Receive love. Give love. Repeat. was written on a church sign at Bloor and Dufferin the week before I left Toronto. Since arriving in Rwanda, it's been holding up pretty well as a mantra.
Yesterday my friend Christi met me in Kigali and we took a bus out east to visit the RCP school. I'm happy to report that it is doing very well. In two years they have opened 4 classrooms- which is double what they predicted they could do-hired 5 teachers and are not currently in need of any new funding as they continue to be supported by organizations in Ireland and France. It was a treat to see a birthday ceremony, visit each class for the typical serenade of various English nursery rhymes and hymns by excited students and an honor to sit down with the staff to discuss how my school in Toronto can continue to build relationship with their school here. They received our package yesterday (?!) and there were pictures of my students on the wall of the office beside a Canadian flag. The top student of the class got the Raptors jersey we sent. And one little girl named Rebecca came up to shake my hand; we agreed it is an awesome name.
I was surprised to see Bosco- who used to work as a domestique in Kabarondo- and so pleased to see him proudly say he is now the secretary of the school. And it was nice to meet with Eric Platini, the Headteacher, who moved to Rwamagana to make the school his top priority. I remember leaving Rwanda in February 2010 and arriving in Dublin to find that the RCP's launch party was the next day. No time to gather my thoughts as we met the next day with 12 people at Kennedy's pub near Trinity College to share the idea for the RCP. For the next year, it was a passion project. We had a contest to name the school, we chose the logo, we bought a plot of land and we tried to relate Rwanda to our friends and families. I learned a lot about event planning, fundraising, using resources and connecting people. I think the highlight event was using AziziLife crafts made by a women's cooperative group in Gitarama to host a booth at a ChristianAid event in Dublin to raise funds for the RCP school project in Rwamagana. I wonder if the women in Rwanda who made the crafts know that they helped build a school in Rwamagana. A really lovely school with solid walls, a playground with swings and 6 very caring, engaging staff members. Altogether a beautiful morning!
I'm sure there will be more to say about the school visit but as I am now in Gitarama I'm going to switch my focus.
Last night I slept 14 hours! There is no way to articulate exactly what it feels like to be back in Rwanda. There is an ease about getting around because I know where I'm going. I remember (mostly) enough kinyarwanda to hold my own. (Although in my fatigue yesterday some German and some Spanish got mixed in when I chatted with the moto guy). Yes! I took a moto in Kigali! I toured around the capital, got rid of my molasses-legs- a combination of jetlag and altitude adjustments mean that the first few hours of being in Rwanda your legs don't work as they should. I got a reprimand from a local as I was busy taking pictures of a tree full of bats- yup, they'll be a photo of this it was intense- and as I wandered down the street this man stopped me. He told me what I was doing was wrong but didn't say why. He broke the all important 2 feet of personal space rule I have and after a bit of miscommunication, he finally tuned me into the fact that I was taking photos of THE PRESIDENTs HOUSE and I should really stop. oops.
Now I'm in Gitarama and I have met up with Ken and Moira for a melange at Tranquillite and a bit of a memory walk catching up on life and events since 2010. I got hug-tackled by a group of small children yesterday outside of Christi's gate. This has to be my favorite thing about Rwanda. It's like a love-bomb. The first kid spots you, points then giggles with eyes wide open and then the boldest one runs up and hugs you. Like full on squeezed! Then the other kids, encouraged by the bold one, do the same and I try my best to greet each one, ask them their names and not fall over or step on toes while I plan my escape route. Tomorrow is a holiday and the kids won't be at school. I think I will walk around my old neighbourhood tomorrow. I can't wait to see Gloria, Noella, Voisine, Fils, Francois and hopefully, HOPE-fully Jean-Pierre. I've already taken a Fanta with Cyriaque- the headteacher of my former model school and met with Procar- the man who has the shop I most frequented in Gitarama. Christi's housemate Louise and her son Bruno and I enjoyed making a craft together that I brought him as a gift and then when the girls were away, Bruno and I spent about an hour playing with a red balloon. I plan to visit Mama and the orphanage so I can give her the clothes that Gabriel sent with me. I am meeting Emmanuel, my former nightguard at 5pm today. Life is pretty sweet right now.
Receive love. Give love. Repeat.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Funny ha-ha's
*when crossing the street in a foreign country that's not England (where it's written in bold print: LOOK RIGHT!), it's important to find a local and mimick their crossing. Ie: let them step out first, especially near roundabouts, and then step out at the same time. Now...if they do a funny hop, skip and jump to avoid oncoming motorbike taxi driver, it doesn't mean you have to mimick this move. If you do....laugh at yourself. It's an appropriate reaction.
*am reading Sheryl Sandburg's book "Lean In" about women in the workforce and leadership. this morning I saw a Rwandan lady with a baby on her back and a briefcase in her hand. mat leave and "guilt management"...ya right! she was getting it done!
*two words: TREE TOMATOES! I had one for breakfast this morning. love that strange little is-it-a-fruit-is-it-a-vegetable.
*woke up to birds chirping, so awesome. tried to record the chirping on my phone to share with friends at home and birds stopped chirping. recorded 1 minute of dead air time. turned camera off. bird dive-bombed me and flew to nearest branch to resume chirping. this was at 5:30am local time
*had to resist urge to take moto last night. urge won this morning. first "miscommunication" of the trip led me to MTN centre instead of UTC centre and paid a little extra ($2 total) to get to right place. not whiteknuckling it this time. prior knowledge key and assurance that my moto guy doesn't want to wreck any more than i do.
* so many hills- every direction you turn is either walking up or walking down. great training for future "warrior dashes" and "tough mudders"
*Reminders of various memories here: meeting Bobby Scott and Jeremy Fokkens, having lunch with Catherine O'Heithir, going to the SportsCentre with Tina Hewing, swimming in Canadian Ambassador Bill McCarthy's Pool, lots of adventures with Karen Jacobsen including having doctor play Kenny Rogers "Islands in the Sun" before giving us the results of bloodwork for "do i have amoebas in my belly" test and the marriage proposal
CAN'T WAIT TO GO TO GITARAMA! I get the warm fuzzies when I think of Marie, Jean-Paul, Emmanuel and Procar. And I have been praying a lot about seeing Jean-Pierre (the boy who made me Christmas dinner) again.
*got AziziLife a hook-up at breakfast this morning as i met an expat girl at breakfast who wants to do the Azizi Tour next week.
*noticeable changes: bank machines, more cyclists and the VSO office is a laundromat now.
*noticeable non-changes: La Nouvelle Planete is still there, Ndoli convenience store is exactly the same and Beausejour....ah it feels so restful there. I am staying in the room 2 doors down from where I stayed for a month in April 2009.
I must go venture around Kigali now! Oh yeah....and I'm about the fastest walker here. Thanks Toronto ;)
*am reading Sheryl Sandburg's book "Lean In" about women in the workforce and leadership. this morning I saw a Rwandan lady with a baby on her back and a briefcase in her hand. mat leave and "guilt management"...ya right! she was getting it done!
*two words: TREE TOMATOES! I had one for breakfast this morning. love that strange little is-it-a-fruit-is-it-a-vegetable.
*woke up to birds chirping, so awesome. tried to record the chirping on my phone to share with friends at home and birds stopped chirping. recorded 1 minute of dead air time. turned camera off. bird dive-bombed me and flew to nearest branch to resume chirping. this was at 5:30am local time
*had to resist urge to take moto last night. urge won this morning. first "miscommunication" of the trip led me to MTN centre instead of UTC centre and paid a little extra ($2 total) to get to right place. not whiteknuckling it this time. prior knowledge key and assurance that my moto guy doesn't want to wreck any more than i do.
* so many hills- every direction you turn is either walking up or walking down. great training for future "warrior dashes" and "tough mudders"
*Reminders of various memories here: meeting Bobby Scott and Jeremy Fokkens, having lunch with Catherine O'Heithir, going to the SportsCentre with Tina Hewing, swimming in Canadian Ambassador Bill McCarthy's Pool, lots of adventures with Karen Jacobsen including having doctor play Kenny Rogers "Islands in the Sun" before giving us the results of bloodwork for "do i have amoebas in my belly" test and the marriage proposal
CAN'T WAIT TO GO TO GITARAMA! I get the warm fuzzies when I think of Marie, Jean-Paul, Emmanuel and Procar. And I have been praying a lot about seeing Jean-Pierre (the boy who made me Christmas dinner) again.
*got AziziLife a hook-up at breakfast this morning as i met an expat girl at breakfast who wants to do the Azizi Tour next week.
*noticeable changes: bank machines, more cyclists and the VSO office is a laundromat now.
*noticeable non-changes: La Nouvelle Planete is still there, Ndoli convenience store is exactly the same and Beausejour....ah it feels so restful there. I am staying in the room 2 doors down from where I stayed for a month in April 2009.
I must go venture around Kigali now! Oh yeah....and I'm about the fastest walker here. Thanks Toronto ;)
Hope
"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all." Emily Dickinson
I came across this quote last week and it reminded me of my Nana. She was a big Emily Dickinson fan. Sometimes I think God sneaks little messages in at various points in our journey just to reassure us we are in His care. This gave me a big swooping "Nana-vibe" like a warm breeze or a strong wave.
I'm not one for defending or justifying my faith but I need to share a few cool moments about my journey over here. I met a girl at the airport in Toronto who was heading to Turkey for a year with no plans to return. She had lost "everything" in the Calgary floods and all she had as evidence of her life in Canada was a blanket that had been salvaged. She caught my eye because her mother was with her saying goodbye and was a little weepy. I watched the precious interaction and smiled a bit as the girl kept saying "Go Mom, it's fine. I'm fine." And the mom did a bit of a prolonged exit, the way mothers do when they leave you at university for the first time. It was very sweet.
We chatted for awhile, she had worked in the Congo. I was instantly reminded of how much I like meeting other travelers. It is a bit of a badge of honor to say you've lived or worked in rare places. You get to speak a common language of understanding when you meet other people who have worked in similar environments. Long story short, I met up with her again by chance at the Amsterdam airport. Millions of people, thousands of choices about where to walk and which way to turn. I liked bumping into the same person twice. It made me realize the world is not so big; we are all interconnected.
Then, 26 hours into my trip and just thirty minutes from landing in Rwanda, I got up to stretch my legs and started a conversation with Douglas. Turns out, Douglas is visiting his home of Rwanda- specifically Rwamagana- and he knows the Headteacher of the school that we built! Now, this is the kind of goosebump moment when I connect strongly with my faith and remind myself that the decision to come at this time was right and that God goes before me, equipping me for the journey. Douglas offered me a ride to my hotel. Minutes after landing and picking up my bags I put my nerves to the test by getting into a car with four strange men that I didn't know- you'd never do that in Toronto! I've decided that every time a fear bubble pops up, I will speak over it firmly with the confidence that a) almost anything bad that can happen to someone re: illness, accident, trauma has already happened to me and I've dealt with it and b) and more importantly and precisely B)! the majority of people do not wish us harm. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Gentle people live in a gentle world. "Rebekah" in Hebrew means "gentle".
Incidental travel notes: flying over the Sahara looks like butterscotch ripple ice cream. I kept wondering if the "chocolate chips" of speckled dots were wildebeast or elephants!
We traveled over Khartoum. My good friend Khartoum. Anyone who has heard my travel drama about accidentally going to Khartoum in 2010 and not being to happy about it will laugh along with me.
The Amsterdam airport has a meditation room on the 2nd floor. I read the book of Job chapters 1-20 for an hour during my layover. It's an awesome place to regroup when you travel.
Upon arrival in Rwanda:
Gecko count: one
Spider in the tub count: one
Random man stopping me for a sweet handshake and a chat: one
Complete lack of fear or threat of malice while walking down the street: priceless
Yet to be heard: "amafaranga or mzungu"
Soon to be enjoyed: laughing children doing the run up, run away, run back up again game. (Lifts my spirit when I think of it).
So...hope floats right? Hope is the one thing that you can't ever take from someone; like a trick candle that keeps relighting after you try to blow it out.
Tomorrow, I am scheduled to visit the school that the RCP built. I am hopeful for finding it, we have a picture and a town but not the exact location. I am hopeful for connecting with the Headteacher and seeing the school in action. School is in session right now. And I am hopeful for a sense of peace or "closure" with regards to the past 3 years, which have been high on the intensity level and hard on the heart. I think ultimately I believe in redemptive hope. A good friend chatted with me on the phone in Toronto while I was waiting at the airport. He reminded me that this was a time to reap the rewards of hard work. I don't think I believe in "rewards"- that we are owed something for working hard or are entitled to good things because we try. I do, however, like the parable of Mustard Seed Faith. There is a time to plant and a time reap. I am happy to be in Rwanda without expectation and open to the joys of seeing children in a school that wasn't built before we decided to initiate a charity. I am hopeful for other future seasons in my life and feeling as though "my cup runneth over". That is a seed (an idea) I'm willing to plant today.
Thanks Nana.
I came across this quote last week and it reminded me of my Nana. She was a big Emily Dickinson fan. Sometimes I think God sneaks little messages in at various points in our journey just to reassure us we are in His care. This gave me a big swooping "Nana-vibe" like a warm breeze or a strong wave.
I'm not one for defending or justifying my faith but I need to share a few cool moments about my journey over here. I met a girl at the airport in Toronto who was heading to Turkey for a year with no plans to return. She had lost "everything" in the Calgary floods and all she had as evidence of her life in Canada was a blanket that had been salvaged. She caught my eye because her mother was with her saying goodbye and was a little weepy. I watched the precious interaction and smiled a bit as the girl kept saying "Go Mom, it's fine. I'm fine." And the mom did a bit of a prolonged exit, the way mothers do when they leave you at university for the first time. It was very sweet.
We chatted for awhile, she had worked in the Congo. I was instantly reminded of how much I like meeting other travelers. It is a bit of a badge of honor to say you've lived or worked in rare places. You get to speak a common language of understanding when you meet other people who have worked in similar environments. Long story short, I met up with her again by chance at the Amsterdam airport. Millions of people, thousands of choices about where to walk and which way to turn. I liked bumping into the same person twice. It made me realize the world is not so big; we are all interconnected.
Then, 26 hours into my trip and just thirty minutes from landing in Rwanda, I got up to stretch my legs and started a conversation with Douglas. Turns out, Douglas is visiting his home of Rwanda- specifically Rwamagana- and he knows the Headteacher of the school that we built! Now, this is the kind of goosebump moment when I connect strongly with my faith and remind myself that the decision to come at this time was right and that God goes before me, equipping me for the journey. Douglas offered me a ride to my hotel. Minutes after landing and picking up my bags I put my nerves to the test by getting into a car with four strange men that I didn't know- you'd never do that in Toronto! I've decided that every time a fear bubble pops up, I will speak over it firmly with the confidence that a) almost anything bad that can happen to someone re: illness, accident, trauma has already happened to me and I've dealt with it and b) and more importantly and precisely B)! the majority of people do not wish us harm. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Gentle people live in a gentle world. "Rebekah" in Hebrew means "gentle".
Incidental travel notes: flying over the Sahara looks like butterscotch ripple ice cream. I kept wondering if the "chocolate chips" of speckled dots were wildebeast or elephants!
We traveled over Khartoum. My good friend Khartoum. Anyone who has heard my travel drama about accidentally going to Khartoum in 2010 and not being to happy about it will laugh along with me.
The Amsterdam airport has a meditation room on the 2nd floor. I read the book of Job chapters 1-20 for an hour during my layover. It's an awesome place to regroup when you travel.
Upon arrival in Rwanda:
Gecko count: one
Spider in the tub count: one
Random man stopping me for a sweet handshake and a chat: one
Complete lack of fear or threat of malice while walking down the street: priceless
Yet to be heard: "amafaranga or mzungu"
Soon to be enjoyed: laughing children doing the run up, run away, run back up again game. (Lifts my spirit when I think of it).
So...hope floats right? Hope is the one thing that you can't ever take from someone; like a trick candle that keeps relighting after you try to blow it out.
Tomorrow, I am scheduled to visit the school that the RCP built. I am hopeful for finding it, we have a picture and a town but not the exact location. I am hopeful for connecting with the Headteacher and seeing the school in action. School is in session right now. And I am hopeful for a sense of peace or "closure" with regards to the past 3 years, which have been high on the intensity level and hard on the heart. I think ultimately I believe in redemptive hope. A good friend chatted with me on the phone in Toronto while I was waiting at the airport. He reminded me that this was a time to reap the rewards of hard work. I don't think I believe in "rewards"- that we are owed something for working hard or are entitled to good things because we try. I do, however, like the parable of Mustard Seed Faith. There is a time to plant and a time reap. I am happy to be in Rwanda without expectation and open to the joys of seeing children in a school that wasn't built before we decided to initiate a charity. I am hopeful for other future seasons in my life and feeling as though "my cup runneth over". That is a seed (an idea) I'm willing to plant today.
Thanks Nana.
Bye bye Broccoli...and other reverse culture shock-isms
I am about to board a plane to Africa and I am cognizant of leaving the "land of plenty" for the "land of a thousand variables". I remember the first time I traveled to Africa with Habitat for Humanity and I packed like a Boy Scout for every potential outcome. This is my 4th trip back to Africa- (Ghana, Rwanda, Ethiopia, Rwanda) and I want to approach this trip as a wise veteran traveler.
While I was waiting to board, I watched an expat family in line. They were heading back to Rwanda after a summer at home in the U.S. The woman's 8 year old son was quite hyper and impatient with the lineup, so he was chomping his gum obnoxiously. After dad gave him a stern look with no effect and mom tried to reason with him about the "time for being silly"...(when is that by the way, for kids, noon? 6pm? Clearly it's not during the airport lineup)...mom resorted to telling him that "because there is no First aid "here", he had better stop chewing his gum like that because when he chokes he will need a tracheostomy". I kinda looked at her dumbfounded and then closed my jaw as she continued with this line of discipline by pushing on his throat and telling her son that a doctor would jab a knife there, etc. etc. In my head I made a mental note. This is "white woman fear", a socially conditioned response. The teacher in me also thought that such an extreme threat as a response to silly behavior was a bit inappropriate. The boy was a bit startled by the information and he spat his gum out when mom turned away. Problem solved? Fear bug planted. As I was battling my own nerves about coming back to Africa, I asked myself not "What do I fear?" but rather "Where did I learn my fear and is it accurate?"
I had a nice chat with a Serbian lady on the first leg of my trip. We talked about the CNN High Alert Code Orange mentality and how living in Canada- one of the most prosperous, safe and supportive countries in the world-means that 99% of our fears are unjustified. I chatted with her about my return from living in Ireland and how astonished I was in 2010 (when Ireland had a difficult year fiscally) to see the knee-jerk reaction and subsequent despair of the people there. As Canadians we have the boom and bust economy and while the recession is intimidating we can relax in the knowledge that the pain is temporary and employment is always available but compromises must be made. Where does this desperate fearfulness come from? In the Western world, we are not destitute, we are not impoverished, we have access to medical care, education (university level in Ireland!) and unlimited choices. Yet we don't seem to think it's enough.
In stark contrast, my memories of Rwanda include industrious, grateful, joyful people who definitely had stories of hardship to speak of but did not wear their trauma. It was behind their eyes, it was in the hesitant first few minutes of interaction when eyes get downcast but it was not the first and most prominent point of discussion. "My poverty is evident by my clothes, by my lack of adequate shelter, by my lack of employment but you will not get a sense of loss from my spirit" is what most comes to mind when I think of Rwandans. How much we have to learn about priorities.
So, as I get ready to board the plane, I'm reminded of the basic human needs for survival: food, shelter, clothing, love. The rest is just luxury. I took one last spin around the No Frills before leaving Canada. No broccoli, no 17 brands of cereal, no Epson salts for 2 weeks. Oh...and thinking of turning my cable off once I get home. Herbal Magic ads about the perfect body, PRIUS commercials about how a car makes my life better in an existential sense and the umpteenth ad for an illness I don't have that I need to take medication for are really grating at my spirit. Like cheese grater on cheddar!
Fear can take a hike.
"And I said to the one who stood at the gate of the year,
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the Unknown."
And he replied, "Go out into the darkness and put your hand in to the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way." Minnie Huskins.
See you in Rwanda!!!
While I was waiting to board, I watched an expat family in line. They were heading back to Rwanda after a summer at home in the U.S. The woman's 8 year old son was quite hyper and impatient with the lineup, so he was chomping his gum obnoxiously. After dad gave him a stern look with no effect and mom tried to reason with him about the "time for being silly"...(when is that by the way, for kids, noon? 6pm? Clearly it's not during the airport lineup)...mom resorted to telling him that "because there is no First aid "here", he had better stop chewing his gum like that because when he chokes he will need a tracheostomy". I kinda looked at her dumbfounded and then closed my jaw as she continued with this line of discipline by pushing on his throat and telling her son that a doctor would jab a knife there, etc. etc. In my head I made a mental note. This is "white woman fear", a socially conditioned response. The teacher in me also thought that such an extreme threat as a response to silly behavior was a bit inappropriate. The boy was a bit startled by the information and he spat his gum out when mom turned away. Problem solved? Fear bug planted. As I was battling my own nerves about coming back to Africa, I asked myself not "What do I fear?" but rather "Where did I learn my fear and is it accurate?"
I had a nice chat with a Serbian lady on the first leg of my trip. We talked about the CNN High Alert Code Orange mentality and how living in Canada- one of the most prosperous, safe and supportive countries in the world-means that 99% of our fears are unjustified. I chatted with her about my return from living in Ireland and how astonished I was in 2010 (when Ireland had a difficult year fiscally) to see the knee-jerk reaction and subsequent despair of the people there. As Canadians we have the boom and bust economy and while the recession is intimidating we can relax in the knowledge that the pain is temporary and employment is always available but compromises must be made. Where does this desperate fearfulness come from? In the Western world, we are not destitute, we are not impoverished, we have access to medical care, education (university level in Ireland!) and unlimited choices. Yet we don't seem to think it's enough.
In stark contrast, my memories of Rwanda include industrious, grateful, joyful people who definitely had stories of hardship to speak of but did not wear their trauma. It was behind their eyes, it was in the hesitant first few minutes of interaction when eyes get downcast but it was not the first and most prominent point of discussion. "My poverty is evident by my clothes, by my lack of adequate shelter, by my lack of employment but you will not get a sense of loss from my spirit" is what most comes to mind when I think of Rwandans. How much we have to learn about priorities.
So, as I get ready to board the plane, I'm reminded of the basic human needs for survival: food, shelter, clothing, love. The rest is just luxury. I took one last spin around the No Frills before leaving Canada. No broccoli, no 17 brands of cereal, no Epson salts for 2 weeks. Oh...and thinking of turning my cable off once I get home. Herbal Magic ads about the perfect body, PRIUS commercials about how a car makes my life better in an existential sense and the umpteenth ad for an illness I don't have that I need to take medication for are really grating at my spirit. Like cheese grater on cheddar!
Fear can take a hike.
"And I said to the one who stood at the gate of the year,
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the Unknown."
And he replied, "Go out into the darkness and put your hand in to the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way." Minnie Huskins.
See you in Rwanda!!!
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Return to Rwanda
On Saturday, I will board a plane in Toronto to return to Rwanda for the first time in 3 1/2 years. I have mixed emotions. I can't wait to walk down the streets in Gitarama and I hope to see some of the children from my former Art Club. I am anxious to see Jean-Pierre, the boy who cooked me Christmas dinner but I don't have his contact information. I have been in touch with Marie and Jean-Paul and have a small gift for him. He is now a little boy heading to school and not the baby I remember strapped to his mother's back. My last memory of them is watching her walk from town to my house, determined to set up the business loan, with dusty feet and an eager stride. And of course, our memorable goodbye in her shop when she sent me back to Canada with an Agaseke basket overflowing with beans.
I plan to visit the RCP school right away. I have added some photos to the blog to try and account for what has happened in my life during the 3 1/2 years. It has been very eventful to say the least! There are photos of the fundraisers we held in Ireland during the 10 months I spent working with the RCP charity. I can remember discussing the logo design, naming the school, buying the plot of land, seeing the building take shape, sourcing out places to host events and the passionate work of all those involved with a start-up charity. I can't wait to stand in front of the school and see the children relishing their opportunity at an education. I am looking forward to seeing the Headteacher Eric Platini and getting an update on the progress (and potential needs) of the school. It was always our plan to hand over full control to the Rwandan organisation within 5 years. I pray they have what they need to become independent.
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I am attaching some photos of different fundraisers I have done in Canada. Once I returned from Ireland, I wanted to maintain a connection with Rwanda even though I wasn't going to be working with the RCP anymore. It was unclear how I could accomplish that. I decided to have my students send care packages and in this way I could educate them in a global context while still keeping something very important to me alive and ticking. There is a photo of the package we received in 2011 from the RCP school and my students enjoying the gifts that were sent to them. There is a photo of my students this past school year, preparing 4 shoebox donations for the school in Rwanda. I told them they could send anything representative of Canada and so we sent lacrosse balls, a Raptors shirt and lots of letters with stickers on them :)
Finally, another way in which I have kept Rwanda current is by speaking about it at different forums. I have spoken at InterFaith Youth Conferences in Dublin, at VSO recruiting centres in Ireland and Canada and I have told my stories at speaking events such as MoMondays in Toronto and Oakville. I love retelling some of the adventurous anecdotes involving spiders, motorbike rides and rafting on the Nile. Mostly I love the feeling of remembering the interactions between myself and strangers on the bus, teachers I did workshops with and people in my neighbourhood who treated me like family. As Ben Harper often sings in his repetitive ode to gratitude: "I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to be a witness."
Prayers for the journey. Next post: from Rwanda!!!
I plan to visit the RCP school right away. I have added some photos to the blog to try and account for what has happened in my life during the 3 1/2 years. It has been very eventful to say the least! There are photos of the fundraisers we held in Ireland during the 10 months I spent working with the RCP charity. I can remember discussing the logo design, naming the school, buying the plot of land, seeing the building take shape, sourcing out places to host events and the passionate work of all those involved with a start-up charity. I can't wait to stand in front of the school and see the children relishing their opportunity at an education. I am looking forward to seeing the Headteacher Eric Platini and getting an update on the progress (and potential needs) of the school. It was always our plan to hand over full control to the Rwandan organisation within 5 years. I pray they have what they need to become independent.
.JPG)
Finally, another way in which I have kept Rwanda current is by speaking about it at different forums. I have spoken at InterFaith Youth Conferences in Dublin, at VSO recruiting centres in Ireland and Canada and I have told my stories at speaking events such as MoMondays in Toronto and Oakville. I love retelling some of the adventurous anecdotes involving spiders, motorbike rides and rafting on the Nile. Mostly I love the feeling of remembering the interactions between myself and strangers on the bus, teachers I did workshops with and people in my neighbourhood who treated me like family. As Ben Harper often sings in his repetitive ode to gratitude: "I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to be a witness."
Prayers for the journey. Next post: from Rwanda!!!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A bang not a whimper
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
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
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
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