Okay Ken, I promised I'd write about this again so here it is. Among many delights about being back in Rwanda is the string of memories associated with living here in 2010. Yes, I played in a soccer match at Amahoro stadium against the First Lady of Rwanda, Jeannette Kagame.
It was a charity match between parliamentarians and expats. Full of pomp and circumstance, we were led out of the stadium holding hands of younger players, lined up by our respective flags and were introduced to the crowd. Now, having thrown out the ceremonial first pitch at a Blue Jays game when I was 15 years old it takes a lot to phase me and even I thought it was pretty cool to play a soccer game in such a huge stadium. I was pumped to play and having been a late addition to the team, I didn't get to start. I warmed up and chatted up the coach on the sidelines then finally after a few minutes the coach put me in. We'd been given strict instructions not to touch, jostle or challenge the First Lady- a remarkably tall, solid lady.
During the first half, the expats went up 3-0 quite quickly. I'm happy to say I scored our team's 3rd goal! I've played soccer competitively since the age of 4 and I'm a left winger. It was pretty fun to be out there. Our coach pulled us in at half time and said emphatically that we needed to calm things down as it didn't look good for the parliamentarians. To save face, we'd have to ease up. Even Jeannette Kagame said to me in a brief conversation we'd had on the field: "We need to make things a little more fair I think."
The second half started and I moved back to defense. I have to say it is very difficult to fake defending someone in soccer- I'm not Italian after all and diving away from people instead of tackling them doesn't come naturally :) I did, however, have great respect for the code of conduct in our play and did not want to offend any Rwandans let alone the president's wife! So, when Jeannette Kagame came lumbering down the field on a "breakaway" I did my best fake deke and kept ample space between her and I. She put the ball through my legs! I faked surprise and leaned away from her as she moved toward the net and scored. Then, they brought on a "ringer" in the form of a fourteen year old boy who had played in a previous match. Within minutes, the score was tied 3-3. Our coach called timeout and instructed us to start trying again. That boy was really really good! We were trying!! He was impossible to catch and the ball stayed glued to his feet a la Messi.
Last few minutes of play and we've swapped our players around and are now playing our little expat hearts out. It's fine to say it's charitable to make the score close but no way do we actually want to lose the game! The ringer/boy brings the ball up the field, pausing just outside the eighteen yard box. I am near him but to be honest can't quite catch him..and he takes a dive! The referee blows the whistle for a penalty shot for the parliamentarians. Jeannette Kagame steps up to the plate (cross-reference of sports analogies-oops) and puts the ball in the top right shelf of the net. The crowd goes nuts! We have played as best we can, they have won. Kagame's wife is the hero of the game. More pomp and circumstance follow as we take team photos and stay for the ceremony and trophy awarding.
TSN highlight of the night: the next evening the charity match is the top news story and though I do not have access to a television in Gitarama, a friend phones me to say that my goal was featured on the highlight reel.
Now, I have thousands of stories about my year in Rwanda- the Narcoleptic Nightguard, the Leaning Toilet of Pisa, Man-up-tree-throwing-rocks at unidentified-growling-animal-"Lost-style"-at-3am, Silverback Gorilla Porn and the Nairobi Airport Incident just to name a few. I enjoy telling them all, it will never get old.
Only recently did I part with the soccer jersey I wore during the match that day because it had become too tattered to keep. When I think back to the game, I can't see it ending any other way.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
A vast, expansive beauty
Most people I've met who have been to Africa describe the same kind of feeling about living, working or visiting it. The people were so joyful! They had so little but seemed so happy! They lived for the moment! The scenery, wildlife, clothing, music and culture were phenomenal! I realize as I become the umpteenth person to write about my time here, my perspectives are probably not unique. How then, can I articulate the beauty? I am reminded of one of my students in Ireland, Charlotte Bowen, who floored me one day in class when I was giving a lesson on the Kingdom of God.
To preface this story, I need to say that 12 days after moving to Ireland in 2010 I found myself suddenly and shockingly on my own. Not unlike the nervous fear I experienced during the first few weeks in Rwanda-solo due to miscalculations which cannot see blog air time- I leaned heavily on my faith (and my friends) during this time. As almost instant proof of His love and abiding care, I found a place to live in Ireland and a job within 3 weeks and opted to stay. Whether this was out of pure stubbornness or foolishness or purposefulness remains to be seen. The job was teaching Religious Education at an all girls' private boarding school. I embraced it. So halfway through the year, during a lesson on false idols and evidence of God I asked the 2nd year students to draw images on the whiteboard of things they believed in, things they used to believe in and things they no longer believed in. The board soon became covered with pictures of Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, leprechauns, the Cross, hearts for love, hands holding one another for friendship, etc. etc. As the board became full, I asked the girls to contemplate that if their parents had told them of Santa Claus and it had been disproven he existed as they passed the 7 years or 8 years of age mark, how could they choose to believe in something else which was unseen?
I asked several girls to draw images of what they felt the Kingdom of God looked like. We erased Santa Claus, we drew images of faith icons instead. I was sensing the lesson was resonating as we continued to discuss what we'd been told, what we'd been taught and what- as twelve and thirteen year olds- we could choose to believe for ourselves. Then, I asked the class, of all the images up here- which one best represents the Kingdom of God? The Cross? The Jesus Christ picture? The church drawing? Charlotte Bowen walked up to the board, took the whiteboard marker in her hand and confidently drew a circle around the entire perimeter of our drawings. "He is everywhere and in everything." she said. So true.
I think of that moment when I think of Rwanda and its' vast, expansive beauty. I know Thoreau talked about his time in nature being a religious experience and I know that minus the trappings of commercial consumerism we are face to face with pure humanity so that can feel spiritual too. Africa is a magical place, I wish more people had the courage to visit it and not necessarily for the purpose of humanitarian aid. I wish that people could step outside their bubbled words and visit a place where one has to live day to day because the future is not certain. And I hope that when they do, they can feel the strong connection to the metaphysical world that I do whenever I am here. In the spirit of Hebrews 11:1 that states: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Yes, Charlotte Bowen, the Kingdom of God is everywhere, in all things and it is our job to take the time and space to see it. In Rwanda it is everywhere.
To preface this story, I need to say that 12 days after moving to Ireland in 2010 I found myself suddenly and shockingly on my own. Not unlike the nervous fear I experienced during the first few weeks in Rwanda-solo due to miscalculations which cannot see blog air time- I leaned heavily on my faith (and my friends) during this time. As almost instant proof of His love and abiding care, I found a place to live in Ireland and a job within 3 weeks and opted to stay. Whether this was out of pure stubbornness or foolishness or purposefulness remains to be seen. The job was teaching Religious Education at an all girls' private boarding school. I embraced it. So halfway through the year, during a lesson on false idols and evidence of God I asked the 2nd year students to draw images on the whiteboard of things they believed in, things they used to believe in and things they no longer believed in. The board soon became covered with pictures of Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, leprechauns, the Cross, hearts for love, hands holding one another for friendship, etc. etc. As the board became full, I asked the girls to contemplate that if their parents had told them of Santa Claus and it had been disproven he existed as they passed the 7 years or 8 years of age mark, how could they choose to believe in something else which was unseen?
I asked several girls to draw images of what they felt the Kingdom of God looked like. We erased Santa Claus, we drew images of faith icons instead. I was sensing the lesson was resonating as we continued to discuss what we'd been told, what we'd been taught and what- as twelve and thirteen year olds- we could choose to believe for ourselves. Then, I asked the class, of all the images up here- which one best represents the Kingdom of God? The Cross? The Jesus Christ picture? The church drawing? Charlotte Bowen walked up to the board, took the whiteboard marker in her hand and confidently drew a circle around the entire perimeter of our drawings. "He is everywhere and in everything." she said. So true.
I think of that moment when I think of Rwanda and its' vast, expansive beauty. I know Thoreau talked about his time in nature being a religious experience and I know that minus the trappings of commercial consumerism we are face to face with pure humanity so that can feel spiritual too. Africa is a magical place, I wish more people had the courage to visit it and not necessarily for the purpose of humanitarian aid. I wish that people could step outside their bubbled words and visit a place where one has to live day to day because the future is not certain. And I hope that when they do, they can feel the strong connection to the metaphysical world that I do whenever I am here. In the spirit of Hebrews 11:1 that states: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Yes, Charlotte Bowen, the Kingdom of God is everywhere, in all things and it is our job to take the time and space to see it. In Rwanda it is everywhere.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Did you bring joy?
"Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife. The first question was "Did you bring joy?" The second was "Did you find joy?"- Leo Buscaglia
*Unleashing a dozen balloons into my old neighbourhood and watching the kids play with them.
*Sitting down on the side of a dirt road with a bag full of bracelet making material and waiting as one by one children came out of their houses, sat down next to me, chose 2 colours each and watched as I showed them how to make a bracelet. "Nanje, nanje" means "and me....and me"
*Visiting the same street 3 days later and having a boy run up and say "Bracelet!" and show me he's still wearing his bracelet.
*Bringing a home spa kit to Christi's house and having Christi, Louise and Bruno do mud mask facials with me. Listening to Bruno ask "when can my face be black again?" as we had opted to give him the strawberry sorbet rejuvenating facial mask. Admiring our glowing youthful skin the next morning :)
*Meeting Daniel, my former co-facilitator, on the side of the road near Rubobagoba and having him introduce me to 3 teachers who participated in our trainings in 2009. Having Daniel invite me to teach a game to his class. Showing the kids how to play 1,2,3 spin and watching them try it and laugh. Having his wife and children come to greet me and then trying to explain that Immaculee (who is 8 months pregnant) does not have to walk me back up the hill to the main road. Letting her walk me anyway because she wants to.
*Playing cards with Tom's family at dinner last night while we waited 3 hours for our meal to be made. Remembering different mzungu dinners, movie nights, parties at my old house and Canada Day celebrations with Tom wearing an American Flag t-shirt to antagonize me.
*Feeling lucky to have friends from other countries who share my passion for Rwanda.
*Seeing a parade of people just outside of Gisenyi town running down the street in full fancy dress and carrying an 8 by 10 photo of Jesus followed by a massive statue of Virgin Mary. Listening to them sing, watching them dance, feeling their joy.
*Leaving Christi's house last night by way of climbing over her wall because the guard had locked me in the compound. Laughing at the image I must've created to the passersby as the mzungu climbs over the wall. Laughing even harder as I sit straddling the wall and the absentee guard walks up the street, returning from his errand and shakes his head at me wondering what I was doing up there. Feeling justified as I climb all the way over and run off to join the others for dinner. (There's obviously more to this story but some other time...)
*Leaving Christi's house this morning to see a local boy wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey. It reminded me of my first week in Rwanda in 2009 when I was on my own and saw a local with a similar shirt. Same effect of feeling reassured that we are not that different even though our worlds seem so far apart.
*Having friends (Tom and Christi) who indulge me by having a Pop Rocks eating contest at dinner and watching Christi win. She's invincible that girl!
*Being completely at peace with my decision to leave my job in 2008, spend two years volunteering in Africa, contribute to starting a charity and building a school, returning to Rwanda for a visit and feeling ready to move on with my life in Toronto.
God bless my friends here in Rwanda, God bless Tom and Ritah's marriage on Saturday and may God keep us all in a space where finding joy and bringing joy is so easily accessible.
*Unleashing a dozen balloons into my old neighbourhood and watching the kids play with them.
*Sitting down on the side of a dirt road with a bag full of bracelet making material and waiting as one by one children came out of their houses, sat down next to me, chose 2 colours each and watched as I showed them how to make a bracelet. "Nanje, nanje" means "and me....and me"
*Visiting the same street 3 days later and having a boy run up and say "Bracelet!" and show me he's still wearing his bracelet.
*Bringing a home spa kit to Christi's house and having Christi, Louise and Bruno do mud mask facials with me. Listening to Bruno ask "when can my face be black again?" as we had opted to give him the strawberry sorbet rejuvenating facial mask. Admiring our glowing youthful skin the next morning :)
*Meeting Daniel, my former co-facilitator, on the side of the road near Rubobagoba and having him introduce me to 3 teachers who participated in our trainings in 2009. Having Daniel invite me to teach a game to his class. Showing the kids how to play 1,2,3 spin and watching them try it and laugh. Having his wife and children come to greet me and then trying to explain that Immaculee (who is 8 months pregnant) does not have to walk me back up the hill to the main road. Letting her walk me anyway because she wants to.
*Playing cards with Tom's family at dinner last night while we waited 3 hours for our meal to be made. Remembering different mzungu dinners, movie nights, parties at my old house and Canada Day celebrations with Tom wearing an American Flag t-shirt to antagonize me.
*Feeling lucky to have friends from other countries who share my passion for Rwanda.
*Seeing a parade of people just outside of Gisenyi town running down the street in full fancy dress and carrying an 8 by 10 photo of Jesus followed by a massive statue of Virgin Mary. Listening to them sing, watching them dance, feeling their joy.
*Leaving Christi's house last night by way of climbing over her wall because the guard had locked me in the compound. Laughing at the image I must've created to the passersby as the mzungu climbs over the wall. Laughing even harder as I sit straddling the wall and the absentee guard walks up the street, returning from his errand and shakes his head at me wondering what I was doing up there. Feeling justified as I climb all the way over and run off to join the others for dinner. (There's obviously more to this story but some other time...)
*Leaving Christi's house this morning to see a local boy wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey. It reminded me of my first week in Rwanda in 2009 when I was on my own and saw a local with a similar shirt. Same effect of feeling reassured that we are not that different even though our worlds seem so far apart.
*Having friends (Tom and Christi) who indulge me by having a Pop Rocks eating contest at dinner and watching Christi win. She's invincible that girl!
*Being completely at peace with my decision to leave my job in 2008, spend two years volunteering in Africa, contribute to starting a charity and building a school, returning to Rwanda for a visit and feeling ready to move on with my life in Toronto.
God bless my friends here in Rwanda, God bless Tom and Ritah's marriage on Saturday and may God keep us all in a space where finding joy and bringing joy is so easily accessible.
Ufite Amazzi? Food, Language and Culture
My first few days in Rwanda, I practised the language a bit in my head in preparation for leaving the capital to visit the more rural areas. It is such a beautiful language, it rolls off the tongue quite nicely. I remember enough verbs to get by and I always find it quite fascinating when I travel to use gestures, facial expression and laughter to communicate with people.
As a culture, Rwandans tend to be quite guarded at first contact but then very warm, friendly and generous. Yesterday during the AziziLife experience visit- more to come on that later- I ate a meal with several artisans. We then helped to cultivate the land, fetched water from the well and learned how to make a Sisal bracelet. We wore traditional clothing and the lady that helped dress me was so sweet. When there is no language, the barrier becomes only how limited we are in expressing ourselves without words. A smile, a handshake, a hug, a raise of the eyebrows or even a wink work just as effectively as words. I like this about Rwanda. It only requires that you be honest and be authentically YOU.
You don't come to Rwanda for the food, that's for sure. I've been in Gitarama about a week now and I don't want to look at another potato for awhile. Or rice. The fruit is amazing- fresh avocado, papaya, pineapple, banana, etc. But other than rice, potato and goat brochettes, there is little else to eat as a main meal. Bread is a luxury item.The market is kinda fascinating, it hasn't changed a bit since four years ago. In fact, the same lady is sitting on the ground at the foot of the hill that leads up to the market; she has hobbled legs and sits there asking passersby for money. I can't image what that does to your spirit, living this way.
I would be remiss not to comment on the poverty here and the way that it impacts me. I am grateful that it was so easy to connect with neighbours and colleagues but I also know that it is likely that if I returned four more years from now, they would still be close-by. They don't have the means to travel. It's hard to look at dusty children. The first few people you see who are missing limbs is quite shocking but strangely enough, you then become acclimated. I struggle with seeing handicapped people beg at bus windows; this is probably related to having grown up with a handicapped brother. I see potential in what they can still do and I feel sad for them that they don't have support to realize this. And I also cannot fathom how awful it must've been to suffer such trauma. The man at the Gisenyi bus stop yesterday had visible stitches overlapping the flap where his elbow used to be. I shuddered to think of how it happened and who saved him. I also marvel at the women here. Three of the women we worked with yesterday were widows with multiple children. Their faces were smooth, youthful and there was no hint in their spirit of loss or trauma. It is remarkable because surely they have experienced great loss.
Culturally, it is different to be in an environment where there are so many machine guns present and to see prisoners being carted from the prison to their work detail and back. The mini-bus ride is not that different than riding the Dufferin bus- haha- in that we are all squished on. My ride back from Gisenyi was twice as long as it should have been because my driver was stopping to give messages to various people along the way. I decided near the 4th hour that I would bond with the boy beside me by sharing my iPOD. It was a great ice-breaker because after hours of winding roads, incredible views and squishy close contact- and having spent the entire day on my own speaking only kinyarwanda-- we were able to bond over "Jenny from the Block" (Jennifer Lopez) and Bob Marley tunes. We spent the last hour, as darkness fell and I was anxious to make it back to Gitarama, bopping our heads along and giving thumbs up signs to each other. It was neat.
Headsup tip if you are planning to visit Rwanda: always tap the toilet paper 3 times before using it to scare away anything that hides under there, be prepared for slippery pit latrines, daily power cuts, waiting several hours for your meal, being hugged by anyone under 10 at any time as you walk down the street, having dirty feet the entire time you are here and don't be surprised by the many many different variations on the flying beetle and the cute geckos that eat them for you.
Next blog: a weekend in Kibuye, teaching a lesson with Daniel in Rugobagoba and hopefully a wedding update as Tom's wedding is Saturday! I took one last walk down my old street, touching the gate to my old house. Noella and Thierry were there. I am cognizant that it is likely the last time I will be in Gitarama, for a while if not forever. I feel lucky to have lived here, lucky to have had my life be impacted by so many people and I am hopeful for their future. If Noella can come running down the path to give me a massive hug- as jubilant and cheerful as she was four years ago, with a wicked cackle of a grin-then let me imagine that her spirit will support her, let me imagine her growing up to be a mother, a teacher, an old lady. It's so much nicer to imagine a hopeful future for her. I'll post a picture of her soon. You'll see what I mean.
Food: excited for salads when I get home.
Language: the best interactions here are the ones without words.
Culture: i don't wear a watch, i wake up with the 4:25am call to prayer from the local mosque and i never feel lonely here.
Murakoze cyane Rwanda na imana ibahe umugisha to all my inshutis here.
As a culture, Rwandans tend to be quite guarded at first contact but then very warm, friendly and generous. Yesterday during the AziziLife experience visit- more to come on that later- I ate a meal with several artisans. We then helped to cultivate the land, fetched water from the well and learned how to make a Sisal bracelet. We wore traditional clothing and the lady that helped dress me was so sweet. When there is no language, the barrier becomes only how limited we are in expressing ourselves without words. A smile, a handshake, a hug, a raise of the eyebrows or even a wink work just as effectively as words. I like this about Rwanda. It only requires that you be honest and be authentically YOU.
You don't come to Rwanda for the food, that's for sure. I've been in Gitarama about a week now and I don't want to look at another potato for awhile. Or rice. The fruit is amazing- fresh avocado, papaya, pineapple, banana, etc. But other than rice, potato and goat brochettes, there is little else to eat as a main meal. Bread is a luxury item.The market is kinda fascinating, it hasn't changed a bit since four years ago. In fact, the same lady is sitting on the ground at the foot of the hill that leads up to the market; she has hobbled legs and sits there asking passersby for money. I can't image what that does to your spirit, living this way.
I would be remiss not to comment on the poverty here and the way that it impacts me. I am grateful that it was so easy to connect with neighbours and colleagues but I also know that it is likely that if I returned four more years from now, they would still be close-by. They don't have the means to travel. It's hard to look at dusty children. The first few people you see who are missing limbs is quite shocking but strangely enough, you then become acclimated. I struggle with seeing handicapped people beg at bus windows; this is probably related to having grown up with a handicapped brother. I see potential in what they can still do and I feel sad for them that they don't have support to realize this. And I also cannot fathom how awful it must've been to suffer such trauma. The man at the Gisenyi bus stop yesterday had visible stitches overlapping the flap where his elbow used to be. I shuddered to think of how it happened and who saved him. I also marvel at the women here. Three of the women we worked with yesterday were widows with multiple children. Their faces were smooth, youthful and there was no hint in their spirit of loss or trauma. It is remarkable because surely they have experienced great loss.
Culturally, it is different to be in an environment where there are so many machine guns present and to see prisoners being carted from the prison to their work detail and back. The mini-bus ride is not that different than riding the Dufferin bus- haha- in that we are all squished on. My ride back from Gisenyi was twice as long as it should have been because my driver was stopping to give messages to various people along the way. I decided near the 4th hour that I would bond with the boy beside me by sharing my iPOD. It was a great ice-breaker because after hours of winding roads, incredible views and squishy close contact- and having spent the entire day on my own speaking only kinyarwanda-- we were able to bond over "Jenny from the Block" (Jennifer Lopez) and Bob Marley tunes. We spent the last hour, as darkness fell and I was anxious to make it back to Gitarama, bopping our heads along and giving thumbs up signs to each other. It was neat.
Headsup tip if you are planning to visit Rwanda: always tap the toilet paper 3 times before using it to scare away anything that hides under there, be prepared for slippery pit latrines, daily power cuts, waiting several hours for your meal, being hugged by anyone under 10 at any time as you walk down the street, having dirty feet the entire time you are here and don't be surprised by the many many different variations on the flying beetle and the cute geckos that eat them for you.
Next blog: a weekend in Kibuye, teaching a lesson with Daniel in Rugobagoba and hopefully a wedding update as Tom's wedding is Saturday! I took one last walk down my old street, touching the gate to my old house. Noella and Thierry were there. I am cognizant that it is likely the last time I will be in Gitarama, for a while if not forever. I feel lucky to have lived here, lucky to have had my life be impacted by so many people and I am hopeful for their future. If Noella can come running down the path to give me a massive hug- as jubilant and cheerful as she was four years ago, with a wicked cackle of a grin-then let me imagine that her spirit will support her, let me imagine her growing up to be a mother, a teacher, an old lady. It's so much nicer to imagine a hopeful future for her. I'll post a picture of her soon. You'll see what I mean.
Food: excited for salads when I get home.
Language: the best interactions here are the ones without words.
Culture: i don't wear a watch, i wake up with the 4:25am call to prayer from the local mosque and i never feel lonely here.
Murakoze cyane Rwanda na imana ibahe umugisha to all my inshutis here.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Letting the light in
"Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." -Leonard Cohen
Ten minutes ago, I was standing in front of my old house with 20 children, some balloons and....my good friend Jean-Pierre. I'm kind of floating at the moment. It's been a weird and wonderful 48 hours in Gitarama. Let me try to capture it.
I met with my nightguard Emmanuel last night. I met his wife and heard about his 1 year old daughter. It was a very touching reunion where at one point he grabbed my arm, looked me firmly in the eye and said "Thank you, it's because of you that I have this life." I replied that it was because of God, not me, but the gesture and effusive nature of his comment was quite amazing. I do remember meeting him as a shy 22 year old who would not look me in the eye. I do remember the first 3-4 months when I tried to crack into that shyness by any means necessary which meant soccer games in the backyard, badminton, rocket balloons, Frisbee, Jenga and finally Art Club with the kids. I do remember walking down to Ecobank with him and being the source of encouragement as he set up his first bank account-ever. I thanked him also for helping me to set up in Gitarama and I referenced the first few months when I was alone in the house. He offered to walk me to my next stop and I let him. Just walking beside an old friend, feeling secure in their presence, is an amazing feeling.
Rwanda, as always, is full of high highs and low lows. Yesterday, I took a walk through the market, bought some fabric and took it to my seamstress near my old house. Turning down my path I was flooded with memories of the kids but the streets were empty. I anticipated atleast one or two of them running out but it was completely quiet. Then, a very quick stomping of feet came up behind me- (So...Rwandans don't really run)- and my protective instinct fired immediately (and appropriately) as I had an interaction with a man who was a little "off". He grabbed my arm, he wouldn't let go, he was yammering in kinyarwanda and I tried to take pieces of what he was saying and put them together in a coherent manner. I'd had 4 encounters like this in my previous time here- none of which saw blog air time. This time, although surprising and unpleasant, I didn't panic. I tried to greet him, I tried to reason with him, I firmly told him to let go and 3 times I tried to walk away and he followed. It's discouraging to have this be the first experience back on my familiar street! But after I shook him off, I walked to the seamstress and decided that one bad experience wasn't enough to freak me out. I think all of the training I've done with various martial arts this past year might've helped me with my confidence level.
I had fun explaining the skirt design to the seamstress with gestures and drawings. I left knowing I might end up with something completely different than I asked for but that's part of the fun. I met up with Moira, Ken, Annemiek, Tom and Christi and we had a nice meal. This morning, I walked the suitcase of donations up to the children's orphanage. I forgot how far it was! I think it took me over an hour to haul the suitcase up and along the way there was a steady parade of Rwandans coming and going from church and to work. Mama Arlene and I had a lovely visit, she has 17 babies in her care at the moment. It is so upsetting to hear about Jacob who was found abandonned in a ditch and Sarah who was left for dead and brought to Urukundo by police. It is a relief to know there is a place for police to bring them. And quite impressive to see Claudine- the little blind girl who weighed no more than a bag of rice when she was brought there in 2009. When I was here before she was non-communicative, wasn't walking and quite ill. She is now a curious girl with a beautiful smile. Her heart condition was fixed, her eyes are good enough for her to attend school although she is at a lower level developmentally than most girls her age. Mama and I fed the kids lunch and had a nice long heart to heart talk. The orphanage has a school, a farm, a skills centre where local women learn to sew and it continues to grow.
Finally, and most recently, I decided it was time for a second walk through my neighbourhood. (No way am I going to let a nasty interaction with a random get in the way of remembering the kids and the neighbours who were so sweet to me when I lived there.) I took a photo of Jean-Pierre with me and I literally walked from door to door and asked in battered kinyarwanda "Hehe?" "Ndshaka Jean-Pierre hano." The first 5 people I asked shook their heads. I saw other kids but none of my Art Club crew. I was a little discouraged and I stood in the centre of the road and said a quick prayer. Maybe they've moved on, maybe it's been four years and I'm not going to see any of them. Then....from the corner of my eye, I see Serge. He was one of the duo Serge and Thierry. He came over, shook my hand and when he recognized who I was went running back into the house screaming "Rebecca! Rebecca!" Soon, Thierry, Gloria, Angelique, Ivan and many more children came. I took out some balloons (yes to induce chaos) and started blowing them up and passing them around. There is literally nothing sweeter than watching a kid chase a balloon and laugh. Still, at this point nobody could tell me where Jean-Pierre was, even the Art Club crew. I was resigned to him being lost to me.
That was not God's plan.
In the midst of balloons, laughing kids, taking photos and soaking in the moment- he called my name and I turned to see a young man smiling at me. I think my heart just about burst out of my chest! We hugged, I told him I had a gift for him and he filled me in on his news. His father is fine. He is studying in Senior 2 level and his favorite class is biology. He invited me to watch his soccer game tomorrow in the stadium. I cannot believe that we were able to meet and I feel so so blessed to get to see him again. We left the group of kids- who had now grown to 40 and I definitely didn't have 40 balloons so an exit strategy is necessary at this point-and we walked toward the main road. He is no longer the 12 year old boy with one set of dusty clothes. He is a young man, fit from playing soccer and with a determination to speak to me in English. I'm so happy he is in school. I'm so happy he looks healthy. We walked to the main road and I realized that his little friend Fils was not among the group we'd just met. Fils was the one who stood in front of the umuganda group and told them he was not being cared for at home and did not have enough to eat. I remember that moment when such a young boy did such a brave thing and brought his most vulnerable moment before a crowd of his neighbours to ask for help. I asked where Fils was. Imagine this....just as I asked about him, Jean-Pierre turned and pointed down the street. There was Fils, walking with his school bag towards us. We took pictures, I'll upload them soon. Truly there is no sweeter moment than this for me- not seeing the school, not seeing my expat friends. I cared about these kids and they became my pseudo-family for a year. And now, four years later God decided the time was right for us to meet again.
When I first arrived I had a chat with my friend Christi about where my head and my heart were. I described it as being in a dark room and standing in front of a door that was open just a crack, letting in a sliver of light. I described that I was nervous to open the door all the way, I felt safer just letting a bit in at a time. It is a metaphor for protecting oneself from being hurt. But the brave person would just swing that door wide open and let their heart be flooded- and their spirit lifted- by the love being presented before them. God grant me the courage to be brave and let the light all the way in.
Ten minutes ago, I was standing in front of my old house with 20 children, some balloons and....my good friend Jean-Pierre. I'm kind of floating at the moment. It's been a weird and wonderful 48 hours in Gitarama. Let me try to capture it.
I met with my nightguard Emmanuel last night. I met his wife and heard about his 1 year old daughter. It was a very touching reunion where at one point he grabbed my arm, looked me firmly in the eye and said "Thank you, it's because of you that I have this life." I replied that it was because of God, not me, but the gesture and effusive nature of his comment was quite amazing. I do remember meeting him as a shy 22 year old who would not look me in the eye. I do remember the first 3-4 months when I tried to crack into that shyness by any means necessary which meant soccer games in the backyard, badminton, rocket balloons, Frisbee, Jenga and finally Art Club with the kids. I do remember walking down to Ecobank with him and being the source of encouragement as he set up his first bank account-ever. I thanked him also for helping me to set up in Gitarama and I referenced the first few months when I was alone in the house. He offered to walk me to my next stop and I let him. Just walking beside an old friend, feeling secure in their presence, is an amazing feeling.
Rwanda, as always, is full of high highs and low lows. Yesterday, I took a walk through the market, bought some fabric and took it to my seamstress near my old house. Turning down my path I was flooded with memories of the kids but the streets were empty. I anticipated atleast one or two of them running out but it was completely quiet. Then, a very quick stomping of feet came up behind me- (So...Rwandans don't really run)- and my protective instinct fired immediately (and appropriately) as I had an interaction with a man who was a little "off". He grabbed my arm, he wouldn't let go, he was yammering in kinyarwanda and I tried to take pieces of what he was saying and put them together in a coherent manner. I'd had 4 encounters like this in my previous time here- none of which saw blog air time. This time, although surprising and unpleasant, I didn't panic. I tried to greet him, I tried to reason with him, I firmly told him to let go and 3 times I tried to walk away and he followed. It's discouraging to have this be the first experience back on my familiar street! But after I shook him off, I walked to the seamstress and decided that one bad experience wasn't enough to freak me out. I think all of the training I've done with various martial arts this past year might've helped me with my confidence level.
I had fun explaining the skirt design to the seamstress with gestures and drawings. I left knowing I might end up with something completely different than I asked for but that's part of the fun. I met up with Moira, Ken, Annemiek, Tom and Christi and we had a nice meal. This morning, I walked the suitcase of donations up to the children's orphanage. I forgot how far it was! I think it took me over an hour to haul the suitcase up and along the way there was a steady parade of Rwandans coming and going from church and to work. Mama Arlene and I had a lovely visit, she has 17 babies in her care at the moment. It is so upsetting to hear about Jacob who was found abandonned in a ditch and Sarah who was left for dead and brought to Urukundo by police. It is a relief to know there is a place for police to bring them. And quite impressive to see Claudine- the little blind girl who weighed no more than a bag of rice when she was brought there in 2009. When I was here before she was non-communicative, wasn't walking and quite ill. She is now a curious girl with a beautiful smile. Her heart condition was fixed, her eyes are good enough for her to attend school although she is at a lower level developmentally than most girls her age. Mama and I fed the kids lunch and had a nice long heart to heart talk. The orphanage has a school, a farm, a skills centre where local women learn to sew and it continues to grow.
Finally, and most recently, I decided it was time for a second walk through my neighbourhood. (No way am I going to let a nasty interaction with a random get in the way of remembering the kids and the neighbours who were so sweet to me when I lived there.) I took a photo of Jean-Pierre with me and I literally walked from door to door and asked in battered kinyarwanda "Hehe?" "Ndshaka Jean-Pierre hano." The first 5 people I asked shook their heads. I saw other kids but none of my Art Club crew. I was a little discouraged and I stood in the centre of the road and said a quick prayer. Maybe they've moved on, maybe it's been four years and I'm not going to see any of them. Then....from the corner of my eye, I see Serge. He was one of the duo Serge and Thierry. He came over, shook my hand and when he recognized who I was went running back into the house screaming "Rebecca! Rebecca!" Soon, Thierry, Gloria, Angelique, Ivan and many more children came. I took out some balloons (yes to induce chaos) and started blowing them up and passing them around. There is literally nothing sweeter than watching a kid chase a balloon and laugh. Still, at this point nobody could tell me where Jean-Pierre was, even the Art Club crew. I was resigned to him being lost to me.
That was not God's plan.
In the midst of balloons, laughing kids, taking photos and soaking in the moment- he called my name and I turned to see a young man smiling at me. I think my heart just about burst out of my chest! We hugged, I told him I had a gift for him and he filled me in on his news. His father is fine. He is studying in Senior 2 level and his favorite class is biology. He invited me to watch his soccer game tomorrow in the stadium. I cannot believe that we were able to meet and I feel so so blessed to get to see him again. We left the group of kids- who had now grown to 40 and I definitely didn't have 40 balloons so an exit strategy is necessary at this point-and we walked toward the main road. He is no longer the 12 year old boy with one set of dusty clothes. He is a young man, fit from playing soccer and with a determination to speak to me in English. I'm so happy he is in school. I'm so happy he looks healthy. We walked to the main road and I realized that his little friend Fils was not among the group we'd just met. Fils was the one who stood in front of the umuganda group and told them he was not being cared for at home and did not have enough to eat. I remember that moment when such a young boy did such a brave thing and brought his most vulnerable moment before a crowd of his neighbours to ask for help. I asked where Fils was. Imagine this....just as I asked about him, Jean-Pierre turned and pointed down the street. There was Fils, walking with his school bag towards us. We took pictures, I'll upload them soon. Truly there is no sweeter moment than this for me- not seeing the school, not seeing my expat friends. I cared about these kids and they became my pseudo-family for a year. And now, four years later God decided the time was right for us to meet again.
When I first arrived I had a chat with my friend Christi about where my head and my heart were. I described it as being in a dark room and standing in front of a door that was open just a crack, letting in a sliver of light. I described that I was nervous to open the door all the way, I felt safer just letting a bit in at a time. It is a metaphor for protecting oneself from being hurt. But the brave person would just swing that door wide open and let their heart be flooded- and their spirit lifted- by the love being presented before them. God grant me the courage to be brave and let the light all the way in.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Receive Love. Give love. Repeat.
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.
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.
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
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.
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