fall 2012. That being said, can you please put a good word in for me at the University of Washingon, Tulane, and Columbia? That might make it up to me. Just maybe.
Dear Dad: I’m so utterly sad that I missed being there for your birthday. Like cried a little, sad. I hope it was wonderful. And I promise to make it up to you when you visit in December. LOVE YOU!
Dear two secondary students who were standing in the rain outside the library: I’m so glad that you stared at me. Even more glad when you said hello and asked if you could come inside. And most glad when you went straight for the science textbooks and spent the next 45 minutes flipping through them. That being said, I’m so sorry that I was unable to say yes to your kind request to tutor you in Organic Chemistry. I haven’t taken chemistry since high school, and if I remember correctly I wasn’t that good at it to begin with. But come back soon!
Dear child who I kept hearing say “Amy” as I began walking to work: I heard you. I heard you repeatedly. But WHERE WERE YOU? I looked and looked but could not actually figure out where you were hiding. I’m pretty sure you found this amusing though considering the length and volume of your laughter as I gave up and continued on my way.
Dear patients at Bisate Health Center: It’s official, in a month you should have running water in all of your hospitalization rooms and consultation rooms. Thanks Water Charities! Yaaaaay!
Dear Concubine: You had me at “chorizo”.
Dear Hamimu, my faithful market egg man: I’m so sorry I haven’t visited in awhile. You can blame my parents for sending cat food from America. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Because at the rate she’s scarfing down this Purina Cat Chow, I’ll need to go back to buying eggs within the month.
Dear faithful package senders among my readers: I’m out of chocolate. I repeat, my chocolate stash is empty! Please send reinforcements immediately. Particularly in the form of dark chocolate, heath bars and M&Ms. I’ll send you an honest to goodness letter in thanks, Rwandan postage stamps included. Merci!
Dear boy sitting on the curb, holding out a hand and saying “give me one thousand”: I asked you “kuberiki” which means “why” in Kinyarwanda. Answering “I’m fine, thank you, teacher” in English is not exactly what I was expecting. Nor did it make me want to give you any money. It did however make me laugh all the way to work.
Dear carrot lady: You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!!!!! But, um, where’s this baby I heard so much about for months?...
Dear gecko living in my bathroom: I like having you around. Especially whenever I catch you eating spiders and other bugs. Keep it up, little guy! And I promise I’ll keep Pili out of the bathroom so as to keep you alive; we all know her love of turning lizards into toys/meals.
Dear Glee: You outdid yourself with Season 2, episode 1. Empire state of mind, telephone, AND billionaire. Nice job. Suriously.
Dear imineke: You are the smallest, yummiest, sweetest bananas I’ve ever encountered on this planet. I don’t think twice about scarfing down 6-10 of you in a day. Adding you to my peanut butter sandwiches was the best idea ever. That was until I added you to flour, sugar, water, cinnamon and vanilla and then fried you in oil. Talk about fritter perfection.
Dear itty bitty baby next to me on the bus: You were utterly adorable. So adorable that I didn’t even mind that you spent the entire ride alternating between tugging my pinky finger and pulling my earphone out of my ear.
Dear Rwandans: I’m pretty sure I finally figured out the difference between “to think” (gutekereza) and “to wait” (gutegereza) in Kinyarwanda. So from now on I promise that when you ask why I’m standing at a certain place I will now correctly say “I’m waiting” for my friend instead of “I’m thinking” for my friend.
Dear feet: You’re clean. You’re actually clean. I’m not lying! I’m not just trying to make you feel better. Enjoy it! Dry season is just around the corner…
Dear anonymous staff at an anonymous health center: The mosquito nets were already neatly and perfectly contained in their plastic bags. So, what exactly was the reason for taking them out of the bags, and taking 10 minutes to stuff them into brown paper bags before taking them away??
Dear pool shark at Volcana: You have cost me a lot of pride and a lot of money. But thanks for letting me win that one time, I felt so special.
Dear box of wine thoughtfully gifted to me by the RPCV that I hosted one night: You + Eli + me + season 6 of Weeds + homemade chapatti and curry = a wonderful evening was had by all.
Dear self: It’s perfectly acceptable to feel accomplished when you read two books in two days and cook yourself six wonderful, yummy culinary successes. Keep up the good work!
Dear neighborhood kiddies: I LOVE that you now come to my gate everyday to ask if you can visit the library to study and read. It seriously brings the happiest tears to my eyes. But I won’t be mad if you want to visit and pick avocadoes or help me weed my yard either. And just wait, I fully plan on tricking you into neighborhood dance classes very, very soon.
Dear Pilipili cat: I understand that you’re enthusiastic about my new workout regimen. But could you refrain from attacking my foot every time I do ballet? And maybe not decide to lie on my stomach when I’m doing P90X Ab Ripper? But feel free to join in during Tae Bo, you’ll be one buff kitty in no time!
Dear rainy season: I’m still glad you’re here, promise. But doesn’t your presence mean that I should always have water? I would like an essay (10,000 words or more) on why that one time I went without water at my spigot for almost 5 whole days. As well as a guarantee that it will never happen again. Mk?
Dear Stieg Larsson: You were taken from this world too soon. Especially because you’ve done it again. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. Remarkable. Intriguing. A page turner. Unlike no other. Captivating. Perfect. Shall I go on?
Dear GRE (yes, you, the Graduate Record Examination): Darn you and your 5 year expiration date. I took you in the summer of 2007. Which means you expire in the summer of 2012. This presents a problem considering I was planning to apply for grad school AFTER I got back from Peace Corps. You’ve given me no choice but to apply next year for admission for Fall 2012. That being said, can you please put a good word in for me at the University of Washingon, Tulane, and Columbia? That might make it up to me. Just maybe.
Dear Dad: I’m so utterly sad that I missed being there for your birthday. Like cried a little, sad. I hope it was wonderful. And I promise to make it up to you when you visit in December. LOVE YOU!
Dear two secondary students who were standing in the rain outside the library: I’m so glad that you stared at me. Even more glad when you said hello and asked if you could come inside. And most glad when you went straight for the science textbooks and spent the next 45 minutes flipping through them. That being said, I’m so sorry that I was unable to say yes to your kind request to tutor you in Organic Chemistry. I haven’t taken chemistry since high school, and if I remember correctly I wasn’t that good at it to begin with. But come back soon!
Dear child who I kept hearing say “Amy” as I began walking to work: I heard you. I heard you repeatedly. But WHERE WERE YOU? I looked and looked but could not actually figure out where you were hiding. I’m pretty sure you found this amusing though considering the length and volume of your laughter as I gave up and continued on my way.
Dear patients at Bisate Health Center: It’s official, in a month you should have running water in all of your hospitalization rooms and consultation rooms. Thanks Water Charities! Yaaaaay!
Dear Concubine: You had me at “chorizo”.
Dear Hamimu, my faithful market egg man: I’m so sorry I haven’t visited in awhile. You can blame my parents for sending cat food from America. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Because at the rate she’s scarfing down this Purina Cat Chow, I’ll need to go back to buying eggs within the month.
Dear faithful package senders among my readers: I’m out of chocolate. I repeat, my chocolate stash is empty! Please send reinforcements immediately. Particularly in the form of dark chocolate, heath bars and M&Ms. I’ll send you an honest to goodness letter in thanks, Rwandan postage stamps included. Merci!
Dear boy sitting on the curb, holding out a hand and saying “give me one thousand”: I asked you “kuberiki” which means “why” in Kinyarwanda. Answering “I’m fine, thank you, teacher” in English is not exactly what I was expecting. Nor did it make me want to give you any money. It did however make me laugh all the way to work.
Dear carrot lady: You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!!!!! But, um, where’s this baby I heard so much about for months?...
Dear gecko living in my bathroom: I like having you around. Especially whenever I catch you eating spiders and other bugs. Keep it up, little guy! And I promise I’ll keep Pili out of the bathroom so as to keep you alive; we all know her love of turning lizards into toys/meals.
Dear Glee: You outdid yourself with Season 2, episode 1. Empire state of mind, telephone, AND billionaire. Nice job. Suriously.
Dear imineke: You are the smallest, yummiest, sweetest bananas I’ve ever encountered on this planet. I don’t think twice about scarfing down 6-10 of you in a day. Adding you to my peanut butter sandwiches was the best idea ever. That was until I added you to flour, sugar, water, cinnamon and vanilla and then fried you in oil. Talk about fritter perfection.
Dear itty bitty baby next to me on the bus: You were utterly adorable. So adorable that I didn’t even mind that you spent the entire ride alternating between tugging my pinky finger and pulling my earphone out of my ear.
Dear Rwandans: I’m pretty sure I finally figured out the difference between “to think” (gutekereza) and “to wait” (gutegereza) in Kinyarwanda. So from now on I promise that when you ask why I’m standing at a certain place I will now correctly say “I’m waiting” for my friend instead of “I’m thinking” for my friend.
Dear feet: You’re clean. You’re actually clean. I’m not lying! I’m not just trying to make you feel better. Enjoy it! Dry season is just around the corner…
Dear anonymous staff at an anonymous health center: The mosquito nets were already neatly and perfectly contained in their plastic bags. So, what exactly was the reason for taking them out of the bags, and taking 10 minutes to stuff them into brown paper bags before taking them away??
Dear pool shark at Volcana: You have cost me a lot of pride and a lot of money. But thanks for letting me win that one time, I felt so special.
Dear box of wine thoughtfully gifted to me by the RPCV that I hosted one night: You + Eli + me + season 6 of Weeds + homemade chapatti and curry = a wonderful evening was had by all.
Dear self: It’s perfectly acceptable to feel accomplished when you read two books in two days and cook yourself six wonderful, yummy culinary successes. Keep up the good work!
Dear neighborhood kiddies: I LOVE that you now come to my gate everyday to ask if you can visit the library to study and read. It seriously brings the happiest tears to my eyes. But I won’t be mad if you want to visit and pick avocadoes or help me weed my yard either. And just wait, I fully plan on tricking you into neighborhood dance classes very, very soon.
Friday, November 12, 2010
My kids, meet my library
As I approached my gate at dusk on Sunday I was greeted by the usual sights and sounds: yells of “Amy” and a herd of children skipping and running towards me. The typical questions were asked: whether I had a good weekend, where I was coming from, and if I’d seen Jess (to which one of my favorite gals, Grace, exclaimed “Of course she didn’t see Jess. Jess lives in Kigali and Amy was in Rwamagana for the weekend”. That a girl, Grace). When I asked what they did over the weekend, they all quickly responded that they played and went to church. My follow-up question of if they had studied or read at all was met with blank stares and giggles. This of course, was the response I was expecting, as it provided the perfect opportunity to tell them all about the new library and beg them to visit it. Let’s just say begging wasn’t necessary. At all. As soon as they heard the word “isomero” (library in Kinyarwanda) they started jumping up and down and babbling quickly about kwiga (to study), gusoma (to read) and icyongereza (English). We all agreed they would come to visit on Wednesday, and I locked my gate and retreated into my house to the sounds of their singing and laughing.
Much to my surprise, the next day as I walked to the library after lunch I saw a group of girls who looked surprisingly like my neighborhood kids, walking out of the driveway at the district office. Within two seconds I not only realized they were in fact my girls but they came bounding at me like a pack of antelope. I welcomed them into the library where they scrambled for seats around the large table in the “reading room”. After they had all found a seat, they suddenly became silent and all turned to look at me. It was like they were afraid to touch anything. It was as if they were waiting for me to give them instructions. So I did. “Soma!!” I exclaimed. “Read!!” And pointed them to the two bookshelves brimming with children’s books. They each pulled out a book (or two, or three) and fell back into their chairs, burying their noses into the spines. A couple of the bravest readers came and sat near me, asking if they could read aloud to me. We slowly moved our way through the stories, with me correcting their pronunciation or translating words for them. As the time went on, I listened to the stories coming out of the mouths of the 10 little girls seated all around the room. R.L. Stine’s monsters were scaring a summer camp, Barbie was meeting a deer in the woods, Big Bird was taking photos, Noah was building his ark, and a Kenyan boy named Otoyo was falling out of a tree. I was so proud of their effort, even more proud of how well they read. At one point I began talking to them in Kinyarwanda and Tonya (who has become my personal ten year old translator) scolded me, saying in English “No, at the library we speak English only, Amy!” As a smile spread across my face, a giggle spread across the room.
After every girl had the opportunity to read out loud to me, I announced it was time to go, and glanced around at how disheveled the room was. Yet, within seconds and without me even saying a word the girls went to work cleaning up. They rearranged the chairs and stacked the books into neat piles on the table, before somewhat quietly filing out the door. As I waved goodbye, they animatedly asked me if they could come back again tomorrow, and I’ll never forget how excited they got when I told them they could come back every day.
It was an incredible moment. I finally got to show the kids in my neighborhood where I actually go whenever I tell them I’m going to work. And I got to introduce the first real kids to the library. It was all the more special that these first kids were from my street, my neighborhood, my community. I can’t wait for them to come back. I can’t wait to do health and science lessons with them, and read with them. They are an amazing group of kids, and I’m so thankful that the library is here now, and that I’m able to be a part of it.
Much to my surprise, the next day as I walked to the library after lunch I saw a group of girls who looked surprisingly like my neighborhood kids, walking out of the driveway at the district office. Within two seconds I not only realized they were in fact my girls but they came bounding at me like a pack of antelope. I welcomed them into the library where they scrambled for seats around the large table in the “reading room”. After they had all found a seat, they suddenly became silent and all turned to look at me. It was like they were afraid to touch anything. It was as if they were waiting for me to give them instructions. So I did. “Soma!!” I exclaimed. “Read!!” And pointed them to the two bookshelves brimming with children’s books. They each pulled out a book (or two, or three) and fell back into their chairs, burying their noses into the spines. A couple of the bravest readers came and sat near me, asking if they could read aloud to me. We slowly moved our way through the stories, with me correcting their pronunciation or translating words for them. As the time went on, I listened to the stories coming out of the mouths of the 10 little girls seated all around the room. R.L. Stine’s monsters were scaring a summer camp, Barbie was meeting a deer in the woods, Big Bird was taking photos, Noah was building his ark, and a Kenyan boy named Otoyo was falling out of a tree. I was so proud of their effort, even more proud of how well they read. At one point I began talking to them in Kinyarwanda and Tonya (who has become my personal ten year old translator) scolded me, saying in English “No, at the library we speak English only, Amy!” As a smile spread across my face, a giggle spread across the room.
After every girl had the opportunity to read out loud to me, I announced it was time to go, and glanced around at how disheveled the room was. Yet, within seconds and without me even saying a word the girls went to work cleaning up. They rearranged the chairs and stacked the books into neat piles on the table, before somewhat quietly filing out the door. As I waved goodbye, they animatedly asked me if they could come back again tomorrow, and I’ll never forget how excited they got when I told them they could come back every day.
It was an incredible moment. I finally got to show the kids in my neighborhood where I actually go whenever I tell them I’m going to work. And I got to introduce the first real kids to the library. It was all the more special that these first kids were from my street, my neighborhood, my community. I can’t wait for them to come back. I can’t wait to do health and science lessons with them, and read with them. They are an amazing group of kids, and I’m so thankful that the library is here now, and that I’m able to be a part of it.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Busy Amy + a lot of rain = the weeds have officially taken over my backyard
I didn’t realize how truly busy I’ve been until I had my Rwandan friend, Janviere, and new friend, Betsy, visit my house today. And what made me realize it? The fact that Janviere took one look at the atrocious state of my yard and wide-eyed and open mouthed yelled “Amy!” at me. I looked around, and was immediately embarrassed by the large weeds and overgrown grass that have sprouted up everywhere. Hadn’t I just spent three straight mornings weeding the entire thing? Oh wait, that was a couple of weeks ago. And considering it rains for at least a couple of hours every day these days it’s no surprise that my backyard has turned into a jungle.
So where has the time gone? Mostly I’ve been sucked into the awesome black hole that is the district library. We’ve catalogued all of the books, have sorted almost all of the books and are currently planning our official opening ceremony! More and more people are glancing in the windows and wandering in to see what’s going on with all of these books. I showed up today to see a 12 year old with his nose buried in The Lion King, and by the end of the day two secondary school students had pulled out the Organic Chemistry textbook and asked if I could tutor them.
I’ve also been jumping back into my work with the Access Project. I spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of this week visiting 6 health centers to conduct pharmacy management activities with Zimy, the Access pharmacy specialist. Ever since working for SCMS back in the states I’ve been interested in pharmacies in the developing world, and this week was definitely an immense learning experience for me. We toured stock pharmacies, giving recommendations on their organization and ensuring they didn’t have any expired drugs present. We sat with the distribution pharmacists as they handed out drugs and checked their registers against what they were actually distributing. We retrained some of the pharmacy managers on the quantification formulas they should be using when they reorder drugs from the district pharmacy. And I guess it goes without saying how happy I was to stare at mathematical formulas once again. I’m even going to begin IT training next Monday with the pharmacy manager at the health center in my sector.
Oh, and how could I forget, my first water project was approved!! I should receive the money next week, so I can pass it on to the Director of Bisate Health Center and they can begin putting running water into their hospitalization and consultation rooms. The project has been fully pre-funded through Water Charities Appropriate Projects, but if you’d like to donate money to support it, have a look here!
http://appropriateprojects.com/node/397
On top of all this, tomorrow I’m going to Kigali to have the first planning meeting to bring more needed books into Rwanda. The Rwanda Books for Peace Project has already brought more than 20,000 books into schools, community centers and health clinics around Rwanda, and my group of health volunteers wants to continue this amazing project. I’ll have a lot more information about this in the future, particularly since we’ll be needing to raise a bit of money to cover the shipping costs for the books.
So I guess that explains the current state of my backyard, but considering how busy and happy I am right now I don’t mind too much. Though, that didn’t stop me from grinning from ear to ear and shouting “Yego!” (yes) when Janviere asked if I’d want her to come over on Saturday morning to help me weed.
So where has the time gone? Mostly I’ve been sucked into the awesome black hole that is the district library. We’ve catalogued all of the books, have sorted almost all of the books and are currently planning our official opening ceremony! More and more people are glancing in the windows and wandering in to see what’s going on with all of these books. I showed up today to see a 12 year old with his nose buried in The Lion King, and by the end of the day two secondary school students had pulled out the Organic Chemistry textbook and asked if I could tutor them.
I’ve also been jumping back into my work with the Access Project. I spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of this week visiting 6 health centers to conduct pharmacy management activities with Zimy, the Access pharmacy specialist. Ever since working for SCMS back in the states I’ve been interested in pharmacies in the developing world, and this week was definitely an immense learning experience for me. We toured stock pharmacies, giving recommendations on their organization and ensuring they didn’t have any expired drugs present. We sat with the distribution pharmacists as they handed out drugs and checked their registers against what they were actually distributing. We retrained some of the pharmacy managers on the quantification formulas they should be using when they reorder drugs from the district pharmacy. And I guess it goes without saying how happy I was to stare at mathematical formulas once again. I’m even going to begin IT training next Monday with the pharmacy manager at the health center in my sector.
Oh, and how could I forget, my first water project was approved!! I should receive the money next week, so I can pass it on to the Director of Bisate Health Center and they can begin putting running water into their hospitalization and consultation rooms. The project has been fully pre-funded through Water Charities Appropriate Projects, but if you’d like to donate money to support it, have a look here!
http://appropriateprojects.com/node/397
On top of all this, tomorrow I’m going to Kigali to have the first planning meeting to bring more needed books into Rwanda. The Rwanda Books for Peace Project has already brought more than 20,000 books into schools, community centers and health clinics around Rwanda, and my group of health volunteers wants to continue this amazing project. I’ll have a lot more information about this in the future, particularly since we’ll be needing to raise a bit of money to cover the shipping costs for the books.
So I guess that explains the current state of my backyard, but considering how busy and happy I am right now I don’t mind too much. Though, that didn’t stop me from grinning from ear to ear and shouting “Yego!” (yes) when Janviere asked if I’d want her to come over on Saturday morning to help me weed.
Riding the waves of the Cycle of Adjustment
They warned us about it in training. The dreaded “Cycle of Adjustment”. It’s the emotional ups and downs that pretty much everyone goes through when they move to a culture much different than their own. Did I ever think that I could somehow avoid it? Hell no. But did I think my life would actually mirror the Cycle of Adjustment chart that they included in our health manual? Not particularly. And yet, here I am, 8 months into my 27 months in Rwanda, and like clockwork I can map my experiences and feelings to this tattered piece of paper in the back of a notebook.
The beginning is the honeymoon phase, the initial euphoria that accompanies arriving in a new country: meeting new people, having new experiences, learning a new language, a new culture and a new way of living. I lived it, I loved it. Everything about Rwanda was beautiful and intriguing; everyday brought a new adventure, a new story.
This “high” followed me from training in Nyanza to my site in Musanze. I setup my house, determined to make it a home. I explored my new town, wandering into store after store and greeting everyone I passed on the street. I made new friends, both Muzungu and Rwandan, and shared incredible experiences, from hiking up a mountain, to attending a baptism, to doing yard work together. I worked hard at my job, going to health center after health center, attempting to understand how they worked and where I would fit in. I experimented with cooking and patted myself on the back every time I successfully created another culinary masterpiece on my simple kerosene stove. I laughed my way through everything, including the communication and cultural barriers, and mistakes I made while completing such simple tasks as washing my clothes, cleaning my house and paying my electricity bill. I let my neighborhood kids visit often, even if it only resulted in them jabbering away to me in Kinyarwanda while they climbed my avocado tree and posed for photos. I was wide-eyed and overwhelmed, but busy and content.
Then it hit me. Right between months 5 and 6. Culture shock. And it hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly it felt as if my primary activities were eating, sleeping, movie watching and reading. I followed my boss around on health center visits like a sad puppy, unable to understand what was being said or what he was doing, let alone what I should be doing. I felt like I couldn’t speak a word of Kinyarwanda, and understood even less. I avoided the food market like the plague, and attempted to make my visits as short and embarrassment-free as possible, which meant greeting people but not lingering (since lingering meant actually having to fumble through a conversation in Kinyarwanda) and probably paying more for food than I ever should have. I told my neighborhood kids I was busy despite not having anything to do, and often hid in my house when I heard someone knock on my gate. This mood coincided with my largest intake of macaroni and cheese and chocolate to date. Vegetables? I’m not sure I knew what those were. I didn’t want to leave my house, but could barely stand the guilt I was feeling by staying in my house. Reading the symptoms of culture shock was like checking off a grocery list of my emotions: homesickness, boredom, withdrawal, oversleeping, overeating, irritability (did I mention I had the desire to hit a child? More than once.), loss of ability to work effectively. Check, check, check! Of course, all of this was compounded by the fact that I was taking the anti-malarial medication Mefloquine, which I’m fairly certain was slowly making me go insane (can you say hallucinations?!).
And then, almost overnight (or more like about two weeks after I switched malaria meds) things changed again. This time for the better. Much better. Work began to pick up, as I conducted data management activities and started writing grants to bring running water to health centers lacking it. The books arrived for the library and I spent days cataloguing, sorting and planning science experiments for the library’s future “Science Days”. I once again made a conscious effort to greet strangers and visit friends I’d been neglecting. I went to the market far more often, forcing myself to stop and talk to the vendors, to the point where people smile and wave when they see me, know my name, and give me extremely fair prices on their food (and even sometimes give me free things!). I let the kids enter my gate once again and we’ve spent numerous visits singing and dancing, drawing pictures and making Play-Doh animals, jumping rope and teaching each other games. I began cooking again, giving up mac&cheese out of a box for spicy curries and homemade chapatti. One of the biggest differences came when I realized I was beginning to really understand and speak Kinyarwanda. I was having conversations with my neighborhood kids and even asked a pharmacist to switch from speaking French to Kinyarwanda because I could understand more of it.
So yes, I guess I’m on the “upswing” as they say. I’m finally feeling at home here, finally beginning to feel accepted by my neighbors, colleagues and community. I’m positive, I’m healthy, I’m busy, and I’m motivated. I have so many things to look forward to, especially Thanksgiving with my Musanze family and a visit from my American family over the Christmas holiday. 8 months down, 19 to go. The cycle of adjustment says months 12-14 are the absolute worst, so stayed tuned. Until then, I’ll be here at the high point, enjoying life “mu Rwanda”.
The beginning is the honeymoon phase, the initial euphoria that accompanies arriving in a new country: meeting new people, having new experiences, learning a new language, a new culture and a new way of living. I lived it, I loved it. Everything about Rwanda was beautiful and intriguing; everyday brought a new adventure, a new story.
This “high” followed me from training in Nyanza to my site in Musanze. I setup my house, determined to make it a home. I explored my new town, wandering into store after store and greeting everyone I passed on the street. I made new friends, both Muzungu and Rwandan, and shared incredible experiences, from hiking up a mountain, to attending a baptism, to doing yard work together. I worked hard at my job, going to health center after health center, attempting to understand how they worked and where I would fit in. I experimented with cooking and patted myself on the back every time I successfully created another culinary masterpiece on my simple kerosene stove. I laughed my way through everything, including the communication and cultural barriers, and mistakes I made while completing such simple tasks as washing my clothes, cleaning my house and paying my electricity bill. I let my neighborhood kids visit often, even if it only resulted in them jabbering away to me in Kinyarwanda while they climbed my avocado tree and posed for photos. I was wide-eyed and overwhelmed, but busy and content.
Then it hit me. Right between months 5 and 6. Culture shock. And it hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly it felt as if my primary activities were eating, sleeping, movie watching and reading. I followed my boss around on health center visits like a sad puppy, unable to understand what was being said or what he was doing, let alone what I should be doing. I felt like I couldn’t speak a word of Kinyarwanda, and understood even less. I avoided the food market like the plague, and attempted to make my visits as short and embarrassment-free as possible, which meant greeting people but not lingering (since lingering meant actually having to fumble through a conversation in Kinyarwanda) and probably paying more for food than I ever should have. I told my neighborhood kids I was busy despite not having anything to do, and often hid in my house when I heard someone knock on my gate. This mood coincided with my largest intake of macaroni and cheese and chocolate to date. Vegetables? I’m not sure I knew what those were. I didn’t want to leave my house, but could barely stand the guilt I was feeling by staying in my house. Reading the symptoms of culture shock was like checking off a grocery list of my emotions: homesickness, boredom, withdrawal, oversleeping, overeating, irritability (did I mention I had the desire to hit a child? More than once.), loss of ability to work effectively. Check, check, check! Of course, all of this was compounded by the fact that I was taking the anti-malarial medication Mefloquine, which I’m fairly certain was slowly making me go insane (can you say hallucinations?!).
And then, almost overnight (or more like about two weeks after I switched malaria meds) things changed again. This time for the better. Much better. Work began to pick up, as I conducted data management activities and started writing grants to bring running water to health centers lacking it. The books arrived for the library and I spent days cataloguing, sorting and planning science experiments for the library’s future “Science Days”. I once again made a conscious effort to greet strangers and visit friends I’d been neglecting. I went to the market far more often, forcing myself to stop and talk to the vendors, to the point where people smile and wave when they see me, know my name, and give me extremely fair prices on their food (and even sometimes give me free things!). I let the kids enter my gate once again and we’ve spent numerous visits singing and dancing, drawing pictures and making Play-Doh animals, jumping rope and teaching each other games. I began cooking again, giving up mac&cheese out of a box for spicy curries and homemade chapatti. One of the biggest differences came when I realized I was beginning to really understand and speak Kinyarwanda. I was having conversations with my neighborhood kids and even asked a pharmacist to switch from speaking French to Kinyarwanda because I could understand more of it.
So yes, I guess I’m on the “upswing” as they say. I’m finally feeling at home here, finally beginning to feel accepted by my neighbors, colleagues and community. I’m positive, I’m healthy, I’m busy, and I’m motivated. I have so many things to look forward to, especially Thanksgiving with my Musanze family and a visit from my American family over the Christmas holiday. 8 months down, 19 to go. The cycle of adjustment says months 12-14 are the absolute worst, so stayed tuned. Until then, I’ll be here at the high point, enjoying life “mu Rwanda”.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Ibyishimo (happiness) – Not to be confused with ibishyimbo (beans)
So I must tell you all that I currently find myself in an amazing mood. Actually, I’m probably at one of my highest and happiest points since arriving in Rwanda. I’m extremely busy, I’m healthy, I have professional and personal future prospects, many things to look forward to, am learning so much every moment of every day and am just very happy. And yet, it has been ages since I told you what is making me happy. So without further ado:
Things that make me happy these days:
- The day my tomato lady gave me two extra tomatoes. Free.
- Realizing I’m finally starting to understand the jibberish that comes out of my neighborhood kiddos mouths.
- When we finally reached the exciting conclusion of “Last Photo Standing” on my bedroom wall. It (ironically) came down to a photo of me and Carol taken at the National Geographic Museum with a tiger in the background, and a photo of Lucy, wearing a gorilla mask, Bud Light in one hand and a thumbs up with the other. And the winner is…Jigga the Gorilla. Obviously. (Don’t worry, Miss Chow, keep reading below…)
- Spending hours alphabetizing books at the library and squealing with delight as I discovered such childhood gems as “When You Give a Mouse a Cookie”, “The Hot and Cold Summer”, “Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel” and all things Beverly Cleary and R.L. Stine. And simultaneously pondering how books such as “Big Dummies of the Bible and How You Can Avoid Being a Dummy Too”, “Hillbilly Cookin: Mountaineer Style” and “Men Who Hate Women &The Women Who Love Them” ever got published.
- Playing ridiculous junior high party games that I was terrible at back in junior high. And am still apparently terrible at now.
- Having a schedule that allows me to sleep for over 12 hours a night.
- Salsa dancing in Kigali with actual salsa dancers.
- Cat food arriving from America so that I don’t have to bother Hamimu, my egg guy, twice a week, and spend just as much on my cat’s food as I do on my own.
- Mutzig Fest. Beer, food, music, friends, dancing, insanity.
- Rain. Torrential, never ending, glorious rain.
- The fact that the rain is slowly scaring away all the haze so I can once again see the unfathomably beautiful volcanoes as soon as I step foot outside my front gate.
- The way a certain Rwandan says “I’m just calling to greet you” when they ring me on their way home from work.
- Reading the word “phlegm” in a New Yorker article and giggling to myself as I think back to that bet I won senior year of high school. (Muah, C.J.!)
- Brainstorming project ideas, writing proposals, feeling like the ball is definitely beginning to roll around here.
- Making and devouring SUSHI from scratch. In Rwanda. Cucumber/avocado rolls. Heaven. (Thanks again, Genna!!) Oh and ice cream sundae birthday parties.
- Every word that Stieg Larsson wrote in “The Girl Who Played with Fire”. Genius. Pure genius.
- Getting a super special secret package delivery of Jeremiah Weed Sweet Tea vodka. (Oh Concubine, you know me too well!)
- Having my iPod freeze, sending me into a panic attack thinking about life without music, only to wake up to a working iPod and realizing all is well in the world.
- Doing P90x exercises with my 3 best friends; especially halfway through, when, as Jenny would say “Amy just starts doing ballet, I start doing yoga, Sonya starts acting like a fool and Jessi’s still actually doing P90x”.
- Chilean miners rescue! VIVA CHILE!
- Realizing my parents and Big Bro are visiting Rwanda (and Tanzania...and Zanzibar!) in only two months. TWO MONTHS! AAHH!
Things that make me happy these days:
- The day my tomato lady gave me two extra tomatoes. Free.
- Realizing I’m finally starting to understand the jibberish that comes out of my neighborhood kiddos mouths.
- When we finally reached the exciting conclusion of “Last Photo Standing” on my bedroom wall. It (ironically) came down to a photo of me and Carol taken at the National Geographic Museum with a tiger in the background, and a photo of Lucy, wearing a gorilla mask, Bud Light in one hand and a thumbs up with the other. And the winner is…Jigga the Gorilla. Obviously. (Don’t worry, Miss Chow, keep reading below…)
- Spending hours alphabetizing books at the library and squealing with delight as I discovered such childhood gems as “When You Give a Mouse a Cookie”, “The Hot and Cold Summer”, “Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel” and all things Beverly Cleary and R.L. Stine. And simultaneously pondering how books such as “Big Dummies of the Bible and How You Can Avoid Being a Dummy Too”, “Hillbilly Cookin: Mountaineer Style” and “Men Who Hate Women &The Women Who Love Them” ever got published.
- Playing ridiculous junior high party games that I was terrible at back in junior high. And am still apparently terrible at now.
- Having a schedule that allows me to sleep for over 12 hours a night.
- Salsa dancing in Kigali with actual salsa dancers.
- Cat food arriving from America so that I don’t have to bother Hamimu, my egg guy, twice a week, and spend just as much on my cat’s food as I do on my own.
- Mutzig Fest. Beer, food, music, friends, dancing, insanity.
- Rain. Torrential, never ending, glorious rain.
- The fact that the rain is slowly scaring away all the haze so I can once again see the unfathomably beautiful volcanoes as soon as I step foot outside my front gate.
- The way a certain Rwandan says “I’m just calling to greet you” when they ring me on their way home from work.
- Reading the word “phlegm” in a New Yorker article and giggling to myself as I think back to that bet I won senior year of high school. (Muah, C.J.!)
- Brainstorming project ideas, writing proposals, feeling like the ball is definitely beginning to roll around here.
- Making and devouring SUSHI from scratch. In Rwanda. Cucumber/avocado rolls. Heaven. (Thanks again, Genna!!) Oh and ice cream sundae birthday parties.
- Every word that Stieg Larsson wrote in “The Girl Who Played with Fire”. Genius. Pure genius.
- Getting a super special secret package delivery of Jeremiah Weed Sweet Tea vodka. (Oh Concubine, you know me too well!)
- Having my iPod freeze, sending me into a panic attack thinking about life without music, only to wake up to a working iPod and realizing all is well in the world.
- Doing P90x exercises with my 3 best friends; especially halfway through, when, as Jenny would say “Amy just starts doing ballet, I start doing yoga, Sonya starts acting like a fool and Jessi’s still actually doing P90x”.
- Chilean miners rescue! VIVA CHILE!
- Realizing my parents and Big Bro are visiting Rwanda (and Tanzania...and Zanzibar!) in only two months. TWO MONTHS! AAHH!
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