I walk onto the bar patio with a pair of half-worn blue jeans and an untucked grey button down. The sun beats down, but a chilly wind in the shade presages a coming storm –the first in months. Two men languidly drink beers in front of me, a third sips a Fanta, is younger than [...]

Apparently, I’m not cut out for this blogging business, but greetings to you who weren’t put off by my long absence.  So much has happened since my last update.  Let’s see… in January, I put together a health resource center that I will be managing throughout this year.  It is pretty basic (health tips, nutrition [...]

Hello friends and family! It has been many days … iminsi menshi, or possible kenshi, I’m not sure of the noun class on that one. This will be a blog post, but really I just wanted to upload it when … Continue reading →

The world has revolved, and then revolved a little more.  A momentous change has taken place in my Peace Corps life, and I’m at liberty to share. Due to a combination of mellifluous elements, I will no longer be living in Butare.  Peace Corps has pulled me from my site. The last seven months of [...]

  I look up from my notebook when I hear the sound of feet. Standing in the doorway fifteen feet away is an adult olive baboon. It’s about the size of a large dog, with bristly gray fur and a long muzzle. The baboon surveys the empty library, and it’s head stops when it sees [...]

A couple of days ago I accompanied my eight-year-old friend, Divine, to church. In the past I’ve made it a priority not to get talked into the Saturday service, but this time I was the only one who could take her and she had a choir practice that she was very anxious to get to. [...]

My awesome WWS class wrote some haikus for me in their last letter. It inspired me to create some of my own, highlighting my daily life in Rwanda. That, and it beats cleaning my house. I sit on my chair Alone in the dark, it rains I wish for power Children call my name Return [...]

I don’t write about my work much. In reality it is chaotic and constantly evolving, but here is a list of current endeavors:

Teaching chemistry in Senior 1 (7th grade equivalent) at a local 12-year government school, Groupe Scolaire St. Monique Kibangu Leading the school English ClubOrganizing the performance of a short play by the school’s anti-HIV/AIDS Club at the sector headquarters on market dayWeekly teacher training for my colleagues at schoolEstablishing an income generating activity for the schoolPutting together a study guide for the Senior 3 National Exam for Chemistry and BiologyAdapting and arranging an English for Adults course at the local utility companyOrganizing a teaching methodology conference for local educatorsTeaching English on the weekend to Ministry of Justice Officials in Kigali in order to support their transition to a hybrid civil law-common law system

To follow up on my last post, here’s a list of things that aren't acceptable in Rwanda. -Not answering your phone, no matter the time or reason -Turning down an offer of food or drink -Turning down an offer of seconds or thirds -Not finishing the amount given to you, regardless of how much it is -Turning down an invitation for any reason (even if it's because of work)-Having long fingernails

Next week marks the 16 month anniversary of my arrival in Rwanda. I know that some people read Peace Corps blogs expecting tales of adversity and epiphany...well, this week I had my own moment of quiet reflection, and thought I would share.

It came from what we PCVs like to call "student gems." That's when a student writes something that isn't quite correct, but is still somehow true. As I sat at home, grading exercises on antonyms, I stumbled upon this unexpected revelation: "A ship is not the muffin." It was such a profoundly simple statement, yet so profoundly...right. You can't argue with its logic: a ship IS not the muffin. Why, just a few weeks back, I bought a muffin in Kigali and sat staring at it in utter bewilderment for fully five minutes. Should I butter it? Should I set sail on it? What if pirates try to snatch my muffin? How will I defend it? What if I want my ship toasted? Can I outfit raisins in the hull? And why is it A ship and THE muffin? Is there only one muffin that a ship cannot be?

So, this little blog post goes out to all my fellow Ed 2 PCVs. Here's to the last sixteen months--sometimes we love out jobs, sometimes we want to quit, sometimes we find inspiration where we least expect it. And sometimes, just sometimes, if we're lucky, we can have out ship and eat muffins too.

The hallway at the top floor of the hotel, where all suites will be situated. The large building in the back is the hotel, the small building in front is the convention center, and the dirt area (soccer field) will be the IT center.Excavation of up to 50 feet was done to place these large rain water tanks for the convention center.A view of the convention center from the top floor of the hotel. The circular area is the base of the dome.Standing at the top of the hotel in front of the Kacyiru roundabout. A view inside the hotel from the roof. The hotel pool will be placed where the crane currently sits.At the sewer plant with Leo, my collegue from the Chinese construction firm. The architct's rendering of the hotel, convention center, and IT park upon completion.

Last October I left the Peace Corps and began work with a British firm to help project manager the Kigali Convention Center. The center is planned to be a crux of the Rwanda and the East Africa Community for events and conferences. Currently all major conferences and events (including President Kagame’s state functions) are held at the Serena Inn in Kigali, so the Kigali Convention Center would replace the Serena Inn as the go-to place for high profile events.The center will be a 300 room, 5 star hotel connected to a convention center and IT park. There is currently proposed a museum that will bring further tourism to the center. The convention center is designed to have a clear dome (similar the Reichstag in Berlin) that will become the iconic image of the country.At $360 million, it is also one of the largest projects in Africa too. The entire project is slated to finish in 2014, and is being design by German architects and built by a Chinese construction firm. Due to the variation of cultures on site (Germans, Chinese, Rwandans, Brits, Americans, Indians) the business language on site is English. This is due to the contract being written in English.My role is project manager, where I overview the construction site daily and report to the board of directors and client on the progress and any potential issues with the project. Due to the size and complexity of the project, it is a great job to learn about various aspects of engineering, design, and procurement.

I had a wonderful first Valentine’s Day in Rwanda. I spent the majority of the day pumping my students full of sugar and letting them watch movies on my computer (with a few educational activities thrown in of course). I think their favorite was probably Mega Mind but they also laughed a lot when I [...]

As I sit hear knawing on corn just off the fire (literally just off the coals), I thought it was about time to write about the Kigali-Bugesera Camp GLOW (girls leading our world) which took place from November 28-December 2. This was a 5-day camp for 48 girls from seven schools in Kigali and Bugesera District. They spent everyday learning about HIV/AIDS, gender based violence (GBV), and life skills. We hosted the camp at my school, G.S. Rango, which made the week even more special and stressful for myself. As the title says, this was the greatest experience I have had during my service here in Rwanda and I am finding it hard to express the overall pride and sense of purpose I felt during the planning and implementation of this project.Working with ten other PCVs, it was amazing to see the camp grow from just some ideas on a piece of paper to a full blown camp, full of campy songs, campfires, s’mores, arts and crafts, team-building activities, and more. The greatest challenge was trying to organize an American-style camp in a Rwandan environment where things don’t happen on time and leadership hierarchy must be respected. We tackled the issue of a major bed bug infestation in the dorm (they were in the bedframes, not our brand new mattresses which was good) we were sleeping in and ended up sleeping in our office on top of tables for the week. We overcame exhaustion and stomach bugs and battled through. It was so worth it. I won’t go through the daily schedule, but basically the girls got up every morning and went to life skills lessons in small groups for a few hours. There were six groups of eight students facilitated by Rwandans and PCVs. Each group was named after a female leader (Oprah, Wangari Mathaai, Mother Teresa, Zora Neale Hurston, Michelle Obama, and Jeannette Kagame) and came up with a group chant. Some days we had guest speakers in the morning, which were probably the girls’ favorite part. They were strong local leaders and women who came to talk about how they achieved their goals and touched upon GBV. In the afternoon the girls got to sign-up for campy activities like sports, crafts, yoga, Zumba, salsa dancing, and more. Every night after dinner we had an activity for everyone: dance, talent show, s’mores and campfire, and t-shirt signing. Every day was packed and by 10 PM (way past our usual Rwandan bedtimes) we were exhausted, but it was so worth it. The best part of camp was watching the girls grow from Monday to Friday. So many showed up in their school cliques and were very quiet, but by the end of the week they had made new friends and were not shy about asking questions, sharing ideas, or screaming their chants. I had 9 girls from my school attend (7 campers and 2 jr. facilitators) and I have been so happy to see them come back to school this year ready to start a GLOW club and teach others about what they learned. They are ready to go to other schools and teach the girls there and also do sessions in the village to teach older women about what they learned. I could not be more proud of their motivation and drive to touch as many people as possible with the GLOW message. This Friday we will be presenting to the whole school to recruit other girls for the club and to teach the students and teachers about what they learned. Their presentation is great and I am so excited to watch. As for Camp GLOW 2012 – I’m not sure if I will still be in Rwanda when it comes time for camp. This year the schools have a 6 week vacation in July and August, so we might have camp then. If we keep the same schedule as last year, I will be on my out of Rwanda and may not be around. I think it would be a good way to end my service with such a powerful camp, but we’ll see what we are offered in terms of COS (close of service) dates. I might just have to hang around for a couple extra weeks to see this through :) Check out my Picasa Web Albums – I have some great pictures from Camp GLOW

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” -Albert Einstein While Rwanda is making great strides to improve their education system, one of my biggest frustrations is the fact that my classrooms are full of [...]

Break is over. School is starting.

All through training, we had many seminars and personalexperiences regarding the concept of time in Rwanda.

“It’s elastic,” they said.“If something begins at 10, do not expect people until noon,”they warned. “School will have a start date, but do not expect yourstudents until at least a week later,” they continued.

Not at ES Kirinda!

I’m happy to report, the students were ready to go, mostwith pens in hand on day 1 of class. The teachers were not all there. Theteachers are the ones who show up to their classes late. But, for the mostpart, the students were ready to roll! Luckily, after almost a month ofR&R, so was I.

I jumped right into teaching. Well, I got to ease in alittle: In Rwanda, senior 1 and senior 4 students wait until they have theresults from the National Exams before returning to the next year and nextlevel. Hold up, background: Students take these exams as primary 6 and senior 3students- November and December are like summer break before going into thenext grade, and they can’t go into the next grade without passing these exams.Exams will be a whole other blog entry, in and of themselves. Oye. Anyway, senior1 and 4 students don’t arrive until February. My schedule, upon arrival ofsenior 1 and 4 would look like this, but would start without them:

Creative Performance; levels senior 1-3 (5 hours per week total split between 5separate classes)

General Paper; levels senior 4 and 5 (4 hours a week to 2 classes)

English; levels senior 5 and 6 (4 hours a week to 2 classes)

I should say, ages are hard to determine in classes sinceparents seem to enter and take students out of classes whenever they feel necessary(reasons for both vary greatly), but the gist is that s1 is the equivalent of 7thgrade, on to senior 6 being equal to high school senior level. This issecondary school, there is also p1-6, being primary school. In secondaryschool, students easily range from 12-mid 20s in just about any class. It’sconfusing, to say the least, but, we make it work.

So yes, 15 hours may not seem like much, but when you arewriting lesson plans for all different classes at all different levels and youhave never stepped foot in a classroom before, it’s work. It’s a lot of work.Also, classrooms here are not like classrooms in the states. There are lightsin my classroom, but I don’t think they work. I don’t really care about them,lights are pretty much unnecessary during the day. There are old blackboardsand there is chalk. There are no overheads, no projectors, no markers, no whitepaper, no scissors, no glue sticks, no crayons, no paints, no pencils, and noTVs. There are no bookshelves, no easels, no textbooks, no PA systems forannouncements. There is chalk, and there are chalkboards. And classes are not aridiculous size if they are pushing 30 students, not unless you are talkingridiculously small. My classes range from 40-60 students. Whoa. Holy intro toteaching, Batman. Although the classrooms are much different than the US, theyaren’t all bad, think: No cell phones to deal with, no ipods distracting kids,no game systems. It’s just challenging in very ways and resources that areeasily taken for granted- especially when it comes to classes like CreativePerformance. My creativity is going to be tested, big-time. But, so far, sogood!

Students’ abilities range even more drastically than theirages. There are s1 students who understand me just fine, and some who don’tcatch a word. It’s the same way in all of the other levels, with (hopefully) afew more understanding English a little bit more in each level. I’m stillfiguring out if there’s a method of how a student passes into the next level,but for now, I’ll just keep teaching as best I can. Lots of group work, lots ofpeer-reviewing so that the students are able to help one another, and lots ofjust hoping that something I teach will stick. It’s challenging, no doubt, butI love it. I’ve realized I really, really like teaching- even the tough days.There are always a few students that get it, want to know more, and askquestions that make my day. There are also students that don’t give a shit andprefer naps over group work. It’s not that unlike high school in America! I’lldo what I can.

Now, it is February and I’ve just completed my first week ofa full schedule. To sum it up, it’s busy.

I like being busy.

We arrived at site in mid-December. School was set to beginJanuary 9th, giving me almost a month at site before any sort ofroutine could present itself. What’s a girl to do? Enjoy, that’s what. Afterthree months straight of constantly running to different classes and trainingfunctions, fighting off some kind of mysterious illness, infection, or injury,I was able to actual recover. It was awesome and absolutely, 100% necessary. Iwas able to take the time to unpack, shop at the market for myself, cook formyself, go to sleep when my body needed it, eat when I needed to eat, all of it.These were vast differences from training. Don’t get me wrong, community basedtraining was awesome and prepared me well for many cultural aspects, but beingforce-fed at weird hours, constant classes, not being able to sleep when youknow you need it, and not being able to prepare food without the use of a literof oil per day was exhausting! Moving to site gave me time to settle in andrelax for a minute before school began and I am grateful for it.

Other than unpacking, which really doesn’t take long whenyou only bring a few bags with you, I got into a short, month long routine. Iwould clean the house, wash clothes almost daily so that my laundry pile neverreached the clouds, I cooked, studied Kinyarwanda and chatted with the neighborkids and mamas, read, and exercised (walks around the village, OR cheesyworkout DVDs), and went to bed before I was a walking zombie or falling asleepin the living room- which happened regularly at my host-home. It was fantastic.For the first time in Rwanda, I was completely content and, above all, healthy.

Arriving a month before school began was obviously great,but there was one more sobering thought: The thought of having to spendChristmas and New Year’s in a brand new village all alone. It may not have beenso bad to go to a neighbor’s house for the holidays, but being at a boardingschool, most of the teachers were not even in Kirinda for the break! Most wereeither in Kigali helping mark the national exams, or in their hometowns withfamily. I ended up deciding to get out for Christmas. It was not far, less thanan hour from here, but I went to a friend’s house with some of the other newvolunteers and we made the best out of our holiday away from home. It wasgreat, actually! We all were able to hang out, relax, have a beer, play games,cook, and eat together. Christmas Burritos will have to become a new tradition,homemade tortillas and all. Although Christmas was great, it was my firstChristmas away from home and quite different from orange sweet rolls, the menorah,the Christmas tree, and multiple holiday feasts at Mom and Dad’s!

I decided to spend New Year’s Eve at home, but last minute,I also decided that there was no reason I couldn’t host! So a few friends cameby for the night, which turned into a few nights pretty quickly. Just like athome, I always enjoy hosting and it always makes me happy, so I had a greattime cooking and sipping whiskey all weekend. Yep, just like New Year’s at home-minus the cute outfit, bars, New Year’s hats and crowns, fireworks, orchampagne. Meh, there will be plenty more New Years to celebrate… given the apocalypseskips over its predicted 2012 date. Shoooooot.

Enter January 9th and the beginning of school. Butby then I was all settled in to my house and entering a new chapter of myadventure in Africa. Tales of ES Kirinda will just have to wait…

Our swear-in ceremony was much like graduation. After whatseemed like forever in training, we were finished with the ceremony quickly andit was on to volunteer status. The ceremony was lovely; it was at the ambassador’sresidence in Kigali and there were news reporters, a few NGO workers, somehost-family representatives, and many of the previous volunteers who had helpedduring our training. We were all excited and loved getting a little dressed upfor such a graduation-like event. If you’re interested, here’s a little presswe received here in Rwanda: New Peace Corps Volunteers Sworn-in

After 3 days of celebrating and playing in Kigali, eatingfood that wasn’t rice or beans with tomato/oil/water “sauce,” and goingdancing- yes, dancing(!), I awoke early Sunday morning to load up a car and betaken 3 hours west. My site is in Kirinda in the Karongi District, which is inthe Western Province. On a map, it’s most likely invisible, but it’s in themiddle of two larger towns, Gitarama and Kibuye, not far from the river thatruns between the two. Good luck searching.

Kirinda is a nice village. It’s quiet, small, and absolutelybeautiful. My home is at the top of the hill, so the view is spectacular,especially on a clear day. Kirinda is about 2 hours from the nearest pavedroad, so I’m out there a bit, but I like it a lot. Although I am farther awayfrom things like real restaurants, banks, or post offices, it’s got it’s perks!I am only a minute walk from the school, so that’s extra convenient on days Isleep a little past my alarm. I live behind a hospital and health center, andthe village shops are only 5 minutes from my house where I can get thenecessities. There is a market twice a week that is set up about 10 minutesfrom me, so it’s only a quick walk to all sorts of fresh produce and goods.

My house is, well, it’s pretty much awesome. It’s far largerthan necessary, but that just makes it even more OK for you to come and visit.I have a grassed front yard, which is rare by my account of Rwanda, and a bigbean garden in the back yard. Lucky for me, I was asking a neighbor when Ishould start my own garden on the side of my house, and she told me to just usethe bean area since the harvest was finished. Woohoo! GIANT garden is on theway… as soon as the rainy season starts up again. Anyway, back to the house. Ido not have running water, but I DO have electricity, which is a luxury that Idon’t take for granted. It’s really, really nice. I have a living area, 2 bigbedrooms, and 1 huge bedroom that is used as my indoor kitchen, instead. I havea more traditional Rwandan kitchen outside, but I opt to use a hot plate insidemost of the time. For things that take a long time to cook (beans, sauces), I gowith the charcoal stove outside.

Although my initial idea of housing in the Peace Corps wasremoved from just about everything around, my house is part of teacher-housingand I have neighbors on 2 sides of me. There are kids in my area, so they havebecome my buds, we draw, color, and dance around on a regular basis, and theydon’t seem to mind my crappy excuse for Kinyarwanda. I’m still waiting for thislanguage to click. The neighbor mamas have all been very nice, too. Theyoccasionally check on me to make sure I’m surviving, but they don’t baby me orthink I’m completely helpless, which is appreciated. They seem to get a kickout of my American-isms though. Like hanging things on my walls- I have photoseverywhere and all visitors come over just to check them out, laugh, andgo. They also seem to get laughs out ofall the coloring things I have around for the kids (and myself), that I don’tdrink my tea with milk and a ton of sugar, that I actually like when theneighbor dogs come by to visit, and that I always have a bag of coffee on mykitchen table. These things are a riot.

So, welcome to Kirinda! I can’t say too much, since themajority of entries will be all about this place! Plenty more stories to comefrom…

OH! Wildlife update: There are a lot of goats here. Andchickens! But the chickens don’t have a vendetta against me as the Karamachickens did AND they don’t shit all over my yard. I kind of like these ones. Who knew?

Since our arrival, and especially upon returning home for Christmas we have noticed some personal behavior changes. There are the obvious things like doing laundry by hand or using an outdoor latrine but some other changes have been more subtle … Continue reading →

A warm breeze churned the cerulean-blue waves towards the whitewashed line of shorefront houses. Anchored dhows pitched like toys. Despite the harsh mid-afternoon glare, the colors of the Indian Ocean lay brilliant upon Stone Town’s harbor. It was the exotic Indian Ocean you imagine in books, a deep blue sea beneath a punishing sun and a spicy wind. I could feel sunburn despite several coats of SPF 30 and I was out of drinking water, so after snapping a few photos I joined the hurried press of the crowd disembarking to the ferry pier. Once through immigration, the painted steel arch above the gates guarding the landing welcomed me, “Karibu Zanzibar.”

Within an hour of the chaos at the ferry dock, I lay watching the fan blades spin above my hotel bed. Their breeze didn’t hold back the sweat drops or the clinging humidity. I could feel the pull of our ultimate destination at the northern point of the island, and a montage of the journey from Rwanda flashed through my mind.

. . .

The adventure started well before dawn when a taxi shuttled us to the Nyabugogo bus park in Kigali. My travel companions and I caught the first of several buses into the unknown. The coach took us to the southeast corner of Rwanda, the border with Tanzania at Rusumu Falls. This is the same river that passes below my village clear on the other side of the country. The violence and sheer volume of water going over the falls impressed me as I crossed the one-lane bridge to Tanzania. While the town on the other side was recognizable, I immediately noticed how different brands were sold: soft drinks, cell phone airtime, etc. A bus eventually came to take us on to Kahama. Because of the piled up luggage, it was a couple of hours before I noticed we were driving on the left side of the road. We passed wilderness, villages of thatched-roof huts, and roadside towns. The most rural of the villages made the most remote areas of Rwanda look like utopian cities. Mud, sticks, grass, and tarpaulins were major architectural features.

At the first stop Mackenzie and I went searching for grilled corn. The first thing we saw was a giant bird standing next to the road. It was the size of a senior one student and looked something like I imagine a homeless person would look as a bird. We found a man grilling corn, but he spoke only Swahili. He said a corncob was “Five,” and held up five fingers. The new currency was strange to us, but this seemed reasonable. We bought what we thought was 25 shillings worth of corn, but when we gave him 50 shillings he refused to give change and merely laughed at us. Minutes later when we got back to the bus everyone was livid because of how long we took; they were on the verge of leaving without us. It turns out that pit stops are very fast in Tanzania where the distances are much greater. We latter found out that the man grilling corn had meant 500 shillings. Oops. Such is the benevolence of Peace Corps volunteers.

That afternoon our connecting bus was broken down, which was no great shock, so we settled in for a night in the placid town of Kahama. Again the language barrier arose when we were sipping on cold Kilimanjaros in a bar. The waiter said they didn’t have omelets, but they had chips. Every time we ordered chips, a chips-omelet would come out.

The next morning we left our spartan guest house on a bus to Dar Es Salaam. In the black pre-dawn we passed a sprawling diamond mine allegedly owned by George W. Bush. At 10 am we stopped to pee in a field of Acacia bushes. Guardian ants lived in hollow bulges on the stems, ready to attack anything that touched the thorny bush. We drove all day, carrying on through Dodoma and stopping only twice in the afternoon at service plazas, the second of which could have been in the United States even with its Africa-kitsch theme.

At dusk our gradual decline in elevation quickened as the sun and the mountain-punctuated plains faded. It began to get stiflingly hot and humid; I was sweating bullets. My watch read 10 pm and we hadn’t stopped since 2 pm. On the outskirts of the city we became mired in the bumper to bumper traffic jam that is Dar Es Salaam. I don’t think I have ever seen as many gas stations as the road into Dar. It seemed like there was one for every ten cars. In Rwanda two service stations in one town are a lot.

From sunset until I stepped off that bus well after 11 pm, I was living a decent into my personal hell: nothing to eat or drink, no freedom of movement, no breeze, and no bathroom, all while stewing in temperatures hot enough to give you a headache and make you feel like you’re dying. On top of that, we were stuck in stand-still traffic illuminated by the ugly, pallid glow of the surrounding gas stations. But I knew the bus ride would be tough when I bought my ticket. I have to hand it to Africans for their patience, while suggesting that they may find it rewarding to be more demanding in regard to their personal comfort.

From the bus park a taxi took us to a sober, but pleasant, Econolodge. After freshening up, our venture out into the night in search of beer and food was half successful. Apparently the good authors of the Quran never took the bus from Kigali and needed a cold one. Nevertheless, we found some incredible Indian food at a carry-out & café near the hotel and enjoyed it at an outside table. Despite the city’s moldy decrepitude, I found some charm to the blocks of low rises with barred storefronts, white light pouring from a handful of cafés advertised by flashing LED signs. I was surprised at the number of homeless people, mostly women, sleeping on cardboard under stoops. In Rwanda most people can’t imagine urban homelessness.

The next day we explored Dar Es Salaam and indulged in consumer culture. This included several supermarkets and two shopping malls. Both malls were unimpressive by American standards, but were awesome to us. The latter was indoors with air conditioning and a movie theater. A highlight of the day was a ride on a tuk-tuk, an auto rickshaw.

Rickshaw safari through the Dar Es Salaam

The tuk-tuk driver didn’t know where the mall was. He thought he was ripping us off. We, however, ended up ripping him off. The traffic in Dar is terrible, so although it isn’t a big city it can take an hour to drive across town. After seeing a movie, we went to dinner at a nice Indian restaurant.

Late the following morning we walked a short distance down to the harbor and boarded the ferry to Stone Town, Zanzibar. There were a lot of expatriates on board from Europe, the United States, and Canada going to Zanzibar on holiday. In fact, Katie recognized a Dutch woman that lives in my district in Rwanda. It was awesome to sail on a boat in the ocean after living in a landlocked country for over a year. The top deck was hot despite the shade and pitched a lot, so my cucumber sandwich didn’t settle well. Cruising the Zanzibar channel was fun; the two-hour ride didn’t seem long at all.

. . .

Dar Es Salaam from the harbor

Crossing the channel

Stone Town ferry pier

As I lay on my hotel bed watching the unhelpful rotations of the fan, my curiosity fermented to explore the town into which I had just arrived on the ferry. The old quarter of Zanzibar City, called Stone Town, is a labyrinth of high flats and narrow streets. Though the streets are wide enough for a motorcycle, few are passable by car. The quarter is small enough to walk end to end in twenty minutes. Throughout its colorful history Zanzibar has been a confluence of African, Asian, and European cultures, earning Stone Town the apt distinction of a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Perhaps just as important, it is also the birthplace of Freddie Mercury. Our hostel was located at the Anglican cathedral, St. Michael’s, built on the site of the old slave market. After visiting two interesting cafés, variously but appropriately themed for tropical Zanzibar (one nested in a small plaza, the other on the top floor of a hotel), we stumbled upon a waterfront park at the old-city center. Set up in the middle of the plaza were dozens of food vendors. This was incredible to me, for in Rwanda there exists neither seafood, nor street food, and here they were together at cheap prices at a seaside park. I ate grilled tuna and lobster for a few dollars. There were tons of begging cats and I chatted freely with local secondary school boys who wanted only to practice their already fantastic English.

Stone Town waterfront

Zanzibar

Seaside park

Mackenzie perusing grilled seafood

The next morning we took the Zanzibari equivalent of a twegerane to Nungwi, the northern point of Zanzibar. The car was a modified pickup, with a roof and a single bench lining the sides of the bed. The sitting may have been even more squished than a Rwandan taxi-bus, but with the benefits of a good road and plenty of ventilation. In Nungwi we arrived at a simple guest house painted to look like an underwater scene. After months of planning and 800 miles, we were at our objective: the beach. Immediately we hit the beach and suddenly that hellish bus trip was worth it. The beach sand was pure white and cool to the touch. The Indian Ocean was the temperature of bathwater, but cold enough, with small waves rolling onto the shore.

Nungwi beach

Once the tide displaced us from our shady place beneath the boardwalk, I had a lunner of fish tacos. They were an imprecise rendering of fish tacos, but nonetheless delicious. That evening I enjoyed ginger soda and a stroll on the beach under the full moon shinning through a thin veil of cirrus cloud. The boats looked cemented offshore and the white sand, wet at low tide, reflected everything like a foggy mirror.

The next day we went on a snorkeling cruise that sounded too good to be true. It was. However, I have no room to complain about snorkeling in Zanzibar. Part of the problem was that it was windy and there were waves. This seemed to tax the boatmen’s sailing skills. One of my favorite parts was examining all the sea creatures stranded in the shallows at low tide while we waited for the boat.

Snorkeling expedition

We returned to Stone Town the following morning. The day after that, Mackenzie and I went on a spice tour. I was skeptical in the beginning, yet this turned out to be my favorite part of the trip. A very knowledgeable guide took us to the rural interior of the island and showed us all different kinds of spice plants and how they are used. At midday our tour arrived in a hamlet. We sat down in a circle for lunch on reed mats under a thatch-roof pavilion. Sitting in a large circle, we passed around large bowls of rice, vegetable curry, chapatti, and pineapple. After the substantial lunch, our guide showed us the bathhouse of the old Omani Queen. Apparently she was really stuck up and thought she was too good to share a bathhouse with her husband’s concubines, and so had her own built. Next, we climbed into our vans to drive west and then north to the coast. Arriving at the coast, we made a brief detour before continuing on to the highly anticipated final stage of the tour: the beach. From a subtle dark fissure in the meadow we descended a flight of steps to a massive underground chasm. In times past it was used to hold human chattel, a slave cave. The cavern was appropriately dark and gloomy. It contrasted starkly with the brilliant paradise outside. Water dripped from the ceiling and the only surfaces were jagged basalt. Climbing up out of the cave and steeply down again to the shoreline, we arrived at a quiet cove below a rocky cliff. Down the beach I could spot the roofs of fishermen’s houses nestled under the coconut trees. Their weathered dhows were beached just beyond the reaches of the highest tide, in front of a dense wall of vegetation.

On our own again after the tour, we passed the afternoon wandering Stone Town and looking at art. At dusk we met up with a Canadian friend from the spice tour. Together we ate street food again for dinner, and then went to the Swedish expatriates’ St. Lucia Day party. There I mingled with beautiful Swedish people and tasted their traditional holiday indulgences: sweet cakes, cinnamon cookies, and Glühwein.

Labyrinthine Stone Town

In the morning I took a final stroll around Stone Town. It was too fascinating a place not to have one last look before I left. I saw the hospital, the King’s Palace, and the old fort. Passing behind the market on my way back, I saw fishermen unloading their catch from a pickup: a giant ray, a tuna, and a shark. The mid-day passenger ferry returned us across the channel to the bustle of Dar. Back in the sweltering city, we spent the afternoon hanging out at our hotel near the bus park. This involved fried chicken, lots of beer, and even more Bananagrams. For dinner Mackenzie and I wandered to a local bar. Our English confounded the shy waitress. Eventually a driver approached us who spoke English. He ordered for us the dish the cooks were preparing in the kitchen. This turned out to be cow tail, boiled skin, and beef broth. A garnish of salt and lime made the boiled skin palatable, but I would be lying if I said I finished my large plate. I think this was more exotic than even the fried bugs I’ve eaten in Rwanda. It took a few bottles of Safari to wash the taste out.

At four in the morning I woke up to a guard knocking at the door. He wanted to know if we needed anything ironed. Disregarding the ungodly hour, I thought it was quite considerate. Anyway, I was on the bus by 5:30. I sat and sweated through my shirt while the sun rose. I tried to clear my mind of any feeling to prepare myself for the brutal journey. Two hours later the bus lumbered out of the station and westward.

The bus ride back was uneventful. The bright, clear day enabled me to appreciate the landscapes of central Tanzania much more. The general sequence went from flat acacia tree bush, to rolling bush hemmed in by craggy mountains, to flat bush punctuated by massive piles of boulders, with some of these boulder piles over a hundred meters tall. The red-brown soil stretched endlessly beneath the brilliant sun, freckled with scraggly green bushes. It wasn’t until we neared Rwanda that we glimpsed the familiar rolling hills of the rift valley highlands.

In addition to a salesman making speeches promoting his soap and toothpaste, we passengers were entertained by great music and films. The first few hours were Swahili gospel songs belted out by obese ladies, because that is beautiful. Other movies on the bus included a Tanzanian film and The Gods Must Be Crazy one & two. The Tanzanian film showed interesting cultural perspectives on children and family, and in the end everyone but the father went to jail.

We were able to sleep a few hours at the same guest house in Kahama, and crossed the border back into Rwanda in the morning. The bag-searcher at immigration was impressed that our party spoke English, French, and Kinyarwanda. It felt good to be back in a familiar culture where we knew the language. I was back at the Peace Corps office in Kigali by mid-afternoon.

Overall, traveling by bus was intense. It was hot, there were few stops for food or water, and we went seven hours between bathroom breaks at the longest stretch. I still don’t understand how Africans can go so long without such basic necessities. At this point I feel well practiced at slowing my metabolism to that of a catatonic camel and could take a bus to anywhere in the world.

I spent two days in Kigali to use up my leave days and readjust to Rwanda. This included Reggae night at a pizzeria and a birthday party. Having wandered far and wide, when it came time to head home I was anxious about being returned to the village. I had travelled distances most villagers can’t imagine, let alone such things as a shopping mall, a movie theater, or an ocean.

. . .

The last of the evening light had faded and I was squishing around in the mud a few kilometers from my house. My driver’s motorcycle had crapped out. A steady rain was falling on our heads while I held my cell phone to illuminate his tinkering with the tire. After so many days and many hundreds of miles, I found myself smiling, happy to be home.

All photos courtesy of Katie Hall, excepting the first, fourth, and fifth photographs.

If all has worked according to plan, even without facebook you should now be able to access my photo albums via the links provided on the right side of the page. There should be a heading ("Photos," original, right?) and album titles listed under. They are set up as links.

Hope it works! I'll get this blog up and running...

I just came from Nyanza where I spent the weekend at the ILPD, the Institute of Legal Practice and Development. I was there for my first weekend of teaching with the English Language Training for Judges and Court Staff project.

I was different than I expected, MUCH different from teaching my regular S2 and S4 classes. There were supposed to be about a dozen students in my class but only seven showed up. Thus instead of teaching a class of over 60 teenagers, as I’m accustomed to doing, I taught seven quiet, attentive adults. I ended up finishing our three-hour lesson in just over two hours because I’d unconsciously factored in a bunch of time for disruptions. The only pauses in the lesson were for thoughtful questions from the students. It was heaven.

I’m glad my primary assignment isn’t adult ESL. I really enjoy working with teenagers and I love my secondary-school students dearly. But I can tell that this once-a-month commitment is going to be a nice change of pace.

Whoa, my bad. Yes, I straightdisappeared for a while according to this blog. I guess it’s time to fill in myplethora of loyal fans and readers (yes, Mom and maybe 3 others, all of you!)all about the happenings of the past few months. My writing hiatus had nothingto do with being attacked by lions or making friends with gorillas, I’m sorryto say, so don’t get your hopes up too much for these stories. Everyday lifejust got away with me! So, here’s what you’ve missed in the next few entries. Also, I’d liketo add pictures, I really would, but I just can’t see doing it for facebook ANDthe blog, and the facebook uploader is more user-friendly, so facebook wins. Ifyou are not on facebook (come on already; even Syd has a facebook page now) andwould like a link to see the photos, I think it’s possible! Just let me knowand I’ll email the info to you…

Also, I recently watched the movie “Julie& Julia,” the one about the girl who blogs her way through Julia Child’s cookbook. It made me want followers and comments and fans and book deals and movies starring MerylStreep! OK, not all that stuff, but if you are a follower or just like stumbling onto myblog, feel free to leave comments telling me what it is that you actually wantto read. Anyway, I think it was watching this movie- and Mom’s recurringrequests- that made me open this page up and start typing again.

(Side note: Watching that movie while in the Peace Corps just may qualify astorture, especially a self-proclaimed foodie and girl that just loves to cook.Gourmet French cuisine in every scene? Martinis? Red wine? Butchers that don’tdisplay meat on the ground and covered in flies? Fellow volunteers, don't do it unless you’ve mentallyprepared yourself.)

Here we go…

The translated stories finally arrived, and the wait was definitely worth it. Finally being able to read them was like opening a present I carried around in wrapping for a long time, always wondering what it was. Well, I found out what it was, finally, and it was packed full of little insights into the lives, hearts, and minds of children in Rwanda.

I found the stories to be quite… diverse… which is perhaps why I am having such a hard time describing them to you as one large group. Some spoke about the hardships of their lives and the great opportunity the chance to attend school was. Others spoke about their experiences while at school- different teaching methods they’d encountered, their participation in extra-curricular activities, like clubs and sports. And still others were messages and calls to action for their fellow sisters, reminding them of the importance of women in society, their duty to make their parents proud, and their role in building their country… all possible because of their success in school.

I learned a lot about the struggles that children in Rwanda, specifically girls, face in their lives and school. Of course, I knew that poverty caused many children to have difficulty paying for school fees and necessary uniforms and materials. But, the authors of these stories unpacked it further, giving a frank and eye-opening assessment of the reasons behind the poverty of their families- things like the loss of their parent/s, too many children, lack of land, unemployment and sickness.

In school, girls face the problem of being propositioned by their teachers and male peers for sex in exchange for items. There is a huge “sugar daddy” and “sugar mommy” culture here, in which adults coerce children into having sex, taking advantage of their vulnerability in age and poverty, with money and other items. It is so common that the Rwandan government launched a public campaign against the “sugar daddies” and “sugar mommies” with large billboards depicting a child rejecting money from a sugar parent, denouncing the practice.

Although the girls wrote to offer encouragement to their sisters, there was an underlying plea to the stories. The girls asked for guidance and support to make good decisions in their lives, so they could succeed in education and careers, and achieve their goals. Not only did they speak about a society in which women have equal opportunity, they spoke of one that catered to the specific needs of the women in it. It was pretty forward-thinking for a group of girls in the equivalent of 10th grade in America! I was very impressed.

Now that the stories were translated, I had to read through them in order to select the best ones. What a difficult task! How do you compare one child’s ideas to those of another when they are all impressive, like I mentioned, but also containing a similar mix of great statements and entertaining inconsistencies? It’s like comparing apples and oranges, which I am told can’t be done. Plus, if I had it my way, every child would get the space necessary for their voice, regardless of what that voice was saying, so the whole selection process worked against my natural inclination.

In the end, I read and re-read the stories, taking note of their message. I established a sort of criteria in my head based on the aim of the newspaper. From my understanding, the newspaper was meant to be a vehicle of exchange for girls attending school. I felt that, as such, the stories should contain positive messages that the girls wanted to share, some sort of direction or encouraging thought. I read the stories again, with this aim and criteria in mind, facilitating the difficult selection process, and selected the final stores that would eventually make up the newspaper.

Although the most difficult step was complete, I was far from being done. I read through the translated stories again, this time with the purpose of editing them. The translator did a great job translating them, but there were still some mistakes in English and sentences or paragraphs that didn’t make sense, but from which I could get the general idea. I corrected the mistakes, and took a strong hand to shaping the sentences and paragraphs into understandable and meaningful ideas while still maintaining the original touch of the author. Again, not an easy task, because how much of the original text, mistakes and all, do you sacrifice in the name of proper English and understanding? Especially when the publication in question is a newspaper for youth, by youth. In retrospect, I believe I did the job well. I retained the natural voice of the authors in the final version of the articles that were free of mistakes and easy to understand.

Now, we are moving into the final phase of the project. We have collected the stories, translated and edited them. We have already returned to the schools and helped students take pictures to accompany their selected stores. Now, all we need to do is format the stories and pictures into the final product- the newspaper. We are hoping to also involve youth in this process, so some youth get valuable computer formatting experience. I’m not sure if this is still the plan or how it will work out, but that’s the idea- a newspaper for youth, written and formatted by the youth themselves.

Me and Rwanda have a love-hate relationship (although hate is too strong of a term I think). Sometimes, I am frustrated as one can be and feel like I am a complete outsider and no one cares that I am here to help. Then, other times I have these amazing moments or conversations that re-energize [...]

So I'm sorry if my posts haven't been very uplifting lately. This journey isn't known as an emotional roller coaster for nothin'. I've had some bumps recently but I'm hoping things are starting to smooth out. I would thus like to expound on something about this experience that can't be overstated...My fellow volunteers are the most wonderful support I have, or any of us has. My parents have had an outstanding ability to listen to me whine and cry and blabber on joyfully about everything and my friends have been a constant source of encouragement at every point. But those two have also been huge pulls. In all of this, while here, while trying to work, you're constantly in the midst of a trans-continental tug of war. Now, I'm sure people aren't intentionally trying to push or pull, but it happens none the less. You talk to someone and even as they're telling you how proud and impressed they are, you're thinking how much you'd like to hear that face-to-face. How much nicer it'd be to be talking about these things over drinks or a cup of coffee. They unconsciously pull you back when they talk about their life, you think about what'd you be doing if you were there, where you'd be going, whom you'd be seeing, and even when they talk about their problems, you think about how once you too thought about those problems. I mean, where are the days when you'd wonder about when your phone contract would be up so you could upgrade or how you're going to possibly get all those papers done before your caffeine buzz runs out (esp. since Starbucks closes at 10). I don't mean to trivialize those things at all, they are our concerns and in the absence of such vital concerns as "will i eat today? will there be water tomorrow?" we look to the next set. I don't think there's anything wrong with looking at those problems, it's not our fault that our problems are less life and death. Even addressing the vital problems of people here can't be done by everyone and that's good, because it'd be a lot harder for me to get here and eventually, a job. Rest assured, I will not be attempting to steal anyone's position in accounting or engineering or nursing. I guess my point is, it takes all kinds. ALL KINDS.

And though I've strayed on a tangent, my original point is I miss those kinds of problems. I miss my old life and I got a glimpse of it when I came home, and that's been a huge part of why it's been so difficult for me recently. I tend to let my mind wander and it's been wandering away from this and being pulled back by the amazing people I left at home.

But I've luckily been pushed back by my amazing people here. My fellow volunteers remind me so much of my fellow Rotary exchange students. We are the only people who understand each other. Our daily struggles are the same with little deviation. I've found by reading other Peace Corps blogs, that many of these struggles even transcend the sector in which we work or the continents on which we live. We ask of ourselves and each other the same questions. And usually, while people back home can make you happy again, only the people here can make you sane again. People at home remind you of who you were but you wonder if that's no longer who you are. You start to question everything about yourself here and my fellow PCVs here remind me I'm not crazy, 'this is how things are', 'it's all part of the process', 'you're not a failure when things fall through'. They remind me to ease up on the guilt every time I'm away from my village. They remind me to ease up on guilt every time I feel I'm not doing enough. They remind me that today is just today and you never know what will happen tomorrow...and isn't it just as likely that tomorrow will be amazing? Isn't it just as likely that some part of tomorrow will remind me why I came here? Isn't it just as likely that tomorrow I'll wonder how I could ever leave? Those people have saved me so many times and I appreciate that more than they could ever know. We all have at least one person that has been our rock through this whole experience, so thanks, Danae thanks for listening and saving me time and time, again. I only hope to do the same every now and again.

I am going to do some very public pondering and invite you to participate in the discussion currently taking place in my head.

Are you ready?

The question is: should I stay or should I go? (The song with that title by The Clash just came flooding into my head.)

I feel that the answer to this question will be one of the most difficult decisions of my life.

Let me lay out the details.

Option One: Should I stay?

Okay, Peace Corps service in Rwanda is not without its due share of difficulties. But, it is also amazing and fulfilling in many ways. Although I face periods when the challenges seem quite overwhelming, the big picture is, I am happy here and proud to be participating in this surreal experience. I love the work I am doing and when I look around, I can’t help but think, “Wow, this is so…cool.” This is the time in my life where I can do something like, be a Peace Corps Volunteer.

I also think that I have come to understand Rwanda. To help me describe my confusing and sometimes conflicting emotions, I am going to share a passage from the book I am reading. Although written about a journalist in Iraq, I read it and couldn’t help but realize our similar sentiment.

“No, it was in the leaving that I felt the essence of the place. As much as I hated arriving, I hated leaving more. After so long I’d become part of the place, part of […] the bad food and the heat and the sandy-colored brown of it. I felt I understood its complications and its paradoxes and even its humor, felt a jealous brotherhood with everyone who was trying to keep it from sinking even deeper. […] From the thought of leaving the world, the big, wide, only world, and moving to the next one. The two worlds. There was nothing in between, no way station, no purgatory, only this world and the other. […] Tightened mouths and grim faces, nobody smiling and nobody whooping for finally getting out. We’d become [Rwanda], […] become so much a part of it that we worried about our place in the other world to which we were now returning. And from which we were now so estranged.” Dexter Filkins, The Forever War 147-148

I have accepted the way the system works here and I am now able to work within it successfully to produce results. I feel like, now, two years later, I am finally getting into my groove. Unfortunately, two years later is also when my service is ending and I am due to leave.

I am homesick, yes. I miss family and friends from home and can’t wait to see them. I can also admit that I am eager to be back in the land of 1000 grocery stores, showers, washing machines, and toilets, instead of the land of 1000 hills. But, I could visit with people for a short time, get my fix of these amenities, and return to Rwanda rejuvenated for the second round.

Peace Corps offers the option of extending volunteer service for an additional year. Volunteers who extend do get some benefits, like a month-long vacation home. That break would be sufficient to suppress my homesickness and longing that have affected my experience of my service and are the roots of many of my personal ailments.

If I decide to stay for another year, there would be some changes that would take place. First, I may not continue working with Plan Rwanda or living in my village. I may work with another organization, doing something different, and probably living in a larger city. This is an important point, because I am having difficulty determining if my happiness is linked to Plan Rwanda, my work, and my village. Then again, working in a city with an organization that I can be more physically involved in could alleviate some of the challenges I face working as a lone volunteer in a village removed from my organization’s office.

Then, I just think that I am crazy for even considering this option.

So, now I am going to discuss the second option.

Option Two: Should I go?

This is obviously the typical and easy option. Service is over- time to pack it up and fly it home.

Sure, I am scared to go back to a world that from a distance seems very overwhelming. I feel more in my element in Rwanda that America seems like the strange and unfamiliar place. I am going to go through a huge cultural shock and adjustment upon my return. It is a daunting realization. Plus, family and close friends are going to have to re-socialize me, from bringing me up to date on popular media, to reminding me to shower more than I am now accustomed to.

I’m not sure what I would do if I went home, and this also adds to the stress of returning. Here, I have a job, if you can call it that... at least a purpose, something to do. Why would I give that up for… nothing? I am not the type of person who flourishes when I have nothing to do. In fact, it can be detrimental to my development. I am also an expert at entertaining myself, so I have no fear that I would not be able to find something to do. But, that’s what I do here when work is slow, so what’s the difference?

I do have a list of personal projects I want to undertake upon my return. I’ve enjoyed writing this blog and would love to explore the idea of making it into something more. I want to improve my skills in French and Spanish. I would love to learn to ride a motorcycle and start practicing for my inevitable motorcycle tour around South America. And then, there is always sewing, taking the hand-sewn designs I’ve made here and making them into wearable clothes. See, I would never be bored of things to do, here or home.

There are also some professional considerations, too. I need to take the exams necessary to pursue further education. I can’t wait to return to school. I love learning and have often joked that if I had things my way (and all the money in the world) I would spend my life in school. After two years of eye-opening experience, I finally feel that I have the direction and motivation to do what I want to do. But, I could easily complete these exams during my vacation home and apply to schools during another year serving in Rwanda, and return in time to attend school the following year.

So, as you can tell, I am a bit conflicted. I am constantly changing my mind. One moment, I am determined to stay, and the next I am waiting impatiently to return home. I’ve been pondering this decision alone for the last month. I have sorted through my own thoughts and feelings free of any external influence, but found that I have become so completely inundated with these thoughts and feeling it is difficult to see clearly. I am opening the doors to insight and thoughts from you. I know that ultimately, this has to be a decision I make on my own, but that doesn’t mean I can’t listen to what others have to say. If you feel so inclined, and I know the people who read my blog habitually are very close family and friends, write me an email and share. I would be happy to receive encouragement, thoughts, and even potential opportunities for my return. As I’ve learned here in Rwanda, the individual is important, but sometimes it takes a community. Put on the Clash, Should I Stay Or Should I Go, and think about what you would do if you were in my shoes…

Superstition has it that bad things happen in threes. In Rwanda, irksome things happens in threes. To my face.

Somedays, the universe sends you an unequivocal sign that you should just crawl back under your mosquito net and stay there all weekend. I received one such omen last Friday and foolishly chose to ignore it.

Rwanda is excellent bird-watching territory. There's a dazzling variety of colors, shapes, and sizes flitting about. Some volunteers are proud to have identified as many as 13 different species. But what the guidebooks unanimously fail to mention is that the birds of Rwanda are equally adept at spotting you.

The back window in my living room room overlooks the nearby valley and banana groves. In true Peace Corps fashion, I can spend hours standing there, staring out it, watching the mist come in and recede across the hills.

It's also the best source of light in my house, so of course I lurk next to it while doing my morning hygiene routine. Apparently, my lurking skills aren't quite up up to skulk, because last Friday I was viciously attacked. In the face. By a hummingbird. On the plus side, I decided to claim it as a new species. So next time you're in Rwanda and a hummingbird dive-bombs you, you my dear friends, have just positively identified the Howellus Intheface-us. Most bird-watchers go their whole lives without catching so much as a glimpse of this rare and dangerous avian. For those who do encounter it, its sharp feet and pointy beak often it the last thing they ever glimpse.

The trials of my face continued the next day at the Ministry of Justice. I'm involved with a really awesome program to teach English to the judges and staff at the Supreme Courts of Rwanda. And it gives me a perfect excuse to shout "lawyered," even if only in my head.

So there I was, revising prepositions of location, with a room full of professional adults, feeling quite professional (if slightly precarious myself) in my high heels, when the fold-out whiteboard abruptly collapsed. Into my face. It was, however, a great teaching moment. Howe often can the phrase "the whiteboard is on my face" be both true and applicable to the lesson?

By Sunday, I was firmly gripped by paranoia. And I was going to be spending most of the day on buses. Vomit seemed likely to be the crowning glory of my unholy trinity of facial unpleasantness. But I made it back to my village completely unscathed. My nose didn't even get sunburned. I got smug. Complacent. I let my guard down. I made tea on my petrol stove. A giant fireball exploded in my face. Thankfully, my eyebrows remained intact, even if my dignity was slightly singed.

So, I will no longer scoff in the face of superstition. Monday passed without a single facial incident. It would seem my bad luck has run its course...for now, at least. Although I did stub my toe on a goat this morning...

One of my favorite students. She is so tiny but has lots of character! Trying to be cool and not smile Birds on my roof- annoying to hear in the wee hours of the morning but nice to look at This is how I take a shower. I love living in Rwanda but I really [...]

Not to sound like a cliche from Cheers (“sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name…and they’re always glad you came…”) but yeah–sometimes you just want to be known, to be understood. Actually, as a people and as a society, I would even suggest that more than sometimes, this is actually the very basis of having [...]

Yesterday after school it was finally a little cooler since it had rained the day before so I decided to go on a flower safari. There are many “garden enthusiasts” in my family so I thought that they would appreciate these photos! Enjoy!   Earth laughs in flowers.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson I wandered lonely as [...]

As each day brings us closer to our one year mark, so too does the realization of how long we’ve truly been here and our work to show for it, thus far. It seems like most of my training class is in “the hump” stage – the point in service where frustrations are high and [...]

My students are back! Hooray! As I’m writing this blog post, it is Wednesday, the third day of our first week of school for 2012. Our students (or half of them, anyway) arrived on Monday, and since then my life has been pretty hectic. I’m teaching a total of 15 hours each week- 10 hours [...]

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I have to start with a story about the end of my day because it is just too fantastic not to share. Arriving home after 6 hours of teaching and a teacher’s meeting that lasted almost 4 hours I was so very excited to just get inside my room, kick off my shoes, and hide [...]

I got another round of packages these last few weeks and wanted to take the time again to say a big thank you!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU and in Kinyarwanda Murakoze Cyane Cyane Cyane Pe . The ‘pe’ at the end literally means forever so the sentence means thank you very very very much until eternity. They always make my day and my children enjoy all the fun when I get new supplies. And when I say make my day this is a huge under statement. The kindness people have shown during my time here in Rwanda is incredible and it warms my heart every time. Last time I went to the post office I had 2 boxes from Travelers and the postmaster said, (in bad English) “someone likes you not a little.” I had to laugh but then admit he was correct. Its incredibly encouraging to know that people are supporting all of my efforts. And don’t you worry I am paying the love forward! So far care packages have gone to use in the following ways:

-Bribing the post master with pretzels, jump ropes and balls for his kids instead of paying the traditional 600 rwf to collect my packages. We are also best friends now and I went to church with his family.-Bribing my fellow teachers into giving me Friday off with some Hershey Kisses, without me having to actually sit through the 5 hour schedule meeting.(Its funny that this worked because half of them actually hated the candy, turns out Rwandans aren’t big on chocolate and told me they tasted like cheese. Criminal)-My students used the crayons to draw their “map of my community” assignment and then wrote out directions to different places.(yes this assignment was really just an excuse to have them tell me where things are without me having to ask – sneaky.)-The holiday Travelers’ bear became preposition bear and then I had to explain what a bear is to my students. Also they all really want it so it is currently the offered reward if anyone returns some solar batteries which were stolen from my yard. - Also I don’t know if Chris West is a brand or a person( I assumed person) but their chocolates were amazing and I love them! - My headmasters daughter, one of the only small children allowed inside my compound, and who visits me a lot received the stuffed dog and was ecstatic. -The cat stuffed animal I kept, and I sleep with it, not embarrassed. - All the friendship bracelet floss has been parceled out among volunteers so my children as well as kids from many villages I imagine, now have little bracelets. -Magazines are being circulated among very grateful volunteers and my students today used ripped out advertisements to write me stories. The Barak Obama and Kate Middleton cut outs were especially well received. Also a become a Marine add has become the picture I show my villagers of my husband so they stop being pervy. -One of my bare walls has finally been covered with a collage of American celebrities. - A garden was planted.

And I refused to go to the market for a week (it’s a major headache) and got good and fattened back up eating only from care packages. So thank you all again!! I hope I am adequately conveying my gratitude. And I hope it brings you all the good Karma you deserve for keeping me in your thoughts!! J

I am sitting at a nicer tourist hotel about a half hour from my site, because it is my day off and I am using the internet and pretending I am not, in fact, in Rwanda. A car just pulled up and a white man got out, because I no longer have any social skills I just stared at him. He’s not attractive hes probably around 50 and has a beer belly, but I just stared. I suddenly had the urge to ask him about his feelings on the recent superbowl. Just when I was about to address him – based solely on the fact that we are both white and in Africa – he got a phonecall. And my heart sank as he answered it in German. German. The man spoke some English because obviously it is the language he works in, in this country, but he was not my countryman. And honestly, I’m embarrassed to admit, I was shocked to hear anything other than English come out of his mouth. Like in my increasingly socially challenged state I have forgotten that white people can be non-americans. Don’t laugh its true. I honestly assume they are all American. I am becoming just as bad as the locals, lumping us all in together. C’est la vie. I have this reaction every time I see another white person though. In a grocery story in Butare last weekend I gave a complete stranger the biggest smile in the world because he was white. I almost hugged him. I think its because we, as PCVs, live away from other white people and because we are such a large organization of all ages it is highly possible that I would run into a colleague that I didn’t know was a colleague. Other PCVs have told me they have the same awkward impulse to address strangers based solely on their shared whiteness. Usually these other muzungus are tourists or other aid workers who are less excited to see us. Tourists are generally here with other people or are backpacking alone and thus planned to be alone, they are not looking for fellow westerners. Aid workers who do not work for Peace Corps usually see each other a lot more, if they do not actually live with one another. I talked to a volunteer who had just returned from America recently and was grilling them on how overwhelming it must have been to go into a CVS or a grocery store and be bombarded with choices. Instead,they replied, that the most overwhelming thing had been all the white people. Walking into every place and seeing swarms of white people and knowing that you don’t know them. I hadn’t even thought of that but now I laugh knowing exactly how that would feel. In Kigali I expect so I react exactly as you should to a stranger – meaning I don’t react. And when attending a Peace Corps function I know these people so I can also respond appropriately. But I think that maybe its part of the job that I will never get used to running into White people who I do not know when I’m not expecting it. I’m starting to have a little more sympathy for the children who cry out “muzungu” in surprise when they see me. Sometimes I am tempted to do the same.

I’ve had a bit of trouble getting a long with the other teachers at my school. They aren’t sure what to do with me, and I guess if I’m being honest I’m not really sure what to do with them. There is only one female who is 50 years old and has no interest in being the maternal guide to the lost 22 year old American who was plopped in her lap this year and as a result I have been left to fend for myself a bit. The other counterpart my school assigned to me, because he speaks good English, quite frankly just creeps me out and I refuse to be around him alone which, as you can imagine, makes it difficult for him to be my guide to the community. Yet again, I am guideless. Also, I have had food posoining here enough times for my liking and as a result eat only food I cook myself unless I am absolutely forced not to, meaning I eat PBJs in my house for lunch instead of joining the other teachers. But in the past week things have finally started to progress. I went to a fellow teachers home. I helped another with his homework. I’ve been coordinating with the other English teacher on how to run the English club. So I decided to do something nice. When I got a package of chocolates I poured a bag of Hershey kisses into a bowl and left them on the table in the staff room with a sign, “Chocolates from America . Help yourself. – Michele” I’m not sure why I included my name because clearly they came from me, but so be it. There were only two teachers in the room when I left the chocolates and I explained to them what they were. I had decided it would be too awkward to present them to a room full of people and then watch them react. The first three people to eat the candy hated them. Literally two of them walked outside and spit them out and told me, “these are very bad.” How awkward! I was tempted to take the candy back and hide in my house before the rest of the teachers could reject my gift. But the other English teacher, who was convinced that the chocolates tasted like cheese, was too amused by the whole thing and whenever a new staff member entered the room he insisted they take some. Luckily, I finally got some fans, to the dismay of the other English teacher who could only say, “really? You really like it?” Obviously this was shocking because there can never be more than one correct opinion in Rwanda. I breathed a sigh of relief as the consensus turned from negative to positive; more people liked the candy than didn’t and the female teacher brought some home to her kids who loved it. But I wasn’t sure that buying the hearts and minds of my colleagues with candy was really working. People smiled at me when the other teachers told them to take a candy that they were from Michele, but no one thanked me or really said anything. Please and Thank you aren’t really popular phrases in Kinyarwanda, I actually haven’t even heard a good translation for please yet and I am usually the only person saying “Thank you” in the staffroom when the workers come in and pour our tea. (yes, someone pours my tea for me every day and it drives me nuts but that’s a whole different story). I decided not to be offended, it was a cultural difference, and I had chosen to give out presents I didn’t have to do it again. I went to teach my classes and at the end of the came back to collect my bowl. The kisses were gone – a final indication that they were a success - thank God. I walked back to my desk to hang up my jacket to find my note on my seat with “Thank you!!!” in English scrawled on it in several different handwritings. Just like I had been to uncomfortable to present the candy to them, they had been too uncomfortable to say anything to my face. People aren’t so different after all. Next week I’m going to try a bowl of cheez-its wish me luck!

I’ve had a bit of trouble getting a long with the other teachers at my school. They aren’t sure what to do with me, and I guess if I’m being honest I’m not really sure what to do with them. There is only one female who is 50 years old and has no interest in being the maternal guide to the lost 22 year old American who was plopped in her lap this year and as a result I have been left to fend for myself a bit. The other counterpart my school assigned to me, because he speaks good English, quite frankly just creeps me out and I refuse to be around him alone which, as you can imagine, makes it difficult for him to be my guide to the community. Yet again, I am guideless. Also, I have had food posoining here enough times for my liking and as a result eat only food I cook myself unless I am absolutely forced not to, meaning I eat PBJs in my house for lunch instead of joining the other teachers. But in the past week things have finally started to progress. I went to a fellow teachers home. I helped another with his homework. I’ve been coordinating with the other English teacher on how to run the English club. So I decided to do something nice. When I got a package of chocolates I poured a bag of Hershey kisses into a bowl and left them on the table in the staff room with a sign, “Chocolates from America . Help yourself. – Michele” I’m not sure why I included my name because clearly they came from me, but so be it. There were only two teachers in the room when I left the chocolates and I explained to them what they were. I had decided it would be too awkward to present them to a room full of people and then watch them react. The first three people to eat the candy hated them. Literally two of them walked outside and spit them out and told me, “these are very bad.” How awkward! I was tempted to take the candy back and hide in my house before the rest of the teachers could reject my gift. But the other English teacher, who was convinced that the chocolates tasted like cheese, was too amused by the whole thing and whenever a new staff member entered the room he insisted they take some. Luckily, I finally got some fans, to the dismay of the other English teacher who could only say, “really? You really like it?” Obviously this was shocking because there can never be more than one correct opinion in Rwanda. I breathed a sigh of relief as the consensus turned from negative to positive; more people liked the candy than didn’t and the female teacher brought some home to her kids who loved it. But I wasn’t sure that buying the hearts and minds of my colleagues with candy was really working. People smiled at me when the other teachers told them to take a candy that they were from Michele, but no one thanked me or really said anything. Please and Thank you aren’t really popular phrases in Kinyarwanda, I actually haven’t even heard a good translation for please yet and I am usually the only person saying “Thank you” in the staffroom when the workers come in and pour our tea. (yes, someone pours my tea for me every day and it drives me nuts but that’s a whole different story). I decided not to be offended, it was a cultural difference, and I had chosen to give out presents I didn’t have to do it again. I went to teach my classes and at the end of the came back to collect my bowl. The kisses were gone – a final indication that they were a success - thank God. I walked back to my desk to hang up my jacket to find my note on my seat with “Thank you!!!” in English scrawled on it in several different handwritings. Just like I had been to uncomfortable to present the candy to them, they had been too uncomfortable to say anything to my face. People aren’t so different after all. Next week I’m going to try a bowl of cheez-its wish me luck!

** This is a post I wrote for a women's travel blog on how to best take a moto but I thought I might as well put it here too **

One of the main forms of transportation in Rwanda is motorcycle taxi. In many places you can take a twegerane (small bus) most of the way to your destination only to find that to go any further you will need to either a. walk over an hour or b. take a motorcycle taxi. I, personally, have to take a motorcycle half an hour up, what Rwandans call a large hill and I refer to as a small mountain, to get to the village I live in from the main road. When I first arrived in Rwanda I had never been on a motorcycle before and was, as a consequence, terrified. My parents, who both work in insurance, were all too familiar with the dangers of motorcycles and all to eager to pass their fears on to me. Certain obstacles just need to be conquered in this job though, I wasn’t about to trek over 2 hours every time I needed to leave my village. So I have mastered the moto and honestly I can say now that I love them! Here are a few pointers on riding them, selecting a good one, and general safety for all those motorcycle novices who may find themselves in the land of a thousand hills in need of a lift.

1. Take only licensed moto taxis. Many people have their own bikes and will offer you a lift for cash. You can tell the official taxis because the driver will be wearing a vest over their clothing saying the city name on the back and usually either MTN or TIGO, the two cell phone providers, on the front. 2. Use the helmet. You will see Rwandans ignoring this but I would advise always taking the helmet the motari (driver) offers; the roads can be bumpy and legally you can get fined for riding without one. 3. Hold on. There is a small metal bar behind the seat where most people can comfortably lean back and hold onto. You will see that Rwandans don’t hold on to anything but that still scares me. Also, personal space is a non-issue in Rwandan culture, if you feel safer holding onto the driver they will have no problem with it.4. Don’t worry about how close you are to the driver. Again, personal space doesn’t exist here. As a Westerner your natural reaction will be to keep your distance and try to avoid sliding forward into the driver (there is nothing separating the two seats) and I would advise you ignore that desire. Firstly, you will not be able to prevent yourself sliding into the driver, they don’t call Rwanda “the land of a thousand hills,” for nothing. Secondly, it will tire you out and long trips can be quite an ab workout already. Lastly, the driver will think the effort you are putting into avoiding contact is weirder than the actual contact. It’s awkward, believe me I know, but embrace it, will make moto travel so much easier. 5. Don’t feel bad asking to stop. I still do this all the time to adjust my pack or take a breath or because my thighs are cramping just tap the driver on his shoulder and ask to stop. Most of the time they will know the word in English but in Kinyarwanda you say, “ Hagaruka.”

Picking a Driver:

There’s not really a science to picking a driver but I stick to these basics when I’m away from my home and need to rely on someone I don’t know.

1. Price. Try and ask a local first how much the ride should cost, I always go with the guy quoting me closest to the accurate price and not trying to rip me off for being white. 2. Gas. Take a peak at the gas tank meter. Stopping at gas stations, or as I’ve experienced, bars along the way where there’s a jerry can full of petrol, is awkward and unnecessary. So a full tank is a plus.3. English. Things can happen along the way while you’re traveling. I speak the local language well, but in an unfamiliar place I am always biased towards the drivers who speak some English.4. Quality of the equipment. It might not be a fair measure but I always look to see if the visor on the helmet or the rear-view mirrors is cracked or damaged, an indication that the bike has already been in an accident regardless of how long ago.5. Size of the driver. I always feel safer with a man who is larger than me at the wheel because I know that if I shift my body at the wrong moment his weight still cancels out mine. This logic can go the opposite way too, however, if you really want to avoid contact or you have a lot of luggage pick a small driver.

Finally, I suggest you throw in your headphones to your favorite music put on your helmet and enjoy the ride. Once you get the hang of them the motorcycle taxis are a really easy way to get around. Best of all, the views are often breathtaking.

Safe Travels!

Teaching with no resources is hard. Teaching is hard. These may seem like obvious statements but you’d be surprised how they sneak up on you. The lack of resources isn’t hard in just the ways you would think its hard either. Sure, its difficult to come up with lesson plans. I have three English textbooks at my disposal and honestly sometimes I can’t find the answers I need in them so I wing it. I also don’t have regular accessto the internet which means that I can’ t just “google it” when I don’t know something. Do you know how much I miss google?! I miss it the way I imagine amputees miss their severed limbs – a phantom pain – I forget I no longer have that tool at my disposal and wonder how anyone ever got information before the google age. Libraries you say? You would think, but no, the three English text books I have are from the library and they are the extent of the documents in it that could help me. But the lack of resources is hard in other ways as well. My student don’t have text books, which means that every grammar chart and test and exercise has to be written out on the board by hand. Every class is 50 minutes long I have to say, all told, I spent 25 of those at least just writing. I cover the board left to right and then erase it and start again. There are never any days where I can hand out a worksheet and sit down while they fill it out. I have to first invent the worksheet, then write it on the board, then wait for them to copy it, complete it and correct it. Lack of resources is an arm work out. It is, like everything else in this job, a test of my patience, as I write the same thing three times a day. Sometimes, by my last class I am scrawling out an explanation of the Past Progressive for the third time wishing I could skip some of it, but knowing it has to be identical, I think this must be a special level of hell. A Dante style doomed eternity, but for who? What particular sin wold be punished this way? I decide this is what happens to all those people who disrespected their teachers or slept during class. But that wasn’t me, so maybe eternity – not unlike life – is unfair. I think, sometimes, the hardest thing about having no resources is explaining new terms. Words pop up all the time in readings (from the Rwandan ministry text books mind you) that the children have literally no concept of, and I have a very hard time explaining. Examples include: horses, chimneys, bears, skyscrapers, etc. How would you explain a horse to someone who has never seen one? I tried to draw it but it looked like a goatcowpig and the students were lost. I tried to explain that people ride them, but these kids don’t have access to movies or TV so the odds that one of the few times they’ve seen a TV someone was riding a horse are slim. I don’t have any photos of horses in my house and so I eventually just had to give up and say it is an animal in America. The moral of my story, if there is one, is that teaching has become a full cardio workout (I’m not saying its not in America – I don’t know maybe it is) I stand and write the whole time and jump around like an idiot trying to make myself understood. By the time I get back to my house every night, I usually need to do an hour of yoga just to get loosened back up. I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, probably because mostly it is, but also I do truly enjoy it. I guess I should see it as a bonus that my job is toning my arms and legs while I work.

Even from my perch several thousand miles from home I am keenly aware that a great American tradition has passed this week; the Superbowl. The ultimate American day full of fatty foods, extreme consumerism, 3 million dollar advertisements and of course football. I had forgotten all about the superbowl (I haven’t seen or heard about football the whole time I’ve been here, unless of course you mean soccer) until a week or so ago I saw Facebook explode with the information that the Giants would be playing the Patriots this year. Being from Connecticut, I could only imagine how my fair state was reacting to the news. Without a team of our own people tend to latch on to any one of the many teams from the area when it comes to sports; New York, Boston. New Jersey. The whole thing got me reminiscing about chicken wings, pizza, beer and watching the game mostly for the commercials. Last year, my roommates and I watched it on our comically small TV and attempted to order a Papa Johns pizza which literally never came and the phone lines were too busy to ever get through to complain. Ah America, how I miss you. (We got a free pizza the next day so it all worked out).Despite my physical removal from it the Superbowl touches my life here in it’s own way. In what can either be seen as a great display of capitalist ingenuity or first world waste, after the two teams who will be playing in the Superbowl are announced T-shirts are printed for either possible outcome. So before the game is even played millions of shirts are printed declaring both the Giants and the Patriots as the champions of this year’s football season. Both are possibly true until the game is played and the outcome is decided., but then what? What do you do with the shirts that are inevitably proven false? What do they do now, with the Patriots shirts? They send them to Africa of course where they flood the markets and are sold for 200 Rwf ( 20 cents ) and people with no idea what they mean parade around in them excited to have purchased a brand new shirt from America. As a result of this my whole village seems to think they are Colts fans due to their Superbowl win last year. I don’t have the heart to tell them the Colts lost, and American football is not the game they are thinking of. The whole thing makes me think of the multiple universe theory that when you make a big decision the universe splits and each outcome plays out in its own universe. Both are true. And maybe in this case it is. In some reality out there the Patriots won this years Superbowl, and that universe is rural Africa. And when this years Tshirts arrive, I will wear mine with pride.

I arrived in Rwanda with 19 other people. During training, two people decided that this was not for them and when back to the states. During Christmas and New Years, two more volunteers decided to early terminate and headed back to the states. Now, the person I am the closest to, Amy, has decided to head back to the states as well.

I am not for sure what I am feeling. I know I am sad to see her leave but I am happy that she is going. Rwanda is not the place for her right now. She is making the best decision for herself and I am proud that she has made the decision. It is not easy to leave your friends, co-workers, and the life you have made for yourself here. When Amy told her co-workers and the students, many of them started to cry and did not want to see her leave. It is not easy to walk away even though you know it is the best choice.

It sucks saying goodbye!! I am going to miss her so much but I know we will stay friends over the years. I know we will stay in contact while she is back home and I am still here.

We started out at 20 and now we are 15 and I know we are going to lose a few more over the next few months and it will not get easier to say goodbye but there are some pretty awesome volunteers here that will help me.

There is nothing like the Peace Corps community!!

Love,

Lindsay

It is amazing the impact something you make consider small be huge for someone else. You never know the impact of your actions on someone else.

This past week my best friends or I consider my brothers, David and Antonio, called me. Just hearing their voice put joy back in my heart. It is hard to explain the emotions I felt to be able to talk to them, to laugh with them. David, Antonio, and I have a complicated history. Even though there were times where I didn't think I could allow myself to get close to them (for the fear of them getting close to me) I wouldn't change anything. When I first left for Rwanda I was really scared that the connection I have with them would be strained and maybe disappear. When I said goodbye to David, I couldn't stop the tears. When I said Goodbye to Antonio in Philly, I felt alone. I did not realize how much those two mean to me until I had to say goodbye.

Over the past 8 months, they have proved to me no matter how far, they will always be there for me and that is something that is priceless! Just a simple phone call lit up my face, to laugh with them made me feel re-energized. I am not for sure if they realized it, but they helped to put everything back in perspective. I talked to John on Saturday and he told me that it is not about me and at first I was confused as to what he meant. I was thinking, yes it is about me, I am the one serving as a PCV in a country where I feel like I am not wanted. But then talking to my brothers I realized, it is about the people I am here to help and to learn from. The people of Rwanda are still hurting, are in pain, are angry, and sometimes I am the brunt of that but I need to keep everything in perspective. I do not know everyone's story, I do not know what they have been through. Who am I to pass judgement? I cannot take their actions personally because it is not a reflection of me as a person.

Life as a Peace Corps Volunteer is many ups and many downs. Right now, I am down. There are some many things going on and I feel confused, angry, sad, lost, and alone. But slowly, I am climbing back up. The one good thing at being at the bottom, is the only way is up from here. I am beyond blessed to be surrounded by other PCVs that understand what I am going through and can give me advice and the room I need. I am beyond blessed to have people in my life that love me so much that they are willing to fly across the world to visit me. I am beyond blessed to have people call me and send me packages full of goodies that always make me smile. One thing I can never deny, I am very Blessed!

So, I just need to remember the little things in life. THe sunrise, the sunset, the smiles, the laughter, the dancing, the singing, the text messages and the phone calls.

Dear everyone out in blogland, it has been awhile since I have last blogged. Things have been pretty crazy lately with us going to South Africa and all. I am going to try to get back into the routine of writing at least once a week. I want to try and concentrate this last 11 [...]

First-time visitors to foreign countries sometimes inadvertently insult locals with behavior that is acceptable at home; at the same time, they might be shocked by seemingly rude behavior that is considered okay in the country they’re visiting. In many cases, what’s rude in the U.S. is acceptable in Rwanda. Here are some examples:

-Talking on the phone in the middle of the night, while sharing a room (or even bed) with other people

-Picking your nose

-Pushing and shoving

-Refusing to wait in line

-Insulting people to their face (such as telling them they are fat or ugly, that you don’t like their clothes, that they don’t know anything, that they don’t work hard, or that you like their friend more than them)

-Putting your elbows on the table

-Asking people how much they weigh

-Asking people how much money they have

-Repeatedly calling someone every few minutes if they don’t answer

-Using phones at any time, including in church, at meetings, and during classes

-Not saying “please” or “thank you”

-Randomly asking people for things (ie, coming up to a random person on the street and asking them for money)

-Asking other people to a store buy you something, like crackers or gum

-Inviting someone to your house and then ignoring them, or even leaving to go somewhere else while they’re there

Check back soon to find out what isn’t acceptable here!

First-time visitors to foreign countries sometimes inadvertently insult locals with behavior that is acceptable at home; at the same time, they might be shocked by seemingly rude behavior that is considered okay in the country they’re visiting. In many cases, what’s rude in the U.S. is acceptable in Rwanda. Here are some examples:

-Talking on the phone in the middle of the night, while sharing a room (or even bed) with other people

-Picking your nose

-Pushing and shoving

-Refusing to wait in line

-Insulting people to their face (such as telling them they are fat or ugly, that you don’t like their clothes, that they don’t know anything, that they don’t work hard, or that you like their friend more than them)

-Putting your elbows on the table

-Asking people how much they weigh

-Asking people how much money they have

-Repeatedly calling someone every few minutes if they don’t answer

-Using phones at any time, including in church, at meetings, and during classes

-Not saying “please” or “thank you”

-Randomly asking people for things (ie, coming up to a random person on the street and asking them for money)

-Asking other people to a store buy you something, like crackers or gum

-Inviting someone to your house and then ignoring them, or even leaving to go somewhere else while they’re there

Check back soon to find out what isn’t acceptable here!

Can censorship help heal Rwanda?

This is an article my friend David sent me that's quite interesting and touches on a lot of the same things I touched on in some of my recent posts. Thoughts??