Muraho my faithful blog readers, and happy 2011 to you and yours!! As you know, I happily spent the holidays traveling through Rwanda and Tanzania with my family and then up to Kenya with two of my Peace Corps friends. It was in a word...well, honestly there’s not one word that could describe the trip. It was a once in a lifetime experience, from beginning to end, with breathtaking scenery, scrumptious food and the most wonderful hot showers of my life. But how to explain this all to you? How to describe it without it turning into a novel? Well what better way than another installment of “Dear”? But first, just a little about what we did, when and where.
December 18th – My family arrived in Rwanda where I whisked them up to Musanze for unfortunately one of the worst dinners of the entire trip.
December 19th – Finally saw the mountain gorillas!! (with my brother, Jessi and Sonya). And then introduced my family to the neighborhood kids. Chaos ensued.
December 20th – Showed my family around Musanze – highlights included the library, a health center and the market.
December 21st – Drove down to Nyanza to show my family the Peace Corps training center and spend time with my host family. My mom cried when she met my host mom (of course), my host sister cried when she couldn’t have more than one lollipop (of course) and my brother entertained my host brother, Clement, with the art of the Hacky Sack.
December 22nd – A fairly relaxing day in Kigali, visiting the genocide memorial, Peace Corps office, and Nakumatt before eating dinner at Heaven (which happened to include a spontaneous Intore dance performance – couldn’t have planned it better myself).
December 23rd-24th – We moved onto Tanzania where we toured Serengeti National Park and saw our first wild animals far away and up close.
December 25th-26th- Lake Ndutu, just outside of Serengeti National Park. This was by far my favorite part of the safari, as were able to get closer to animals than ever before and spend Christmas at a wonderful lodge. Oh and can’t forget breakfast with cheetahs and almost getting charged by an elephant.
December 27th – Ngorongoro Crater – Striking scenery, but a little bit of a disappointment after Serengeti and Ndutu…until a rhino walked across the road in front of us.
December 28th – Lake Manyara – Don’t think we ever saw the lake, but we did see hippos out of their hippo pool.
December 29th-January 2nd – ZANZIBAR! We spent two days at the southern end of the island at Fumba Beach, sunning, swimming, drinking, eating and reading; then to Stone Town to ring in the New Year, get lost in the labyrinth of alleys and shops and buy up all the souvenirs they offered. Unfortunately it was here where I had to part with my family – they returned to the states and I joined Jessi and Sonya to head to…
January 3rd-6th- Dar Es Salaam. Sadly, I was stricken with a terrible ear infection and spent the majority of the trip lying around watching movies. Luckily, my friends Wendy and Peter generously welcomed us into their home and pampered us with air conditioning, hot showers, a huge tv, and our first taste of real sushi since leaving America. (Thank you, thank you, again!!)
January 7th-10th – We spent our last days of vacation in Mombasa, Kenya, wandering the streets, eating tasty food, and pretty much buying out a fabric store. Oh, and I was violated by a crazy lady on the street, and people actually cared. Thanks, Kenya, you rock.
And now…Dear…
Dear Tanzania and Kenya: You sure do have a little thing like “hospitality” down. I felt like a princess from the moment I arrived until the moment I left. Keep up the good work, and maybe send some people over to share your talents with Rwanda?
Dear elephants: I never knew how you ate, sweeping your feet across the ground to break the grass. It’s fascinating, purely fascinating. And I’ve got video to prove it.
Dear Rwanda: So you know what I found out on vacation? Other countries use this thing called “spice” when they cook. It miraculously gives the food this thing they call “flavor”. Maybe we should give it a try, huh?
Dear Lake Ndutu: You call that a lake? Large puddle seems like a more appropriate term. But the flamingoes around your edge made up for it. As did the ability to go off-roading with our guide, watch a female cheetah ward off the advances of two males, witness sibling rivalry within a pride of lions, and of course, get nearly charged by a mama elephant.
Dear lioness at Ngorongoro Crater: You totally stalked that herd of zebras and wildebeest for hours…and yet sadly you didn’t kill a single one. I’ll admit, I took great photos, but not only did we become slightly bored, but you must have been super, super hungry.
Dear Crater Forest Tented Camp: You were by far the coolest place I’ve ever stayed in my entire life. A permanent tent, with a balcony and rocking chairs overlooking an expansive valley. Wonderful food. Beyond friendly and helpful staff. Pre-dinner drinks around a crackling fire. BUT…maybe you should have thought about the location a little bit more, because the road to get to you is literally the worst road I’ve driven on in my entire life. 45 minutes of hell might not be worth it, especially that day we forgot our lunches and had to drive…all the way back.
Dear Toto: So on one of our drives through the Serengeti it began to rain. Andy and I couldn’t resist the urge to turn on “Africa” and giggle as we heard “Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti” and sing along with “I bless the rains down in Africa!” Cliché, I know. But also one of the most hilarious moments of the trip.
Dear giraffes: Watching you run is by far one of the coolest things I’ve ever witnessed. So graceful, it’s almost as if it’s in slow motion. I thought it would be awkward, but it was just…beautiful.
Dear dung beetles: When I saw you in the hallway outside our hotel room I thought you were ugly and partially terrifying. Then I saw you on the side of the road, rolling around a ball of dung, and you were instantly adorable and comical. Who knew, all it took was a little poo?
Dear baboons: The way you carry your babies on your back or under your stomach as you walk is awesome and endearing. But, you smell. Really bad. And your constant screaming is really annoying. Maybe you should work on more cute baby carrying and more bathing and less fighting, mk?
Dear Mama Lion with her two cubs: You and your babies were SO CUTE! And the way they just kept following after you, trying desperately to keep up with you on their short stubby legs, constantly falling in the tall grass. I couldn’t help clutching my heart and exclaiming “awwww, I want one”. But then you scared the crap out of me by looking back and (in my mind) giving me the “if you touch my babies I’ll tear you apart, woman” stare. They’re all yours, trust me.
Dear red bananas found in a village outside of Arusha: The whole safari, David kept trying to convince me that “red bananas” existed, and that they were the best bananas I would ever eat. I didn’t believe him, and promised him that they were not better than the bananas I eat in Rwanda. And then he materialized you. I must admit, you were darn good. Not as good as imineke, but a valiant effort on your end.
Dear Zanzibar: You are one of the most gloriously beautiful places I’ve been to in my entire life. Thank you for existing.
Dear pool at Fumba Beach Lodge: You were splendid, especially at sundown when the Zanzibarian air cooled down, but you were still warm from being baked by the sun all day. However, I can’t help but believe you’re partially to blame for my dreadful ear infection. I’ll expect an apology if you ever want me to return.
Dear Baobab Spa: The massage was good. But I’m pretty sure it would have been better if I had not been in excruciating pain because of my ear. Regardless, you were still totally worth the $50.
Dear Beyt-al-Chai in Stone Town: You win the best hotel award thanks to your great location, brilliant charm, arctic air conditioning, impeccably helpful staff, free internet, and the best meal I had on my entire trip: red snapper with mango and caramelized onion, with breadfruit gnocchi in a coconut curry sauce and vegetables.
Dear Forodhani Gardens: Gotta love outdoor food markets, especially one with the freshest fish I’ve ever tasted. Barracuda was especially tasty, and the shrimp, and the fresh sugarcane juice. The guys who work there are pretty insane though (especially OBAMA man), as was your so-called “pizza”.
Dear New Years Eve: You could have proved to be super lame considering we almost spent it outside walking to a bar in Stone Town. But luckily we made it in time to clink a Tusker at midnight, take some ridiculous photos and then find the epic dance party at Mercury’s (named after none other than Freddy Mercury) where we danced the night away and met…
Dear 12 year old dancing machine MJ wanna-be: You have skill. Talent and skill. Why are you wasting it at a local bar on Zanzibar? And actually, what were you doing at a bar until 2 in the morning anyways? Isn’t that past your bedtime? Then again, if you hadn’t been there, my brother wouldn’t have had the opportunity to challenge you to a dance-off...and lose miserably. But goodness, it sure was entertaining. (Heart you, Big Bro!)
Dear taxi driver in Dar: You are inept, incompetent, useless, mean, impatient and borderline insane. Lying to us about knowing where you were going, fighting with us over a price we had already agreed to, never actually taking us to our destination, and then threatening us when we wouldn’t pay you. Holy crap, I have nothing more to say to you. UGH.
Dear sushi: You were just as good as I remembered you, and then some. Can’t wait till my next fix! Love you! *Muah*
Dear ear: You suck. You caused me to lose out on valuable vacation time exploring Stone Town and Dar Es Salaam. You kept me from sleeping and caused me more pain than I thought I could feel from something as dumb as an ear infection. You’re better now, and for that I thank you, but please never do that to me again, ok?
Dear cilantro: I still hate you. And for some reason Tanzania thought that it should put you in many, many things. Salads, soups, side dishes. WHY?!
Dear Jolly Juice: I’d never heard of you before, but after our 15 hour bus ride with you everywhere, in the cargo area, in the luggage racks and blocking the entire aisle, I kind of hate you, but also kind of want to taste your orangey goodness.
Dear Lotus Hotel in Mombasa: You will totally always have a special place in my heart. You took care of us in so many ways, especially by giving us a free nights stay when we didn’t show up until 5 in the morning our first night. Asante sana!!
Dear Chunkky Chicken: You were at a food court! In Mombasa! This in itself is amazing, but then we saw you. Truthfully, though, the only reason we chose your food was because of the extra “K” in your name. But you didn’t disappoint, that was a darn good chicken sandwich. Or maybe anything would have tasted good considering we hadn’t really eaten in close to 24 hours…
Dear Dormans Coffee Shop: We knew we’d reached civilization when we walked past you and exclaimed “Look, a coffee shop…with white people!” Then within minutes we noticed the girls at the table behind us were using distinctive “Peace Corps lingo”. I mean seriously, COS, VAC, site, village. So of course we had to be creepers and interrupt and quickly had our entire time in Mombasa planned out. We have you to thank for this. Oh, and your coffee wasn’t too bad either.
Dear almost every merchant in Mombasa: CHILL OUT. Us saying “no thanks” was usually actually a polite way of saying “your shirt is ugly”. But it should have ended there. So, there was no need to chase us down the street, grabbing our arms and still screaming “best price, best price, BEST PRICE!” because seriously, the shirt was ugly. Oh, and we really didn’t want the scarf either.
Dear Biashara Street: Your fabric offerings were amazing. Overwhelming, yet amazing. Thanks for letting us buy out that store on the corner. My colorless room thanks you.
Dear crazy lady who felt the need to goose me on the street in Mombasa: WTF?! But then again, the shopkeepers told me that the day before you had a bit a girl, so I guess it could have been worse.
Dear Tarboush: One word…YUMMY!!! So yummy we might have had dinner at you two nights in a row. What can I say, we’re creatures of habit.
Dear Liv and Lexi: It was an absolutely wonderful trip, so glad I could share it with you ladies!!!!
Dear Rwanda: I’m baaaaaack. Let’s get back down to business, shall we?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sending love...
Hello all!! I promise that an actual blog post about my holiday adventures is on the way! But until then I wanted to let you know that 1) I'm alive and safe and back at site, attempting to get back into work mode, but also preparing for my upcoming birthday and 2) I was finally able to get a PO Box in my town, which means I won't have to lug your enormous and yet, extremely generous packages all the way from Kigali anymore :)
So from now on send any letters, packages and other love to:
Amy Studenic
BP 209
Musanze, Rwanda
East Africa
The East Africa isn't necessary, but I've heard that some confused postal workers around the world aren't exactly sure where Rwanda is. Go figure. Haha.
So from now on send any letters, packages and other love to:
Amy Studenic
BP 209
Musanze, Rwanda
East Africa
The East Africa isn't necessary, but I've heard that some confused postal workers around the world aren't exactly sure where Rwanda is. Go figure. Haha.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Dear…
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!!
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!!
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.
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