What's it like to leave Rwanda? Bittersweet. For the past few weeks I've been saying goodbyes. There was the party at EP-Rubona where I gave five speeches. Each teacher spoke, the sector head and pastor spoke, the Headteacher gifted me an Agaseke basket and I shared that day with Emmanuel who had come with me to start painting the mural. Cyriaque had the reference letter, the evaluation and the goal setting chart completed which is a really positive development. My 22 posters and bags of didactic math material were in a box in the corner of the staffroom. Bittersweet. I had a very good meeting with the Country Director last week where we debriefed about a lot of things- most of which never saw airtime on this blog. I gave a binder of handover notes to my co-worker so that the next volunteer in Kamonyi will have some reference material. The Art Club t-shirts arrived, a few sizes too big but I like knowing that someday down the line, those shirts'll end up in the market or recycled around Rwanda. Even though it won't be continuing in the manner I'd hoped, it's a good feeling that it existed and the t-shirt can attest to that. Leaving means doing everything "one last time"; last mzungu dinner, last moto ride, last trip into Kigali to run errands, last visit with VSO staff, last moments with JeanPierre, Emmanuel, Media, Marie.. I had a wonderful experience last night at Procar's alimentation. Procar and Methode are pictured at right. Since day one in Gitarama, Procar was the kindest storeowner and he soon became my go-to shop and then my friend. He hosted a party for me last night and in attendance were all my favorite local friends. Kate, who wrote her book with me, Alphonse, my moto teacher, Deus my kinyarwanda tutor, Destin and his family-our neighbours, the 20 or so Art Club favourites, Denise- Karen's friend, Louise and Bruno and Joseph- Christi's friends, Eric and Cadette from the bar, my mzungu friends, Emmanuel and JeanPaul and Scholastique and my former domestique Delphine, Marie and little JeanPaul...it was a moving an emotional evening. Speeches and gifts were given, there were hugs and a few tears. I have to recount what Destin said to me: "Go home and greet your father, Rebecca. Tell him thank you for putting you into this world." When I went this morning to pick up some groceries, Procar gave me a DVD with pictures from last night's events set to music. It was really touching.
This morning I visited Marie at her store and gave her some clothes. She gave me an Agaseke basket (if you're counting that's 5 so far). I visited JeanPierre one last time, he had two Cokes ready for me and I gave him my fuzzy blanket and a globe to show him where Toronto is in comparison to Gitarama. Bittersweet; hard to walk away from that one. Hopefully I can correspond through letters and packages but realistically it will be difficult to keep in touch- language barriers and time won't be kind to our relationships. I do envision returning to Rwanda one day and I picture walking down my old street- maybe it will be a few years from now and the children will have grown (and learned English!) I have given my guard Emmanuel strict instructions to check in on the boys from time to time and see if Marie needs anything. (I know he'll do it.) She actually filled the basket with beans for me. I felt like telling her "No, save them. Sell them. Don't give them to me" when Emmanuel patiently pointed out that she was giving me a blessing and I should let her.
Maybe when I visit EP-Rubona Emmanuel will still be teaching- he has taught for 40 years and in fact used to teach the Headteacher Cyriaque at one point. Will Daniel be training others in methodology? Will Claude and Francois and Fils and JeanPierre still be the polite, sweet and kind boys and will the next few years be kinder to them? Will Marie's shop still be running and will JeanPaul have started to speak? It hurts to leave but I know it would hurt six weeks from now, six months from now- whenever.
On the whole, I look back at my pre-departure and realize I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I reviewed the first few months with a friend the other day and we memory-walked through the experiences. I'm glad to have kept somewhat of a record by blogging, but there are tons of stories which didn't make it to air. In the VSO evaluation we're asked what has changed for us professionally. Answer: I really enjoy methodology training and hope that I can continue to work in education within this dynamic context. (FYI: I got offered a job as an English Language Teacher Trainer in Ethiopia but I won't be pursuing it). We're also asked what's changed personally. Answer: EVERYTHING. The community I found here in Rwanda is like no other place I've lived. People depend on, care about, rely on and look after one another. I hope that wherever I choose to live next, I can find a similar environment. I hope that my family and I come to learn how to look after one another as well. I hope I never take my friends, or my health or my belongings or my good fortune for granted, EVER.
When Evelyn comes running up the street in her school uniform, her bright, full smile and glowing eyes greeting me with pure love- it's a rush like no other. She doesn't want anything from me, she's just an eight year old girl who enjoys my company and I hers. The little Art Club that began with just one boy and some paints has become something and I am a little disappointed I couldn't put enough in place for it to continue. Perhaps it will anyway, informally.
Looking back on the work, I'm glad for it. Looking back on the relationships, I'm blessed for it. It would be neglectful to not look back also on the fantastic opportunities I've had to experience East Africa. There was the weekend in Kampala by myself last August school break. The two weeks in Zanzibar during November school break. The impromptu trip to Nairobi over Christmas break, the 24 hour "let's go to Bujumbura so I can say I've been to Burundi" trip last weekend and finally- the ultimate adventure this past weekend: WHITEWATER RAFTING DOWN THE NILE in Jinja, Uganda!! Before coming to Rwanda, I knew very little of Africa and was downright intimidated by the dark continent. Now I feel able to handle just about any situation and am quite certain there's a whole world out there to explore, cultures to learn from, unmet friends and a world of new experiences. I recall Robert Frost's poem about choosing the road less travelled and being better for it. And then there's the cartoon on my wall with a little guy standing in front of a crossroads sign entitled "Your life" and one arrow points to AVERAGE and one arrow points to MEMORABLE.. which path would you choose?
I'll sign off now, perhaps a few more pictures will get posted but I think this'll be my final blog. Thanks for accompanying me on this journey. Be well,
Becky
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
All that you can't leave behind...
As I wind down my time here in Rwanda, there are a lot of thoughts crowding my mind. I’m ready. I may or may not live in Africa again. How do I keep in touch with the Art Club kids? I am planning my future but also reminiscing a fair bit about this very challenging year. I wouldn’t trade it for anything but it’s been quite hard.
My last little project’s name is Roger. He is my three and a half year old neighbor and today I met his mother Francoise. Roger appears to be blind, or atleast his eyes are clouded over and grey. I want to take Roger to meet Piet, the Belgian eye surgeon friend of ours. Today Roger tried to follow me home. When I tried to send him back to his mum, he toddled after me again. Finally, picking him up and taking him over to his mum, Roger did the most touching and trusting thing- he laid his head on my shoulder. Some logistical questions: does Piet have time to meet him? Is his condition correctable? Do I have enough Kinyarwanda to convince Francoise to come with me to Kabgayi Hospital? Can this happen in the short amount of time I have left here?
Yesterday in the market, Karen and I met a young woman with a very deformed baby. He looked like half of a Siamese twin as his head was caved in down the middle and his eyes very wideset. As per all the handicapped people here, she was begging for money on his behalf. My response hasn’t changed since day one. I spoke with her, asked her questions, shook her hand, patted the baby’s arm and the most touching thing happened. For a moment, she stopped being a desperate beggar and turned into a loving mother. I asked her the baby’s name. Tomas, she said, and with that reponse a flicker of pride or love or something flashed from behind her eyes. Karen and I discussed this interaction afterwards and had differing views. How tragic it was to have such an enormous deformity and probably no hope for a normal life. Or… how amazing that this very young mother is choosing to care for him, love him and has decided not to leave him somewhere, abandoned.
I have a busy couple of weeks. After a goal-setting meeting at my model school, I will try and draft a strategic chart in hopes that the staff can set towards accomplishing some of these goals after I go. Emmanuel will buy the paints and I will take him to the school where I have decided that my farewell gift to them is to have Ema paint a mural on the wall of the school. The previous short-term volunteer bought them a cow. I don’t have that kind of cash but 20 years from now- especially if I pick the right paints- the cow’ll be gone and perhaps the mural will still be there.
Kate’s book is finished. A colleague from the Program Office, Noel (he is in fact the janitor and has offered me nothing but kindness since day one) helped me to bind three copies. I’ll meet Kate later this week and give her what we started out creating back in July- her completed memoir.
We are going to make a sign that reads “Chez Marie” for the front of Marie’s store. If you scroll back to my earliest photos you can see Marie, looking very disheveled and dusty with a little JeanPaul in her arms last May, standing in front of her previous address; a rundown home. The Marie of today is a glowing, youthful entrepreneur and has taken ALL the initiative to get her store up and going. It is such a pleasant sight. JeanPaul is walking and mischevious as ever, never venturing more than 2 feet from mum’s side, but still doesn’t speak. He is almost one and a half years old.
I have started to tell my friends about my leaving date. It’s harder than I thought. Take me with you, Fils says. I tell him it’s cold in Canada and he’d have to speak English. He says he doesn’t mind the cold and tells me his English is good. (Which it is by the way- in a strange twist he is the brightest of the Art Club kids but has befriended some local mechanics who are training him to be a mechanic. He is an orphan, his aunts are away at school year-round so I think the positive adult attention is what he craves and it’s unfortunate that a bright, young mind may not be seeking higher education. The mechanic’s job however will allow him to make a living…here in Rwanda, not in Canada with me.)
I attended my last church service at the Urukundo Home for Children last Sunday. Gatete, my basketball buddy who still hasn’t opened his Christmas gift yet, strikes me as the ideal candidate for sponsorship. I might follow up with Mama about that later on. This is the hard part. When the Headteacher of my model school cries to me in his office that his school fees are due in two weeks and he is 130,000 francs short, I know I can help him. When my co-facilitator brings his three children over to visit- the two darling daughters and the one son who is not his but came to live with them after his mother died- and asks me to help him with school fees, I know I can help him. When Emmanuel asks me to fund his AutoEcole dream, I know I can help him. When the staff of my model school tells me they want to build a kindergarten room so that the little ones that greet me every morning on my drive in can come to school, I know I can help them. When they also ask me to photocopy more resources for them, I know I can-d (although I do point to the bag in the corner wherein lies all the didactic material I have given them upon completion of my trainings and inquire why they are not using them daily. If even the co-facilitator of the three workshops chooses to teach his lesson on Thursday in the “chalk and talk” fashion after ALL the methodology training we’ve done together- I don’t know how I can help them! )When the two one-legged men in town panhandle or Eggboy asks me to buy something or the streetkids tell me they’re hungry, I know I can help them. When the Director of Education in Kamonyi District asks me to sit down with him to organize his office and help him with this new overwhelming job of his, I know I can help him. When the Headteacher of the new sector I’m training in insists that all 26 of his teachers be allowed to participate in my workshop instead of the allotted 3, I know I can do this. I can help Cadette pay her university fees, I can help Media go back to school, I can give JeanPierre and his father a leg to stand on and perhaps a small contribution will get them out of that impoverished atrocity they call a home. There’s only one problem: I can’t. It’s not that I won’t give money but part of me feels that what I came here to give, I’ve given already. I traded ideas, I shared resources, I made friends, I gave in kindness, I collaborated professionally, I made connections personally, I gave away most of my clothes and belongings and I gave my time- almost an entire year! If I throw money at the problems, then the next time a mzungu comes to work with them (with a bank full of ideas, friendship and goodwill), the expectation will be just as it always is: eventually, they’ll give us money. On top of which, after two years off work (the first year being the Habitat for Humanity trip to Ghana and the looooooooong VSO acceptance process and the second being my year in Rwanda), I don’t quite have the means to give financially. The development world is a slippery slope and I’m sure tons of sociologists/UN-ologists have waxed poetic about it long before, and much better than, me.
There were a lot of sad faces when I announced my leaving date, which is very soon by the way. I am partly travelling my way home so will be leaving Rwanda shortly. But I think there are a few kindred spirits here whom I’ll keep in touch with, in any way possible. A friend of mine has created an NGO and I plan to contribute to its development as best as I can. I may be leaving Rwanda in a few weeks but I don’t think Rwanda will ever, EVER leave me.
I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual... O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.
Henry David Thoreau
My last little project’s name is Roger. He is my three and a half year old neighbor and today I met his mother Francoise. Roger appears to be blind, or atleast his eyes are clouded over and grey. I want to take Roger to meet Piet, the Belgian eye surgeon friend of ours. Today Roger tried to follow me home. When I tried to send him back to his mum, he toddled after me again. Finally, picking him up and taking him over to his mum, Roger did the most touching and trusting thing- he laid his head on my shoulder. Some logistical questions: does Piet have time to meet him? Is his condition correctable? Do I have enough Kinyarwanda to convince Francoise to come with me to Kabgayi Hospital? Can this happen in the short amount of time I have left here?
Yesterday in the market, Karen and I met a young woman with a very deformed baby. He looked like half of a Siamese twin as his head was caved in down the middle and his eyes very wideset. As per all the handicapped people here, she was begging for money on his behalf. My response hasn’t changed since day one. I spoke with her, asked her questions, shook her hand, patted the baby’s arm and the most touching thing happened. For a moment, she stopped being a desperate beggar and turned into a loving mother. I asked her the baby’s name. Tomas, she said, and with that reponse a flicker of pride or love or something flashed from behind her eyes. Karen and I discussed this interaction afterwards and had differing views. How tragic it was to have such an enormous deformity and probably no hope for a normal life. Or… how amazing that this very young mother is choosing to care for him, love him and has decided not to leave him somewhere, abandoned.
I have a busy couple of weeks. After a goal-setting meeting at my model school, I will try and draft a strategic chart in hopes that the staff can set towards accomplishing some of these goals after I go. Emmanuel will buy the paints and I will take him to the school where I have decided that my farewell gift to them is to have Ema paint a mural on the wall of the school. The previous short-term volunteer bought them a cow. I don’t have that kind of cash but 20 years from now- especially if I pick the right paints- the cow’ll be gone and perhaps the mural will still be there.
Kate’s book is finished. A colleague from the Program Office, Noel (he is in fact the janitor and has offered me nothing but kindness since day one) helped me to bind three copies. I’ll meet Kate later this week and give her what we started out creating back in July- her completed memoir.
We are going to make a sign that reads “Chez Marie” for the front of Marie’s store. If you scroll back to my earliest photos you can see Marie, looking very disheveled and dusty with a little JeanPaul in her arms last May, standing in front of her previous address; a rundown home. The Marie of today is a glowing, youthful entrepreneur and has taken ALL the initiative to get her store up and going. It is such a pleasant sight. JeanPaul is walking and mischevious as ever, never venturing more than 2 feet from mum’s side, but still doesn’t speak. He is almost one and a half years old.
I have started to tell my friends about my leaving date. It’s harder than I thought. Take me with you, Fils says. I tell him it’s cold in Canada and he’d have to speak English. He says he doesn’t mind the cold and tells me his English is good. (Which it is by the way- in a strange twist he is the brightest of the Art Club kids but has befriended some local mechanics who are training him to be a mechanic. He is an orphan, his aunts are away at school year-round so I think the positive adult attention is what he craves and it’s unfortunate that a bright, young mind may not be seeking higher education. The mechanic’s job however will allow him to make a living…here in Rwanda, not in Canada with me.)
I attended my last church service at the Urukundo Home for Children last Sunday. Gatete, my basketball buddy who still hasn’t opened his Christmas gift yet, strikes me as the ideal candidate for sponsorship. I might follow up with Mama about that later on. This is the hard part. When the Headteacher of my model school cries to me in his office that his school fees are due in two weeks and he is 130,000 francs short, I know I can help him. When my co-facilitator brings his three children over to visit- the two darling daughters and the one son who is not his but came to live with them after his mother died- and asks me to help him with school fees, I know I can help him. When Emmanuel asks me to fund his AutoEcole dream, I know I can help him. When the staff of my model school tells me they want to build a kindergarten room so that the little ones that greet me every morning on my drive in can come to school, I know I can help them. When they also ask me to photocopy more resources for them, I know I can-d (although I do point to the bag in the corner wherein lies all the didactic material I have given them upon completion of my trainings and inquire why they are not using them daily. If even the co-facilitator of the three workshops chooses to teach his lesson on Thursday in the “chalk and talk” fashion after ALL the methodology training we’ve done together- I don’t know how I can help them! )When the two one-legged men in town panhandle or Eggboy asks me to buy something or the streetkids tell me they’re hungry, I know I can help them. When the Director of Education in Kamonyi District asks me to sit down with him to organize his office and help him with this new overwhelming job of his, I know I can help him. When the Headteacher of the new sector I’m training in insists that all 26 of his teachers be allowed to participate in my workshop instead of the allotted 3, I know I can do this. I can help Cadette pay her university fees, I can help Media go back to school, I can give JeanPierre and his father a leg to stand on and perhaps a small contribution will get them out of that impoverished atrocity they call a home. There’s only one problem: I can’t. It’s not that I won’t give money but part of me feels that what I came here to give, I’ve given already. I traded ideas, I shared resources, I made friends, I gave in kindness, I collaborated professionally, I made connections personally, I gave away most of my clothes and belongings and I gave my time- almost an entire year! If I throw money at the problems, then the next time a mzungu comes to work with them (with a bank full of ideas, friendship and goodwill), the expectation will be just as it always is: eventually, they’ll give us money. On top of which, after two years off work (the first year being the Habitat for Humanity trip to Ghana and the looooooooong VSO acceptance process and the second being my year in Rwanda), I don’t quite have the means to give financially. The development world is a slippery slope and I’m sure tons of sociologists/UN-ologists have waxed poetic about it long before, and much better than, me.
There were a lot of sad faces when I announced my leaving date, which is very soon by the way. I am partly travelling my way home so will be leaving Rwanda shortly. But I think there are a few kindred spirits here whom I’ll keep in touch with, in any way possible. A friend of mine has created an NGO and I plan to contribute to its development as best as I can. I may be leaving Rwanda in a few weeks but I don’t think Rwanda will ever, EVER leave me.
I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual... O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.
Henry David Thoreau
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Eggboy
Today, some of my efforts came together. Let me tell you first about the title character. A boy of fourteen who sells eggs from a basket in downtown Gitarama befriended me several months ago. With such little language skills between us, I always communicated with handshakes, smiles and simple well wishes. But this one is different than the scam artists that make up the dozen or so streetboys. Because his smile is wider than the radius of that blue egg basket.
We tried to meet up one day in town, in my haphazard Kinyarwanda I said “Thursday, here, two o’clock”. I forgot that day but also it had poured rain. I really hope he hadn’t stood there waiting for me. On Monday, Emmanuel and I ran errands together. First we set up his bank account, then we picked up photocopies, picked dress Immaculee had made, mailed postcards, went by Karen’s work, visited the old neighbourhood, tried to meet the Director of the Cultural Centre to ask for the use of a room once a week for Art Club- it was a busy and tiring day, but a fortunate one. On that day, I saw Eggboy.
Now, Karen and I have given lots of people lots of nicknames. It’s part coping strategy and it’s part there are 22 Emmanuels and 14 JeanClaudes sort of thing; it’s easier to refer to them this way. Some names are funnier than others like “Toad”, a creepy, pink ballet shoe wearing slimeball who skulks professionally downtown. There’s the “Shirtless Wonder”-a three year old who has the habit of ripping her shirt off and giggling in circles like some Tazmanian devil. There’s the “Little Cherub”, a girl of maybe 2 who waits at the top of the hill near my new house each morning, hand extended in giddy anticipation of our morning exchange. She has a round, round beautiful face! So Eggboy got his name because I enjoyed our interaction so much that each time I saw him, I’d buy some eggs and give them back. It’s a strange way to justify giving money but on my way to the bus or on the way to work, I don’t need eggs. I’d buy three and give him one and the two kids standing nearby the others.
On Monday, Emmanuel and I ran into Eggboy once again- perfect opportunity to find out more about my friend with the brilliant smile. We sat down at Procar’s and took a Fanta and I heard Ema translate that this boy did not go to school, had 8 siblings and his mother had died. He works everyday. He’s fourteen. I did the only thing I could think of- besides buying the 19 remaining eggs in his bin… I invited him to Wednesday’s Art club. We explained that it was only for one hour if he could get permission to not work from 4-5pm.
Today I was so curious to see if he’d come. Not only did he come but he was there at the meeting point early with a friend. Both boys followed hesitantly as we made our way to the old neighbourhood. I was tackled by Noella, Evelyn and Gloria and a dozen kids who had arrived early as well. I asked Claude, dear sensible thirteen year old Claude to greet Eggboy and make him feel welcome. I walked past and watched in my periphery as Claude walked up to this street kid and shook his hand and then do the same to his friend. Fifteen minutes later we had 42 kids working on colour wheel spinners made from cutting up cardboard boxes that Karen and I had received as packages from family and friends. (42 is our record turn out by the way). As soon as Ema demonstrated the toy/craft, there was a big reaction which pleased me because everyone was super excited about today’s craft. But nothing pleased me more than watching Eggboy, marker in hand, smiling ear to ear- getting initiated into Art Club. I hope he returns next week and I can learn his name :)
We tried to meet up one day in town, in my haphazard Kinyarwanda I said “Thursday, here, two o’clock”. I forgot that day but also it had poured rain. I really hope he hadn’t stood there waiting for me. On Monday, Emmanuel and I ran errands together. First we set up his bank account, then we picked up photocopies, picked dress Immaculee had made, mailed postcards, went by Karen’s work, visited the old neighbourhood, tried to meet the Director of the Cultural Centre to ask for the use of a room once a week for Art Club- it was a busy and tiring day, but a fortunate one. On that day, I saw Eggboy.
Now, Karen and I have given lots of people lots of nicknames. It’s part coping strategy and it’s part there are 22 Emmanuels and 14 JeanClaudes sort of thing; it’s easier to refer to them this way. Some names are funnier than others like “Toad”, a creepy, pink ballet shoe wearing slimeball who skulks professionally downtown. There’s the “Shirtless Wonder”-a three year old who has the habit of ripping her shirt off and giggling in circles like some Tazmanian devil. There’s the “Little Cherub”, a girl of maybe 2 who waits at the top of the hill near my new house each morning, hand extended in giddy anticipation of our morning exchange. She has a round, round beautiful face! So Eggboy got his name because I enjoyed our interaction so much that each time I saw him, I’d buy some eggs and give them back. It’s a strange way to justify giving money but on my way to the bus or on the way to work, I don’t need eggs. I’d buy three and give him one and the two kids standing nearby the others.
On Monday, Emmanuel and I ran into Eggboy once again- perfect opportunity to find out more about my friend with the brilliant smile. We sat down at Procar’s and took a Fanta and I heard Ema translate that this boy did not go to school, had 8 siblings and his mother had died. He works everyday. He’s fourteen. I did the only thing I could think of- besides buying the 19 remaining eggs in his bin… I invited him to Wednesday’s Art club. We explained that it was only for one hour if he could get permission to not work from 4-5pm.
Today I was so curious to see if he’d come. Not only did he come but he was there at the meeting point early with a friend. Both boys followed hesitantly as we made our way to the old neighbourhood. I was tackled by Noella, Evelyn and Gloria and a dozen kids who had arrived early as well. I asked Claude, dear sensible thirteen year old Claude to greet Eggboy and make him feel welcome. I walked past and watched in my periphery as Claude walked up to this street kid and shook his hand and then do the same to his friend. Fifteen minutes later we had 42 kids working on colour wheel spinners made from cutting up cardboard boxes that Karen and I had received as packages from family and friends. (42 is our record turn out by the way). As soon as Ema demonstrated the toy/craft, there was a big reaction which pleased me because everyone was super excited about today’s craft. But nothing pleased me more than watching Eggboy, marker in hand, smiling ear to ear- getting initiated into Art Club. I hope he returns next week and I can learn his name :)
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Rwanda nziza
I've long ago decided that I prefer Rwanda to its neighbouring countries. There's something about the people here that differs from those in Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda (the three countries I've visited so far). I realize how ironical that sounds given the mix of actual nationalities represented here- probably some Rwandans I meet are actually from elsewhere. The speaker at the church I went to today in Kigali was Ugandan, for example. (His voice was exactly like Forest Whitaker's). Rwandans can be very guarded but within minutes of a greeting, there's a smile, a wave, an extended hand. Since the first week back in April, I've known that if I ever got lost or stuck in the mud with my moto (both of which have happened), then someone nearby will come to help me out. I've long since realized that establishing any real long-term friendships here is too difficult. There are the complications of being asked for school fees or sponsors or synthesizers or laptops. There are some cultural barriers like when you stop by unannounced at my house and then won't leave..And there's the reality that unlike you, I get to leave this country and return to my cushy life.
I have quite the game plan prepared for the next few weeks. Trainings. Painting a mural on my model school's wall. Finding a permanent location for Art Club. Trying yet again to explain to my District Office what it is I do. (Yeah, after 9 months it's still a shaky relationship. Wish I could expound on that but I want to keep other relationships intact). I think there's a quote about "checking the nature of your battle" and what I've concluded is that the next few weeks are going to help determine what, if anything, I'm leaving behind. Maybe they shouldn't be spent trying to meet the so-called objectives of some very overwhelmed and underqualified (and nameless) people and I should invest my time in those around me instead. The scales are tipped in favor of the latter. Maybe Marie's store will do well and the business loan we've set up will be the reason why. Maybe Emmanuel will use his new bank account to start saving for school- it'll take him 15 years to do so but perhaps it's a start. I have so many questions about what's next and my best friend from home reminded me today that I'm "always jumping forward". I need to stop that.
What's good about the now is that my new neighbourhood kids range in age from 2 to 9- a little younger of a crowd than the last house and so far only one of them has figured out my sense of humor. I tease him mercilessly but the others will catch on soon. There are new VSO just arrived and their enthusiasm and freshness is contagious. My new roomate Ken arrives Wednesday and I'm excited for the change in dynamic. Plus he's a soccer fan too so maybe he can strengthen my side during the impromptu street matches in front of my house. I'm getting demolished by these under 9 year olds!! Christi returns Thursday and I am training one more sector Thurs/Friday and I cannot wait for the chance to work properly again.
Yesterday Procar gave us a lift home- a nice random act of kindness. He had transported a plastic chair from Kigali to Gitarama for us that we bought for our guard- who had been sitting on a pile of bricks each night. One good turn deserves another I guess. Today a woman hugged me in church, she didn't have to, she just turned suddenly and did it. Did she know I needed one?
This blog I'm sure comes off as a bit rambly but I'm super tired. I feel so confused about leaving, about what's next and about what it all means. Maybe there's processing to be done afterwards just as there was quite a bit when I arrived. An afterthought I had is that someone commented to me the other day about all the literature on Rwanda being topical. There's the Bradt guide but otherwise it's mostly about the war. Hasn't anyone felt inclined to write about the beauty of Kibuye, the cute little 3 year olds who tie empty jerry cans to their backs to mimic having a baby attached, the funny looking goats who bleet like Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, the sweetness of watching one person help another on/off the bus with their belongings especially when said person is a mother toting three children solo, the elderly woman who stopped Karen and I mid-pace today with zealous excitement to just say "good evening" and finally, is there not a book out there that speaks to the shared joy, the companionship, the collectivist ideology that is so often attributed to Africa but also exists here, in this overlooked and underappreciated country? If not, there should be.
This VSO experience has effected me like no other and I am glad for it.
I have quite the game plan prepared for the next few weeks. Trainings. Painting a mural on my model school's wall. Finding a permanent location for Art Club. Trying yet again to explain to my District Office what it is I do. (Yeah, after 9 months it's still a shaky relationship. Wish I could expound on that but I want to keep other relationships intact). I think there's a quote about "checking the nature of your battle" and what I've concluded is that the next few weeks are going to help determine what, if anything, I'm leaving behind. Maybe they shouldn't be spent trying to meet the so-called objectives of some very overwhelmed and underqualified (and nameless) people and I should invest my time in those around me instead. The scales are tipped in favor of the latter. Maybe Marie's store will do well and the business loan we've set up will be the reason why. Maybe Emmanuel will use his new bank account to start saving for school- it'll take him 15 years to do so but perhaps it's a start. I have so many questions about what's next and my best friend from home reminded me today that I'm "always jumping forward". I need to stop that.
What's good about the now is that my new neighbourhood kids range in age from 2 to 9- a little younger of a crowd than the last house and so far only one of them has figured out my sense of humor. I tease him mercilessly but the others will catch on soon. There are new VSO just arrived and their enthusiasm and freshness is contagious. My new roomate Ken arrives Wednesday and I'm excited for the change in dynamic. Plus he's a soccer fan too so maybe he can strengthen my side during the impromptu street matches in front of my house. I'm getting demolished by these under 9 year olds!! Christi returns Thursday and I am training one more sector Thurs/Friday and I cannot wait for the chance to work properly again.
Yesterday Procar gave us a lift home- a nice random act of kindness. He had transported a plastic chair from Kigali to Gitarama for us that we bought for our guard- who had been sitting on a pile of bricks each night. One good turn deserves another I guess. Today a woman hugged me in church, she didn't have to, she just turned suddenly and did it. Did she know I needed one?
This blog I'm sure comes off as a bit rambly but I'm super tired. I feel so confused about leaving, about what's next and about what it all means. Maybe there's processing to be done afterwards just as there was quite a bit when I arrived. An afterthought I had is that someone commented to me the other day about all the literature on Rwanda being topical. There's the Bradt guide but otherwise it's mostly about the war. Hasn't anyone felt inclined to write about the beauty of Kibuye, the cute little 3 year olds who tie empty jerry cans to their backs to mimic having a baby attached, the funny looking goats who bleet like Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, the sweetness of watching one person help another on/off the bus with their belongings especially when said person is a mother toting three children solo, the elderly woman who stopped Karen and I mid-pace today with zealous excitement to just say "good evening" and finally, is there not a book out there that speaks to the shared joy, the companionship, the collectivist ideology that is so often attributed to Africa but also exists here, in this overlooked and underappreciated country? If not, there should be.
This VSO experience has effected me like no other and I am glad for it.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Point
A friend asked me recently what my breaking point was. This came on the heels of my umpteenth illness. I answered: There isn't one. For me, there was a tipping point for sure after the 4th bout of malaria. There have been many boiling points, for instance when I spend the entire day planning a training (visiting the far-away sector, meeting the Executive Secretary, convincing Daniel to volunteer again, gathering the materials, typing up the proposal, three hours on a moto) only to have the Director of Education nix it without explanation. Or when I'm left for three weeks over the holidays in a house full of raw sewage or when for some reason getting mosquito screens put on the windows of the new house takes an inordinate amount of time.. (still not done by the way). There are many boiling points. But despite having been sick almost the entire time I've been here, there is no breaking point. There is just being here. That's the point. Every illness I've had is treatable. I am still able to be productive, to impact those around me and the day I can no longer be of service or of use, I'll go home. Of course there are easier places to live and work. There's this whole philosophy which informs my decisions and it revolves around the idea that suffering is optional. We choose our life's perspective, n'est pas? I can get really down about the malaria, typhoid, amoebas, pneumonia but what purpose does that serve? Now, it's definitely not all rainbows and butterflies but as I stated in my Christmas blog, it's my system's weakness that is to blame. I am perhaps not sturdy enough for this country. But I love it here. This afternoon as I moto'ed back from Kamonyi, I had one of those epiphanies which I can only relate back to a scene from a movie. Meg Ryan in City of Angels is riding her bike and taking notice of the warmth of the sun (yes, right before she gets creamed by the truck). Today I noticed the beauty of it all. The green hills, the giggling children, the blue blue skies. Yeah, I did also take into account the speeding trucks and rough gravel not wanting Meg Ryan's fate. I enjoyed Art Club this afternoon instead of stressing out if everyone was successful with their pipe cleaner butterflies, I sat down beside Evelyn and Francois and helped Mohammed make his. We then made buzzing sounds and pretended to sting each other with our yellow and red insects. As we walked back to the road, there was competition for hand-holding rights. Mohammed was walking beside me with my arm draped around his shoulder. Another boy jostled unsuccessfully for the position and once the scuffle ended, I reached for Mo's hand again. He took my wrist and draped my arm around his shoulder once more, his preference. This country will break your heart. A sentiment I wrote about ages ago. I have so many thoughts about leaving-which for the record is six short weeks away. I have a To-Do List about a mile long. It will never be enough.
Much thought has gone into who and in what capacity I can help people before I go and it's come down to ten. I will help these ten people. Not all in a financial capacity by the way, for the most part I believe charity is in doing not in giving. I'll let you know how it goes but the first one on the list, Marie (mother of JeanPaul and the first to befriend me in the neighbourhood back in May) has already received from me and I know deep down it was the right thing to do. Emmanuel's is happening on Monday. Kate's is in progress. I realize that all I want to do before I go may not be accomplished and being a results-oriented person this may be disappointing. I will have to come to terms with it somehow.
The tipping point, the boiling point- just being here and being with people, that's the point.
Much thought has gone into who and in what capacity I can help people before I go and it's come down to ten. I will help these ten people. Not all in a financial capacity by the way, for the most part I believe charity is in doing not in giving. I'll let you know how it goes but the first one on the list, Marie (mother of JeanPaul and the first to befriend me in the neighbourhood back in May) has already received from me and I know deep down it was the right thing to do. Emmanuel's is happening on Monday. Kate's is in progress. I realize that all I want to do before I go may not be accomplished and being a results-oriented person this may be disappointing. I will have to come to terms with it somehow.
The tipping point, the boiling point- just being here and being with people, that's the point.
Nairobi
Between Christmas and New Year’s, Gitarama emptied of expats so Karen and I decided a short holiday was a good idea. We had predetermined that we wanted to travel somewhere that had more access to Western things while simultaneously experiencing a new culture. Cairo was on the shortlist but too expensive, Capetown too far and although we had been warned of its well deserved nickname of Nai-robbery, we chose to go to Kenya’s capital. We couldn’t have had a better time if we tried. Within twenty four hours of arriving, we’d hit up two malls and been to the movies.. (Avatar).
**(We had decided to take only taxis as a means to increase our safety. Oddest thing to have your driver immediately lock your doors after you enter the taxi and to pull up to the shopping mall, supermarker or any other parking lot and have to go through an armed security check. No worries, we had absolutely no negative contact during our visit but our budget suffered a bit with this all important transportation decision).
At the mall it was kinda funny because we decided to separate for one hour to give ourselves some shopping time and when we met up again, neither of had bought anything. Karen had an icecap in her hand and I was downing a cup of ice cream. We went outside the mall to the nearby Masai market and proceeded to shop, shop , shop- half wondering what was wrong with us. For me, seeing the clothes, books, jewelry, shoes, STUFF inside the mall (which was four stories and filled with expats or Africans in western dress) just overwhelmed me. There wasn’t anything I NEEDED. There was tons of stuff I could buy but nothing I needed. I hope this feeling stays with me for a long time, I want my whole approach to consumerism to shift towards basic necessity over flashy, shiny new crap.
On Day 2 we visited Nairobi National Park, electing to try it first before booking a larger safari. After three hours in the park, there was no need to go elsewhere. We watched adolescent giraffes play tag, dozens of zebra dart in front of the car, ostrich running at full stretch, impala/dikdik/antelope/can’t tell them apart things running in the fields, water buffalo grazing by the pond and on the proceeding safari walk saw pygmy hippos, a rhino, albino zebra, lions and a cheetah about 40 ft up a tree. Coolest thing on the first safari was the leopard, spotted (by that I mean sighted but also he had spots) on a rock a few hundred metres away, looking across the valley for something to eat. I have some amazing pictures of course. And for some strange reason, we got out of the car to get a closer look. Yup, just like at Akagera when we went down by the hippos, for some reason curiosity and awe replace reason and safety in these scenarios. I lived to tell about it though.
Day 3 we took it easy, visiting the mall again. I went in to the bookstore resembling Chapters and said to Karen in advance- my limit is 3. Two minutes later I approached her with an armful of books and requested an intervention!! I bought a second bag and about a dozen books came home with me. I’ve already finished 4. With my computer on the fritz I haven’t watched many movies lately and there is little else to do in the evening save reading. I might put a book list up though, I’ve read some amazing stories. The non-fiction about the Sudan is great reading.
At the guesthouse we chose, we met some incredible people. It was a bed and breakfast type called African Inland Mission. We met people heading to and coming from some amazing situations. One lady had worked in DRC but been evacuated. One father and son duo from Australia were on their way to Sudan. The Director of an Ethiopian NGO had come to this guesthouse for a stress break. And then we met a young Canadian couple from the University of Western Ontario who live on Sarnia and Wonderland Rd just a stone’s throw from my former apartment!! We made plans to hang out on Day 4.
Day 4 was the coolest day in Nairobi. We visited an elephant orphanage and learned about the fate of dozens of month old or year old baby elephants. Many were saved from poachers traps or wells they had fallen into. The one pictured here had actually been rescued by a local Masai and taken back to his village where he had to lock him in his house to prevent his neighbours from barbequing it !! He alerted the rangers and the baby (3 month old) elephant was brought to the David Sheldrake Orphanage. The afternoon saw us heading to a giraffe sanctuary and hand feeding giraffes!! It’s like when a dog licks your hand only ten times more slobbery and gross!! I couldn’t stop giggling. What a beautiful and complex looking creature. Her eyelashes were longer than my fingers, her patterning incredible. She kept taking my whole hand in her mouth. For the record, there is a handwashing station on site. Then the four of us, the Canadian couple and Karen and I took a walk in the nature forest where supposedly one giraffe lived. We hiked a bit and commented how much it resembled Sifton Bog (a trail back in London, ON) and basically agreed the chances of finding the one giraffe was like spotting Polkaroo. Then, just as we were heading for the exit, I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. We approached him, snapped photos, marveled at the uniqueness of the experience and then left. The guard at the gate cautioned us that they can be kind of aggressive but in this case, he was just as curious and wary of us as were of him. The pictures kind of make it look like we’re posing beside a statue of a giraffe, but I promise you he was real.
The kicker of day 4 was a meal at the infamous Carnivore restaurant in Nairobi. Okay, all you vegetarians close your eyes and plug your ears... I ate crocodile and ostrich and every other kinda meat. They literally just keep bringing skewer after skewer and you say yes or no to trying it. Four rounds of lamb, turkey, pork- get that potato off my plate, there's no room in my tummy! And a swirling tray of sauces each designated for a different meat. In the middle of the table, (not joking!) is a little white flag and once you and your friends have decided you've had your fill, you must lay the flag down and surrender! It was a unique dining experience for sure. I made up for 9 months of protein deficiency eating only goat brochettes every few weeks or so in Gitarama. We had wine, chocolate cake, tea.. it was divine. For the record, crocodile is the strangest texture- even worse than the shark I ate in Trinidad years ago. Ostrich, yum!
Day 5 and we’re heading home but first we must stop at the phenomenal Costco-like supermarket and buy some of the many, many things that are unavailable in Rwanda. Popcorn kernels! Ragu! Flavored tea! There was so much to choose from it was unbelievable. We managed to spend 14 dollars. I think we were a little overwhelmed. Best story so far is that we had changed our flight to head home at 2 instead of 8 because I was sick and wanted to see the doctor back in Kigali. We get to the airport, board the plane and the captain informs us that the refueling truck driver pulled away from the plane without detaching and has broken something. We deboard and have to wait 7 hours on New Year’s Eve day in the Nairobi airport as Rwandair has refused to let the airport staff fix it and have flown another plane over from Kigali to take us home. A propeller plane. It takes over two hours to fly the one hour trip home. We arrive around 10:30 flat exhausted and are barely aware when hooting and hollering and drum beating start up in and around Kigali at midnight.
Wonderful trip, magnificent experiences, I’m ready for 2010. Bring it on!
**(We had decided to take only taxis as a means to increase our safety. Oddest thing to have your driver immediately lock your doors after you enter the taxi and to pull up to the shopping mall, supermarker or any other parking lot and have to go through an armed security check. No worries, we had absolutely no negative contact during our visit but our budget suffered a bit with this all important transportation decision).
At the mall it was kinda funny because we decided to separate for one hour to give ourselves some shopping time and when we met up again, neither of had bought anything. Karen had an icecap in her hand and I was downing a cup of ice cream. We went outside the mall to the nearby Masai market and proceeded to shop, shop , shop- half wondering what was wrong with us. For me, seeing the clothes, books, jewelry, shoes, STUFF inside the mall (which was four stories and filled with expats or Africans in western dress) just overwhelmed me. There wasn’t anything I NEEDED. There was tons of stuff I could buy but nothing I needed. I hope this feeling stays with me for a long time, I want my whole approach to consumerism to shift towards basic necessity over flashy, shiny new crap.
On Day 2 we visited Nairobi National Park, electing to try it first before booking a larger safari. After three hours in the park, there was no need to go elsewhere. We watched adolescent giraffes play tag, dozens of zebra dart in front of the car, ostrich running at full stretch, impala/dikdik/antelope/can’t tell them apart things running in the fields, water buffalo grazing by the pond and on the proceeding safari walk saw pygmy hippos, a rhino, albino zebra, lions and a cheetah about 40 ft up a tree. Coolest thing on the first safari was the leopard, spotted (by that I mean sighted but also he had spots) on a rock a few hundred metres away, looking across the valley for something to eat. I have some amazing pictures of course. And for some strange reason, we got out of the car to get a closer look. Yup, just like at Akagera when we went down by the hippos, for some reason curiosity and awe replace reason and safety in these scenarios. I lived to tell about it though.
Day 3 we took it easy, visiting the mall again. I went in to the bookstore resembling Chapters and said to Karen in advance- my limit is 3. Two minutes later I approached her with an armful of books and requested an intervention!! I bought a second bag and about a dozen books came home with me. I’ve already finished 4. With my computer on the fritz I haven’t watched many movies lately and there is little else to do in the evening save reading. I might put a book list up though, I’ve read some amazing stories. The non-fiction about the Sudan is great reading.
At the guesthouse we chose, we met some incredible people. It was a bed and breakfast type called African Inland Mission. We met people heading to and coming from some amazing situations. One lady had worked in DRC but been evacuated. One father and son duo from Australia were on their way to Sudan. The Director of an Ethiopian NGO had come to this guesthouse for a stress break. And then we met a young Canadian couple from the University of Western Ontario who live on Sarnia and Wonderland Rd just a stone’s throw from my former apartment!! We made plans to hang out on Day 4.
Day 4 was the coolest day in Nairobi. We visited an elephant orphanage and learned about the fate of dozens of month old or year old baby elephants. Many were saved from poachers traps or wells they had fallen into. The one pictured here had actually been rescued by a local Masai and taken back to his village where he had to lock him in his house to prevent his neighbours from barbequing it !! He alerted the rangers and the baby (3 month old) elephant was brought to the David Sheldrake Orphanage. The afternoon saw us heading to a giraffe sanctuary and hand feeding giraffes!! It’s like when a dog licks your hand only ten times more slobbery and gross!! I couldn’t stop giggling. What a beautiful and complex looking creature. Her eyelashes were longer than my fingers, her patterning incredible. She kept taking my whole hand in her mouth. For the record, there is a handwashing station on site. Then the four of us, the Canadian couple and Karen and I took a walk in the nature forest where supposedly one giraffe lived. We hiked a bit and commented how much it resembled Sifton Bog (a trail back in London, ON) and basically agreed the chances of finding the one giraffe was like spotting Polkaroo. Then, just as we were heading for the exit, I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye. We approached him, snapped photos, marveled at the uniqueness of the experience and then left. The guard at the gate cautioned us that they can be kind of aggressive but in this case, he was just as curious and wary of us as were of him. The pictures kind of make it look like we’re posing beside a statue of a giraffe, but I promise you he was real.
The kicker of day 4 was a meal at the infamous Carnivore restaurant in Nairobi. Okay, all you vegetarians close your eyes and plug your ears... I ate crocodile and ostrich and every other kinda meat. They literally just keep bringing skewer after skewer and you say yes or no to trying it. Four rounds of lamb, turkey, pork- get that potato off my plate, there's no room in my tummy! And a swirling tray of sauces each designated for a different meat. In the middle of the table, (not joking!) is a little white flag and once you and your friends have decided you've had your fill, you must lay the flag down and surrender! It was a unique dining experience for sure. I made up for 9 months of protein deficiency eating only goat brochettes every few weeks or so in Gitarama. We had wine, chocolate cake, tea.. it was divine. For the record, crocodile is the strangest texture- even worse than the shark I ate in Trinidad years ago. Ostrich, yum!
Day 5 and we’re heading home but first we must stop at the phenomenal Costco-like supermarket and buy some of the many, many things that are unavailable in Rwanda. Popcorn kernels! Ragu! Flavored tea! There was so much to choose from it was unbelievable. We managed to spend 14 dollars. I think we were a little overwhelmed. Best story so far is that we had changed our flight to head home at 2 instead of 8 because I was sick and wanted to see the doctor back in Kigali. We get to the airport, board the plane and the captain informs us that the refueling truck driver pulled away from the plane without detaching and has broken something. We deboard and have to wait 7 hours on New Year’s Eve day in the Nairobi airport as Rwandair has refused to let the airport staff fix it and have flown another plane over from Kigali to take us home. A propeller plane. It takes over two hours to fly the one hour trip home. We arrive around 10:30 flat exhausted and are barely aware when hooting and hollering and drum beating start up in and around Kigali at midnight.
Wonderful trip, magnificent experiences, I’m ready for 2010. Bring it on!
A Christmas Story
Once it was decided that I would stay here for Christmas and not travel home (for most of December I was really keen for the latter option), I threw my energy into my surroundings. Karen and I had a party for our 15 regular Art Club participants and spent a fair bit of time buying just the right T-shirt for each one. For instance, JeanPierre and Fils got these cool black, red and white long sleeved shirts and little Ariana got a pink sweetheart one. The party was phenomenal as we had made stockings the week before out of paperbags and we filled the stockings with candy and party favors. The children arrived on time and were quite well behaved and calm for the first ½ hour. Then we played musical chairs and had a dance marathon and ate lollipops and watched a boy-band performance by Francois, JeanPierre and Claude and a beautiful dance performed by Yvette, Evelyn, Voisine, Gloria, Noella and Solange. Serge’s mouth turned blue from his lolly. Voisine’s shirt was laughably too big. Emmanuel was enjoying the games just as much as the 9 year olds. There were lots of hugs, hands held, kids in laps and smiles all around. Basically, you couldn’t have asked for a nicer afternoon; the room was full of love. On Christmas Eve we met up with our friend Tom for a dinner at Splendid, a somewhat fancier restaurant in Gitarama.
Christmas Day was equally unique. In the morning, we visited the Urukundo Home for Children (where we attend church each Sunday) and were given the tough task of setting up the tree with presents underneath and then guarding the presents from the 40 curious children until the time came to hand them out. Now, friends with kids you know how excited they are on Christmas morn? Try 40 who aren’t used to getting gifts!! It was great fun basking in their anticipation. The children performed several dance numbers, Bibles were distributed by Mama, we took Communion and finally the kids received their gifts. My favorite basketball buddy Gatete actually refused to open his right away, he put it away in his room saying he wanted to keep it just like it is for now.
In the afternoon, Karen and I accepted an invitation from JeanPierre and his father to Christmas dinner. I’m not sure I have the words to share with you what it feels like to have the poorest boy in your neighbourhood extend to you an invitation on one of the most special days of the year. He and his father live alone in a one room mudhut with two chairs, a mattress and a few pots. Little else. We sat and spoke in Kinyarwanda and as the food came out it was quite clear that no matter what the conditions were, we would partake in their generosity. Now, having visited other poor families before I know firsthand that an unfortunate side effect of such visits is some unpleasant indigestion the following day. By this I mean sweating, vomiting, bad tummy..pretty much all at once. I’ve long since decided it’s not Rwanda’s fault that I can’t stomach the conditions. My weak system is to blame, not the conditions.. or so it goes. The impoverished just don’t have the means to keep clean water or buy and prepare food in the appropriate way. Nevertheless, Karen and I toughed it out, enjoyed the company and kindness very much and were altogether touched by the day’s events. Immediately upon arriving home I vomited intensely for two hours and was pretty off the rest of the day. Karen experienced similar issues the following day because she refused to make herself get sick. Was it worth it? Absolutely!!
The evening’s festivities were pretty awesome too. Karen had sparklers from home and we went out front and lit them to the awe and amazement of a handful of kids. I have never had a Christmas quite like this one. Giving Bruno a jar of bubbles, giving Valens several packs of gum, giving Procar a snazzy shirt, giving Silas a warm sweater, giving Emmanuel an art kit- I liked playing Santa. We worry so much about not giving inappropriately- even though I have things I don’t use or need I can’t always just give because I’m concerned about how it reflects on my role here. Christmas provided a perfect excuse to just give for the sake of giving. If I have a sweater that I don’t wear and it just sits in my cupboard and Silas, Christi’s guard looks cold each time we see him.. well, you know how it is.
One of the best gifts was the one I got for Karen. We had been in the Kimironko market together in Kigali a week or so before Christmas. She had seen and unsuccessfully tried to bargain for this great orange dress. The price being offered was extortionate. We continued on and at one point she went to look at sheets. I thought: Now’s my chance and snuck away. Now the Kimironko market is like the Eaton Centre in Toronto: MASSIVE. I ran through the aisles, looking for that same vendor, found him and started pleading my case. He was mid-sale when I saw Karen walk by looking for me. I literally ducked down so she wouldn’t see me. I explained to the confused group of vendors that it was a surprise gift for my friend, I think they were wondering why I was acting so silly. I bought the dress and then tried to find her but wouldn’t you know it now we had really lost each other. It was comical as each vendor tried to help the one mzungu find the other and I guess we kept missing one another. I didn’t have my phone with me. Anyway, eventually found each other, I made up some story and kept the dress hidden in my backpack. On Christmas Eve (of course my family realizes we have to open atleast ONE on Christmas Eve n’est pas?), she opened the gift, it fits to a T and looks like it was made for her. What fun!!
But that’s my favourite part of Christmas back home, the pre-holiday stuff when your friends and family are foremost in your thoughts and you are imagining how best to surprise them on Christmas, only this time I didn’t spend my days running around malls, wrestling for parking spots surrounded by holiday hoopla. The same effects were achieved and although I might not have had any images of Santa or snow or the lights in Victoria Park back home, I certainly experienced the same warmth and goodwill that comes at this wonderful time of year.
Noheli nziza na umwaka mwiza to my family in Canada and my family here in Rwanda!!
Christmas Day was equally unique. In the morning, we visited the Urukundo Home for Children (where we attend church each Sunday) and were given the tough task of setting up the tree with presents underneath and then guarding the presents from the 40 curious children until the time came to hand them out. Now, friends with kids you know how excited they are on Christmas morn? Try 40 who aren’t used to getting gifts!! It was great fun basking in their anticipation. The children performed several dance numbers, Bibles were distributed by Mama, we took Communion and finally the kids received their gifts. My favorite basketball buddy Gatete actually refused to open his right away, he put it away in his room saying he wanted to keep it just like it is for now.
In the afternoon, Karen and I accepted an invitation from JeanPierre and his father to Christmas dinner. I’m not sure I have the words to share with you what it feels like to have the poorest boy in your neighbourhood extend to you an invitation on one of the most special days of the year. He and his father live alone in a one room mudhut with two chairs, a mattress and a few pots. Little else. We sat and spoke in Kinyarwanda and as the food came out it was quite clear that no matter what the conditions were, we would partake in their generosity. Now, having visited other poor families before I know firsthand that an unfortunate side effect of such visits is some unpleasant indigestion the following day. By this I mean sweating, vomiting, bad tummy..pretty much all at once. I’ve long since decided it’s not Rwanda’s fault that I can’t stomach the conditions. My weak system is to blame, not the conditions.. or so it goes. The impoverished just don’t have the means to keep clean water or buy and prepare food in the appropriate way. Nevertheless, Karen and I toughed it out, enjoyed the company and kindness very much and were altogether touched by the day’s events. Immediately upon arriving home I vomited intensely for two hours and was pretty off the rest of the day. Karen experienced similar issues the following day because she refused to make herself get sick. Was it worth it? Absolutely!!
The evening’s festivities were pretty awesome too. Karen had sparklers from home and we went out front and lit them to the awe and amazement of a handful of kids. I have never had a Christmas quite like this one. Giving Bruno a jar of bubbles, giving Valens several packs of gum, giving Procar a snazzy shirt, giving Silas a warm sweater, giving Emmanuel an art kit- I liked playing Santa. We worry so much about not giving inappropriately- even though I have things I don’t use or need I can’t always just give because I’m concerned about how it reflects on my role here. Christmas provided a perfect excuse to just give for the sake of giving. If I have a sweater that I don’t wear and it just sits in my cupboard and Silas, Christi’s guard looks cold each time we see him.. well, you know how it is.
One of the best gifts was the one I got for Karen. We had been in the Kimironko market together in Kigali a week or so before Christmas. She had seen and unsuccessfully tried to bargain for this great orange dress. The price being offered was extortionate. We continued on and at one point she went to look at sheets. I thought: Now’s my chance and snuck away. Now the Kimironko market is like the Eaton Centre in Toronto: MASSIVE. I ran through the aisles, looking for that same vendor, found him and started pleading my case. He was mid-sale when I saw Karen walk by looking for me. I literally ducked down so she wouldn’t see me. I explained to the confused group of vendors that it was a surprise gift for my friend, I think they were wondering why I was acting so silly. I bought the dress and then tried to find her but wouldn’t you know it now we had really lost each other. It was comical as each vendor tried to help the one mzungu find the other and I guess we kept missing one another. I didn’t have my phone with me. Anyway, eventually found each other, I made up some story and kept the dress hidden in my backpack. On Christmas Eve (of course my family realizes we have to open atleast ONE on Christmas Eve n’est pas?), she opened the gift, it fits to a T and looks like it was made for her. What fun!!
But that’s my favourite part of Christmas back home, the pre-holiday stuff when your friends and family are foremost in your thoughts and you are imagining how best to surprise them on Christmas, only this time I didn’t spend my days running around malls, wrestling for parking spots surrounded by holiday hoopla. The same effects were achieved and although I might not have had any images of Santa or snow or the lights in Victoria Park back home, I certainly experienced the same warmth and goodwill that comes at this wonderful time of year.
Noheli nziza na umwaka mwiza to my family in Canada and my family here in Rwanda!!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The boy and the volcano
This photo is one of my favorites. It was taken by the lakeside near Ruhengeri during a quiet weekend in early November. Amongst a group of savvy, playful kids he stood out. Most significantly his size is dwarfed by the volcano and there is a slight ripple in the water to his right. I look at this photo and it makes me think. This boy, with his tattered clothes, dirty feet and forlorn state- does he matter? You could photo-shop him out of the picture, like he never existed. There are so many children like him in Africa- too many almost. Sometimes when I see street kids or children who clearly aren't cared for here, I wonder how they view themselves. I've met several orphans who have now grown up and I wonder, when you are alone in the world, who cares for you but yourself? What or who does an individual become when their basic needs aren't met?
In a broader context, this pictures makes me think about my impact on others while I'm here. As a typical ambitious VSO, I arrived last April filled to the gills with idealism. It was like a leaky faucet as months went by and disappointments became regular occurences. Goals were modified. Grander schemes were replaced with simpler tasks. I realized early on that I would be impacting people individually. I would focus on kindness, patience, compassion and understanding. I would not succeed in re-organising the education system and I would not be able to provide all that the teachers in my district require to become better teachers. Some, not all.
It is tangible that I helped Kate write her memoir. It is concrete that the Art Club has been meeting EVERY Wednesday afternoon for the past 7 months. And the smile and enthusiasm with which JeanPierre greets me each and every time is something I feel that if I bottled its contenants would glow a warm pink or orange- visibly.
I think about development goals and the state of the world and it always boils down to this one picture, this pathetic and endearing image of a boy in front of a volcano. He matters and therefore whatever I have been able to accomplish here on a singular/individual level, no matter how small and insignificant it feels, will have been worth the journey.
In a broader context, this pictures makes me think about my impact on others while I'm here. As a typical ambitious VSO, I arrived last April filled to the gills with idealism. It was like a leaky faucet as months went by and disappointments became regular occurences. Goals were modified. Grander schemes were replaced with simpler tasks. I realized early on that I would be impacting people individually. I would focus on kindness, patience, compassion and understanding. I would not succeed in re-organising the education system and I would not be able to provide all that the teachers in my district require to become better teachers. Some, not all.
It is tangible that I helped Kate write her memoir. It is concrete that the Art Club has been meeting EVERY Wednesday afternoon for the past 7 months. And the smile and enthusiasm with which JeanPierre greets me each and every time is something I feel that if I bottled its contenants would glow a warm pink or orange- visibly.
I think about development goals and the state of the world and it always boils down to this one picture, this pathetic and endearing image of a boy in front of a volcano. He matters and therefore whatever I have been able to accomplish here on a singular/individual level, no matter how small and insignificant it feels, will have been worth the journey.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Go-rillaz!!
On November 10th, I climbed into Virunga National Park near a volcano that borders 3 different countries (Uganda, DRC and Rwanda) to spend one hour with the fascinating mountain gorillas. The hike was beautiful, in lush green forest with enough of a trail so that unlike Nyungwe we didn't have to hack a path. It was steady going with breaks every now and again to appreciate the stunning view. I was sceptical about actually seeing any animals because Nyungwe had been such a disappointment when after 2 hours of hiking we were told to stop, unload our equipment and come to look at the massive beasts.
Seriously. We were about 15ft away from group 13 which included a silverback, several females, adolescents and half a dozen babies. The head of the silverback is what caught my eye first and I kept slapping my friend Charlotte on the arm- Do you see that?! Do you see that?! His head was the size of my microwave, don't know how else to put it- he's just MASSIVE! He was sitting chilling out with his pseudo-family around him. A female missing one hand from an encounter with a trap played nearby with a 2 year old. They wrestled and the little one pounced on her belly. Not sure who was getting the most enjoyment out of the experience the elder or the younger. A set of babies were playing with each other and my earlier jesting about "taking one home" became a somewhat serious consideration as these fuzzy stuffed animals made their cute grunts and did pouncing, somersaults and mini chest-beats. We snapped photos and marveled at the enormity and power encapsulated in the 400 pound sleeping silverback. Part of me wanted to see him do something and part of me was acutely aware that if he woke up and got aggravated in any way, we'd be toast. The guide kept making low guttaral grunts the entire time we were there and encouraged us not to point. When you are an uber-tourist and among five other girls, all you can do is point. Look at that! Did you see what that one just did! It was kinda funny. I couldn't NOT point I was so excited by it.
Then, the most awesome rare thing of all.. they mated. Two adult females had been vying for the sleeping giant's affection. One kept yawning and showing her teeth and the other was kinda sauntering around- you know gorilla flirting. So, big guy wakes up, walks over to the teethy one and proceeds to, you know, do it. The five of us were in fits of laughter and wonder and shock- only Kerry managed to get her camera in order and video the activity. There were strange noises, other gorillas watching too and within minutes a small shudder and it was done. He promptly walked back to his spot, lay down and fell asleep. Best drama of all was the "other woman" who hadn't been chosen threw a bit of a hissy fit, all the while dragging a 2 year old baby on her back. Fascinating! Apparently it is rare to see such an event and we were joking that although we hadn't actually hoped to witness exactly THAT, we should maybe sell our footage to National Geographic. Haha!
The hike down was hilarious. Just as soon as we turned to leave it began to pour rain. We slid, skiied, giggled and slipped our way down the hill. Whereas on the way up we often got caught or stung by the nettles and had to pick our way carefully, the way down was just like a muddy slip n' slide. We couldn't stop laughing though, we had just experienced one of those rare, once in a lifetime moments; an hour with one of the most amazing creatures in the world.
Seriously. We were about 15ft away from group 13 which included a silverback, several females, adolescents and half a dozen babies. The head of the silverback is what caught my eye first and I kept slapping my friend Charlotte on the arm- Do you see that?! Do you see that?! His head was the size of my microwave, don't know how else to put it- he's just MASSIVE! He was sitting chilling out with his pseudo-family around him. A female missing one hand from an encounter with a trap played nearby with a 2 year old. They wrestled and the little one pounced on her belly. Not sure who was getting the most enjoyment out of the experience the elder or the younger. A set of babies were playing with each other and my earlier jesting about "taking one home" became a somewhat serious consideration as these fuzzy stuffed animals made their cute grunts and did pouncing, somersaults and mini chest-beats. We snapped photos and marveled at the enormity and power encapsulated in the 400 pound sleeping silverback. Part of me wanted to see him do something and part of me was acutely aware that if he woke up and got aggravated in any way, we'd be toast. The guide kept making low guttaral grunts the entire time we were there and encouraged us not to point. When you are an uber-tourist and among five other girls, all you can do is point. Look at that! Did you see what that one just did! It was kinda funny. I couldn't NOT point I was so excited by it.
Then, the most awesome rare thing of all.. they mated. Two adult females had been vying for the sleeping giant's affection. One kept yawning and showing her teeth and the other was kinda sauntering around- you know gorilla flirting. So, big guy wakes up, walks over to the teethy one and proceeds to, you know, do it. The five of us were in fits of laughter and wonder and shock- only Kerry managed to get her camera in order and video the activity. There were strange noises, other gorillas watching too and within minutes a small shudder and it was done. He promptly walked back to his spot, lay down and fell asleep. Best drama of all was the "other woman" who hadn't been chosen threw a bit of a hissy fit, all the while dragging a 2 year old baby on her back. Fascinating! Apparently it is rare to see such an event and we were joking that although we hadn't actually hoped to witness exactly THAT, we should maybe sell our footage to National Geographic. Haha!
The hike down was hilarious. Just as soon as we turned to leave it began to pour rain. We slid, skiied, giggled and slipped our way down the hill. Whereas on the way up we often got caught or stung by the nettles and had to pick our way carefully, the way down was just like a muddy slip n' slide. We couldn't stop laughing though, we had just experienced one of those rare, once in a lifetime moments; an hour with one of the most amazing creatures in the world.
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