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.