Rwandan Kiddos

I did a little write up about my thoughts on Rwandan youngsters when we completed training and am just now getting around to posting it. 

So the kids here are way more independent and self-sufficient than in American. No contest. Basically there are children of all ages wandering about willy nilly—with or without adult supervision. For babies, the mama will carry her kid on her back, held on by some fabric. For the most part, kids are playing ball in the street, wandering around miles from their homes, or maybe forming a mass entourage to follow some weirdo stranger like myself. They also like to gather on the side of the road and wait for the abazungu (Americans) to pass so that we can do a fist bump that they call “chance” here. I've taught them to add the explosion part. I also made it my goal to get all of the neighborhood kids to say "dude." I think so far that's been moderately successful.

For fun, my host siblings like to gukina umupira (play ball). Usually the ball is some ad hoc deal fashioned out of plastic bags. On that note, I haven’t seen a lot of toys in the villages generally. Usually you’ve got your plastic bag ball, an old bicycle tire that you push around with a stick, or some other contraption you’ve fashioned yourself to play with. And there’s no complaining about it either. They just like to have fun any way they can and don’t need all the gizmos American kids sometimes take for granted. You can buy all sorts of toys in Kigali but I’m sure price point is an issue as well. They were pretty pumped the day I brought a dozen slap bracelets back from a visit to the capital.

Slap bracelets!!!

Another favorite pastime is listening to the radio. Whether they’ve got on some Rwandan tunes or are jamming out to American music (it seems people particularly like Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, Rick Ross, and Rhianna lol), my host kids love spontaneous dance parties. And surprisingly, when I played them a song I downloaded to learn the numbers from 1 to 10 in Kinyarwanda, they memorized the melody in like 10 seconds and were singing it for weeks. On that note, I’ve noticed that kids here are generally awesome at memorization. My host sister Grace loves to play a card game where you place all of the cards face down on a table and have to take turns trying to find matches. And she's pretty damn good—schooled me every time we played. I also taught one girl a clapping song/game that a few volunteers and myself created to teach kids about hand-washing. She literally learned the song in about 2 minutes and was still doing it a month later. My host siblings sometimes like to read and draw when they're bored at night, but it's difficult without electricity. Sometimes when I pulled out my solar lamp the kids would grab a social studies booklet from school to read or ask me to bring out my Rwanda travel manual so that they could try to read the Kinyarwanda/English translation section, or just look at photos of animals.

The kids reading a school book with my solar lamp

Kids chilling in the kitchen

When they’re not playing they’re in school or working—tending to the cows, cleaning the house, washing dishes, fetching the water, etc. Lots of responsibility to contribute, in exchange for a roof over their heads. A cool discovery I made was that my host bro is handy around the house/an aspiring electrician. They teach some basic info about batteries at school and this kid can take 2 D-cells and fashion a make-shift light like it aint no thang. When he hooked up a light in the bathroom one day, complete with exterior switch, I was a happy camper. Don’t underestimate the difficulty of peeing in the dark.

Simon Pierre: Rwandan electrician extraordinaire 

I'm interested to see how the kids in Nyamasheke compare to my buddies at my training site in Kamonyi. Time will tell!

PS I literally just got electrocuted by my computer adapter while writing this. Hope it was worth it. haha

The Day My Hot Plate Died

During the first couple of weeks here, I relied pretty heavily on my hot plate. Oftentimes, I thought to myself “What would I do without this awesome device?!” Then at the start of week 3, it went to meet that Big Man in the sky. Unfortunately, the death of this beloved item came on the same day that I was sent home by my health center for having a cold. So basically I go home to rest and eventually drag myself out of bed with the intention of making lunch. I finish all the prep work  only to then find out that the hot plate is kaput and I have no way to cook the damn stuff. Luckily I own a coal stove, but…no coal. So I put on some rain boots (it’s about to storm) and hobble down the street to some shops in the hopes that I will be able to locate coal. After looking in a few stores to no avail and having one woman tell me I would need to travel 90 minutes away to purchase some, I basically decide to stand in the middle of the street on the verge of tears moping in Kinyarwanda that I’m sick and hungry and just want coal to cook, until luckily an onlooker takes pity on me and helps me find a guy selling some out of his house. I cannot tell you how relieved I was in that moment. At home, I struggled to figure out how to light the stove until I finally asked my neighbor for help. In the end, I got it to work and actually cooked real food at my site sans electricity. For me this story brings up 3 important points:

1. It amazes me that many Rwandans cook on a coal stove every day, as it is my opinion that this is a difficult, messy, time consuming pain in the ass.
2. Rwandans are extremely helpful. Over the last 3 months I have had people bend over backwards to help me figure things out without expecting anything in return.
3. I miss American kitchens, but feel some personal satisfaction that this story ended in me successfully using a charcoal stove.

The good news is that as a result of this mishap, I decided to ask my neighbors if it would be alright for me to eat with them sometimes and they seemed on board. I have already had lunch and dinner with them a couple of times and I’m hoping to make this an ongoing thing. They seem to enjoy being friends with the foreigner next door and I certainly enjoy eating food that I don’t have to cook. Makes me wonder if I would have previously been as generous to a confused foreign neighbor in America…food for thought. Generally, I’ve been doing much better at site since the last post. I received some of my furniture from the carpenter, which is great. Here’s a photo of some dudes transporting my bed and kitchen table down the street via their noggins.

I also learned that a papaya looks a lot like a large avocado…after accidentally purchasing what I thought was an avocado, only to be very confused upon cutting it open. Work wise, I feel like I have some concrete plans on the horizon. I signed up to help out with a couple of upcoming girls camps and a 6-day (100 mile) malaria prevention bike trip. More to come on the bike trip, but I am NOT in shape and I might die. lol At the health center I helped out with a baby-weighing, which involved a ton of local women coming in with their babies (ages 0-5) to check for malnutrition. First we put each kid on this wooden plank that measures his/her height. Then he/she has to sit in these little blue shorts that you attach to a scale hanging from a rafter. And the kid just kind of hangs there in the air for a minute squirming around until you can get a read on the weight. And the final step is to use this little measuring tape called MUAC on their arm to determine bicep width. This was a rough day for me, as it involved speaking/understanding a lot of numbers in Kinyarwanda, interacting with many people at once including terrified screaming babies (in the baking hot sun) and attempting to write down Rwandan surnames that are super confusing to spell. At one point my supervisor Jeanne was like “You got this, right?” and then walked away to take care of something else. During the 10 minutes she was gone, I fumbled around trying to figure out what the hell I was doing and trying not to panic. By the end I basically felt like a big time failure, but Jeanne was really supportive and assured me that I am an umuhanga (smart person) and that I just need practice. Overall, it was a good experience to be a part of, and an activity I will probably be helping out with more in the future. It was sad to see that some of the kids were, in fact, suffering from malnutrition, but luckily the health center gave out boxes of shelf-stable milk to the mothers of those particular children. And they did some follow-up home visits, which I also tagged along on.

Before I forget, a belated thanks to everyone for the much-appreciated birthday wishes. Last weekend I was at a regional meeting in a larger town about an hour and a half from mine. I was able to hang out with some seasoned volunteers to talk about trials and triumphs of being a PC volunteer. They were very welcoming and even made me a bday card and some banana bread, which I was able to enjoy with an adult beverage. So woot woot to that. Additionally, my awesome friends Kate and Nick back in Boston gave birth to a sweet little baby named Cole during the same week, so congrats to them! I am sad to not be around to great this little dude, but pumped that our birthdays are so close. Maybe we can host joint Power Rangers-themed bday parties post Peace Corps? Just throwing the idea out there. I mean it’s cool if they’re pirate or Star Wars-themed too. I’m not picky—whatever he’s down with. haha

First Week at Site

Day 1:

I depart the Peace Corps office with 1 other volunteer and 2 staff members. We’re headed to the Southwestern part of the country in a car filled with stuff that I and my friend Rebecca purchased in Kigali. We travel along paved roads for maybe 4+ hours, then turn off onto literally the worst dirt road I have ever encountered. We’re in an African forest and the scenery around me looks like a set out of Jurassic Park, but our Rwandan driver is listening to an American hip hop playlist that includes Chris Brown’s “Jungle Beats.” It’s a surreal moment. Eventually we pull into Rebecca’s site with a hoard of kids chasing after our vehicle, and I help unload her stuff. She is legit in the middle of nowhere, in a valley bordering Nyungwe National Park. We say goodbye and head for my site, taking a different, though equally bumpy, road. We encounter a family of large baboons chilling in the middle of the road and my mind is boggled. Eventually it ends at the next paved road. When we arrive at my site, there are staff members in front of the health center waving at me. We walk over to my house for an inspection, and I am pleasantly surprised to see that the inside has been painted and it feels bigger now. I have electricity. Huzzah. At 6pm the power dies, so I set aside my hot plate and eat some peanut butter.

Road baboon...just hangin'

Day 2:

I miss the daily 7am health center meeting because I didn’t know I was supposed to be there. My bad. I decide to settle into my house by washing all of the dishes, cookware, and clothing I own. Then I clean and hang my mosquito net. I have met a few neighbors, but am too nervous to leave my home. I cook macaroni and it is delicious. I grow some cajones and venture to the market, which runs twice a week and is about a 30 minute walk. On the way, I run into a random guy on the street who wants to chat. At the market, my new friend helps me buy a coal stove and some vegetables. I feel like everyone there is trying to rip me off, but that could be my imagination. As I head off, the dude wants my phone number or email address. I evade so as not to send the wrong signal. At home, I do some more setup around the house and at 6pm the power goes out again. I have battery left on my laptop so I watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The power comes back on and I cook a scrabbled egg.

Day 3:

I wake up at 6am, bucket bath, and head to the Health Center. It’s cold and I only brought a scarf to the meeting. People start to enter and introduce themselves to me, but I wonder if I will ever be able to remember all of these names. The meeting is about an hour long—in Kinyarwanda and French. I have no idea what’s going on and zone out almost immediately. At one point I am snapped out of my blank stare by the tutilaire (big boss) at the health center who asks me to get up and talk about myself. I say a few words and apologize that I can’t understand anything. The meeting ends and my supervisor asks me what I want to do today. I have no freaking clue. I tell him I’m going to explore the town. But I’m tired from watching Harry Potter all night, so I go home and nap for an hour. I boil water to heat up an instant soup package I brought from the states. Then I muster the courage to leave my house again. I visit some local stores to meet people and sample their wares. I buy nails from a friendly shopkeeper, but when I ask him his name, he’s suspicious (why is this wacky foreign lady writing my name down in a tiny notebook?) Valid concern. I find a store with cold Fanta and drink it while talking to the shopkeeper about her children. She says many things in Kinyarwanda that I do not understand. I smile and nod. At home later, I decide to try and scrub some mystery stains out of a t-shirt. After 1 hour of this, I realize it’s a lost cause. I go inside and text with a friend back home using “What’s App” on my phone. I have no idea what to do with myself. I cry for a little while. I think about American chain restaurants like TGIFridays. I wonder how I can possibly help these people, as I have no knowledge of health issues and only a basic understanding of their language. I remember I bought popcorn kernels in Kigali and make some to eat while watching Game of Thrones. I go outside to wash dishes and realize that the neighbor’s chicken has pooped on my doorstep again. I meet up with my supervisor and we walk to the carpenter’s shop where we bargain over furniture I need made for my apartment—a table, kitchen cabinet, clothing dresser and bed frame. I end up spending less money than I anticipated thanks to some great negotiating skills on the part of my supervisor. He doesn’t want me to get charged the “umuzungu (white person) price.” I go home feeling awesome and proceed to change the cylinder on my door lock—it takes forever but eventually I am successful. Badass.

Day 4:

I arrive at the health center carrying a travel coffee mug and people are perplexed. I have seen this response before. I explain that it contains tea. I can’t tell if they think it’s cool or super weird. I decide to shadow some people at the health center and see what they do. They have a fairly large operation with at least 30 employees at this facility with many rooms for reception, consultations, insurance processing, maternity, AIDS counseling, a pharmacy and more. I chill out at the reception desk for most of the morning. I see an old man wearing a baseball cap that says “50 Cent.” I sit in on a meeting of some community health workers while they collaborate on a monthly report. Many people at the health center speak a little English and I am able to figure out what’s going on to some extent. I drop my coffee mug and it breaks. I decide to do lunch and my counterpart suggests I also take a “siesta” if I feel so inclined. So I promptly take a 2 hour lunch break that includes a 90 minute nap. I could get used to this. After work I find a couple of stores that sell pineapple and avocado. I am ecstatic. At home, I’m cutting some pineapple while 2 guys approach my front door, which is locked from the inside. I great them through the window and then explain in Kinyarwanda that I lock the door because I’ve heard it’s “bad culture” for men to visit women alone at home. They agree, apologize, and inform me that they are 2 big-shot community leaders who have come to welcome me. I feel like an asshole and go outside to exchange names and phone numbers. They leave and I receive an email from the Peace Corps that the Northwestern province of Rubavu has been deemed off limits to volunteers after some recent violence on the Congo border. Luckily I live in the Southwest, far from where these incidents are happening.

Day 5:

I spend the morning sitting in on consultations between the HC staff and a slew of patients. It’s interesting to watch the nurses diagnose people and prescribe medicines/behavior changes. The doctor thinks I must have been a nurse in America because I know what antibiotics are, and I explain that this is not the case. He quizzes me on ways that mothers can use hygiene methods to protect their children from getting diarrhea, and I surprise myself by actually knowing how to respond—sort of. Thanks, Peace Corps training! Around noon I head home for lunch. Then I decide to ride my PC-issued bike to the local market. I get a lot of weird looks on the way, but that’s pretty standard fare even without the bike. Some high school kids want to talk to me in English and are upset when I tell them I’d like to ride my bike to the market instead. They ask why I’m in such a hurry so I walk the bike while talking with them. At the market I decide that bike+market=terrible idea. The isles are small and EVERYONE is staring at me. I feel weird and try to laugh at myself and greet them all with a smile even though I feel like an idiot. On the way home, most of the ride is downhill and I speed along at like 30 miles an hour greeting people and avoiding various hazards like goats and small children. I find a store near my house selling chocolates in the shape of race cars. SCORE! At home, my landlord walks by while I’m washing my shoes and I ask him if there is a place to put trash (as I have been stockpiling it in my house for the last 5 days). He shows me a trash pile I hadn’t noticed previously and I am pretty pumped because now my house won’t smell like rotting onions. I decide to create a 90’s playlist on my iPod that includes BBMak and Chubawamba. I listen to it while making guacamole.

Day 6:

I’m supposed to go to an event called “umuganda.” It occurs on the last Saturday of every month and consists of people in the community meeting up to do some type of service—fix a road, build a house for a needy neighbor etc. However, my efforts to find out where it’s occurring today are in vain and it’s raining so I wonder if it’s been cancelled anyway. Not sure what to do so I make coffee in a French press that I bought for cheap in Kigali. Then I hand wash my clothes and watch 4 episodes of Flight of the Concords.  I’m feeling extremely lonely. My mom calls to give me a pep talk. I decide to leave my house and visit the health center where I greet a few people working the weekend shift. Then I visit a local store and talk to some teenage girls who have come in to escape the rain that’s started up again.

Day 7:

It’s pouring all night and when I wake up the electricity is out so I skip boiling my water and take a cold bucket bath. I accompany my neighbor to a local church in order to meet people and learn some Rwandan culture. The service is 3 hours long—pretty normal here. By hour 3, it’s funny to look around and see a handful of people sleeping. A guy sitting next to me speaks some English and is able to give me the cliff notes of what’s going on. As with the church at my training site, there are many choirs and lots of singing. As the service ends and I’m about to exit, I’m approached by a semi-English-speaking guy who is walking my way and wants to accompany me. I learn that he teaches at a local school. He wants to show it to me. I would really like to go home and eat lunch but I decide to be polite and go with him to see the school. We pass a nun speaking with another woman. She asks the man if I am his inshuti (which means friend, but in common use between adults means boy/girlfriend). I immediately explain that I am a Peace Corps volunteer and that we just met at church. He is my mugenzi (FRIEND only). This guy wants to know if I live alone and how much I pay for rent. Evade evade. He’d like to get my phone number and email address and asks about visiting me. I hesitatingly give him my email but explain that I will not be having male visitors at my home. He would like me to visit his house now. I say that this is not possible because it is culturally inappropriate. He disagrees and says that it’s fine. That’s my cue to take off. I thank him for welcoming me to the community and head home. Not sure what to make of this situation. He seemed harmless, but I know from my Peace Corps training to be cautious. I head home feeling somewhat discouraged because it’s difficult to know who to trust and how to act appropriately in this new community. I cook some hard boiled eggs and feel successful since I’m not really getting any other protein at the moment. Then I study some Kinyarwanda and fall asleep. At 1am I wake up to pee, but I feel weird about going outside alone in the dark and walking the 10 yards to my latrine, so I pee in a cup instead. I’m pretty grossed out by myself.

Day 8:

My morning at the health center is good. I sit in on some meetings with AIDS patients and then watch a couple of other staff members dealing with insurance processing. I meet a coworker’s 7-year-old son who wants to be my friend. That’s cool by me since I’m in need of some. At lunch while I’m boiling more eggs, the surge protector goes haywire and starts smoking. Within the few moments it takes me to unplug it, the cord has actually melted to itself. I check the other one I bought, and as if on cue, that one has died as well. I don’t know how to dispose of electronics in Africa, so into the latrine they go. Reflecting on the past week, I can say I’ve had some ups and downs. Nyamasheke seems like a nice place, but I miss home—family, friends, food, and even just basic American amenities like across-the-board indoor plumbing. I wish I spoke French as many people here do and it would make my life much easier. Not sure what to do with all these feelings. Just going to stick it out and play it by ear. Two years suddenly seems longer than ever.