Peace Corps Journals

The Nerdman Cometh Pt. 9

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-06-02 08:34:20

Wildlife parks have always had a fascination for me. I read a lot as a child. I also watched a lot of Disney movies and nature specials. My mother was an ardent believer in the church of PBS and Nova. … Continue reading →

The Nerdman Cometh Pt. 10

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:36:40

The African buffalo is the only native wild cow in Africa. This information was gleaned from “Wild Cows of Africa”-it was 1 page long. Males are larger than females though both have distinctive curving horns that meet over the … Continue reading →

Sometimes in April Pt. 1

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:39:46

April is the month in Rwanda. The bad month. The month that all the “old”(Ed1/Ed2 and Health1/Health2) volunteers will tell you if you can you should leave Rwanda. April is the month that began the genocide 18 years ago. … Continue reading →

Sometimes in April Pt. 2

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:41:26

These exiles and refugees had been pushed out of Rwanda by the violence of the shifting politics and then were told they could not be repatriated as Rwanda was overpopulated as it was. Many think this political maneuver was … Continue reading →

Sometimes in April Pt. 3

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:44:39

In April of 1994 I was a sophomore in high school, practicing the role of the reporter in “Anything Goes” and hoping for a passing grade in Chemistry. I don’t remember anything about Rwanda. In the papers, on the … Continue reading →

Sometimes in April Pt. 4

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:46:06

I look at my passport sometimes. It’s the second one I’ve ever owned. I got my first at 19 and have made it my personal mission to fill each passport with as many stamps as it can hold before it … Continue reading →

To Whoever Makes A1, I Love You

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Kigali-olly-oxen free!

2012-06-02 08:47:28

An Open Letter to the Condiment, Candy, and Packaged Food Makers of America: To Whom it May Concern, As happy as I am to here in Rwanda serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer, there are some things one simply cannot … Continue reading →

Another Cambodian Town - Battambang

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Colors of the World

2012-06-01 15:29:00

Since I liked Siem Reap so much, it set the standard pretty high for Cambodia. Though maybe Battambang, our subsequent destination, wasn’t as cute, it also wasn’t nearly as touristy, and I really enjoyed the chance to see a more typical Cambodian town.

Though Battambang is accessible by public bus, we chose to get there by boat: 9.5 hours across the Tonlé Sap Lake and down the Sangkae River. Expecting the boat to be a tourist trap, we were surprised to find that it was basically a motorized canoe with a roof, and to realize it was actually a form of local transportation for Cambodians. In fact, we dubbed it a “floating matutu,” as it stopped quite frequently to let people on and off. On the boat, we passed through a number of “floating” villages, where many people live on small houseboats or in shacks right on the river’s edge. About halfway through the trip, we made a pit stop in one of the villages. The small shop/restaurant we stopped at had one of the most rustic, and least hygienic, toilets I’ve ever used – a building on stilts with a hole in the floor opening straight over the river. A few hours after the stop, we finally pulled up to the pier in Battambang.

Our hotel there, Hotel Chhaya, was remarkable in that it was $1.50/bed. That’s right, $1.50. The three of us shared a four-person dorm with a British guy, and the shared bathroom was just across the hall. The bathroom was not the cleanest, and the room was pretty hot, despite having a fan. We also had a couple issues with the staff there giving us bad information about activities and things going on around town. For $1.50, though, I really can’t complain.

While in Battambang, we had more delicious Cambodian meals, along with a couple of excellent Western things. We discovered the adorable Gecko Café on our first night in town, and ended up eating there a couple times. Mediterranean salad, “Cambodian” wantons filled with cream cheese, Oreo milkshakes – it was wonderful! I also tried Chang beer, a Thai import, which, though some people find it a bit bland, I liked.

Battambang’s claim to fame is its bamboo train, which was originally, like the boat, a form of local transportation that became popular with travelers. Unlike the boat, though, it’s no longer used by Cambodians and is now just a tourist attraction. The train’s cars are comprised of two sets of wheels covered by a flat platform made from bamboo. There’s only one train track, so when two trains going opposite directions meet each other, one train’s passengers get off while the conductors disassemble the train and then reassemble it on the track behind the other car. Since the train cars are so simple, it only takes a couple minutes. The train went much faster than expected and felt a little more like a roller coaster than an actual train. It was fun, though, and the countryside we got to see from it was really pretty.

While in Battambang, we also took a Cambodian cooking class. Like in the Balinese cooking class we took in Ubud, the food was delicious and, for the most part, not too terribly difficult to make. We made chicken amok(coconut curry), beef lok lak, and pork spring rolls. We got a cookbook with these and other recipes, so it looks like I’ll be making vegetarian versions of these dishes for a Balinese-Cambodian feast when I get home!

10k

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda ubugingo (the good life)

2012-05-31 16:49:41

As a recent running convert, I have never actually done any sort of “organized running” you might say. You know, 5K, 10K, and marathon races. However, there certainly is a first time for everything and why not raise the stakes when living in East Africa? Thus, I decided early on in my Peace Corps experience [...]

Imaginary Safari

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-31 12:16:21

Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try! ~Dr. Seuss Last week at the orphanage we went on an imaginary safari with our very own binoculars. Here are some benefits of an imaginary safari should you be considering one: * You [...]

Rwanda Thus Far

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Soul in Mind

2012-05-29 15:24:39

Here I am in my small room with no electricity, running water, comfy toilet, hot shower or TV! What’s an American to do!? Be grateful for what I do have, which is a wonderful host family that consists of my Mama, who is superwoman if I’ve ever seen her. A Papa, who is sensitive to [...]

Three hopes, by Sarah E.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda PC/Rwanda GAD

2012-05-28 13:02:00

Sarah Epplin

Kirehe District, Eastern Province

Three hopes.

Every Peace Corps Volunteer encounters social differences that rock to their core. Many of my fellow female volunteers comment on difficult conversations and situations they are involved in due to their sex. All of us try to put a positive spin on them, out of the hope that a few words or an action will put a new idea into the minds of our neighbors, friends, and coworkers at site. Planting a seed, you could say. I will tell the stories of three difficult conversations I’ve had and the hopes that follow them.

During the first three months in Rwanda, I lived with a host family. I lived with a mom, dad, two sisters (11 and 17), and a brother (12). I won’t go into details, but toward the end of my stay, my host brother did something to me that was disrespectful and wrong. I was told that for his punishment, he would be beaten and taken to the church to give his confession. I told the family that I didn’t want him to be beaten. I wanted to talk with him. I sat in the sitting room with my Kinyarwanda dictionary in my lap. When he came into the room, he knelt on the floor (this is typical punishment as someone in Rwanda is giving you a “talking to”). I told him that I wanted to know his reason for disrespecting me. He said, “Satan is evil.” I told him that wasn’t his reason – that he must understand he has his own mind and brain. Over and over again, his only response was “Satan is evil.” That, to me, was not acceptable. So I told him how I felt. I had lived with them for nearly three months. I tried my best to me a good Rwandan – to dress like a Rwandan because I wanted to respect the culture, to speak in Kinyarwanda, and so on. And then he decides to make his own decision that affects me, that disrespects me. I told him that it wasn’t okay and that “Satan is evil” is not his reason, that his own mind made the decision. I ended the scolding when he started to cry. I noticed, then, the look on Deanne’s face. She was my 11 year old host sister. She was polite and did everything she was told. She was the most loyal and sweet girl I’d ever met. But the look on her face after I’d just scolded her brother was priceless. She looked as though a whole new world had been opened up. That she learned she could speak her mind and say how she felt. I’ve never regreted scolding her brother out of the hope that she’ll always stand up for herself and ask for the reasons.

During my first few weeks at site, I spent a lot of time in cafes, talking with people and eating keke. Most of the conversations centered around my marital status – people just couldn’t get how a 23-year-old girl was single…and wanted to be single. During one of these conversations, a man in his 40s walked into the café, sat down, and listened. He interrupted the conversation and asked me, “When do you want to get married?” I told him I didn’t know. Everyone laughed, as I’d expected. He then asked how old I was. I told him. Then he said in a super matter-of-fact tone, “When a Rwandan girl is 21, she wants a husband.” So then I said, “I’m American. In America, we think you should get married when you have love. God likes love, so it is good. If you are 18, 20, 30, 50, not a problem. You can get married when you have love.” And to that, he shut up. When I glanced around, hoping I hadn’t offended anyone terribly, I made eye contact with an old lady (who holds the epitome of Rwandan culture and respect), who had been quiet the entire time. She smiled at me and nodded her head. If the old lady agrees with me, I thought, then I guess I’m not so crazy in this culture afterall! My hope was that little seeds had been planted in all their minds, especially the man’s, to slowly begin to think that marriage isn’t the only option for a girl who is 21.

A fellow teacher at my school asked me questions about American culture that interested him. He asked me about the relationship between husbands and wives in America. (Generally, I try to paint the picture as accurate as possible – like saying, “Some Americans think…but other Americans think…and so on.”) I said that Americans believe that women and men are equal, so in a home, for example, the wife may cook dinner one night but the husband may cook dinner the next night. Then he said, “Americans think that women and men are the same. What about with strength? Women are not stronger than men. Women cannot build. Women cannot farm.” I laughed at this and told him that I think some Rwandan women are stronger than men, as I see many women every day working on their fields for maybe 12 hours and then I see their husbands drinking all day. He seemed startled by my response, but then he asked me how to become a western man. I said that all he needs to do is say to his wife, “Wife, I love you. I want to help you. Teach me how to cook boiled bananas.” And then once he learns, he can cook them for her. I was frustrated by this conversation for a few days, but now I’m glad it happened out of the hope that maybe he asked his wife how to cook boiled bananas.

Trees vs. Shade

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-27 15:04:33

One generation plants the trees; another gets the shade. -Chinese proverb When I came across this proverb I realized it is the perfect description of how Peace Corps works. Our goal as volunteers is to help our community members to help themselves while embracing the ideals of sustainable change instead of free handouts.One volunteer is [...]

Cambodian Countryside

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Colors of the World

2012-05-26 03:00:00

Like I mentioned last time, we went to Siem Reap primarily to see Angkor Wat, but getting into the countryside outside of town ended up being my favorite part of our time in the area. A small tour company called Beyond Unique Escapesoffers tours in rural areas near Siem Reap (and in other parts of the country), and we ended up doing two of their tours. They pride themselves on showing the “real” Cambodia, and, to their credit, we were the only people on both tours and never saw another foreigner during either one. We definitely got to see places we never would have seen on our own, and got a small taste of what a Cambodian village is like.

Our first outing into the countryside was on a day-long village tour, called A Day in the Life. Though we only drove about twenty minutes out of Siem Reap, the area felt very rural and like it was worlds away from town. Suddenly, the roads were dirt, the houses were bamboo, and electric wires were non-existent. And the scenery was gorgeous, wide-open spaces and very green, with palm trees everywhere. After stopping to greet the village chief, we set off on an ox-cart ride, which was really fun and allowed us to see houses and fields way off the main path through the village. We spent the rest of the morning at a family’s house in the village, learning about their daily activities. First, they taught us how to thatch, and we wove together dried leaves to be used for roofs or walls of the houses. Thatching was actually easier than I thought it would be, and it was a lot of fun. Then, we prepared lunch, which took quite awhile. We started by mixing together some spices and vegetables, but, instead of stirring them together in a bowl, we chopped everything on a cutting board until it was all ground together. Then we added prahoc, a salty paste made of fermented whole fish (bones, fins, and everything) – prahoc is unique to Cambodia, and probably not something that needs to be exported! Lastly, we added red ants – yes, ants, a whole pile of them with their legs all tangled together – to the paste. The ants were alive when we added them, but most got chopped up while mixing them into the paste. Cambodians eat this fish/ant paste either raw or cooked, and we cooked a portion of it in a banana leaf over charcoal. Once the cooking was done, we had lunch with the family, eating the paste (full disclosure: I didn’t actually have any, more out of repulsion by the fish paste than the ants) along with rice, chicken, and mango.

After leaving the family’s house, we visited a local monastery, which had beautiful buildings and dozens of small shrines holding the ashes of deceased Buddhists. We learned a lot about Cambodian Buddhism during the visit. One of the things I found particularly interesting – while a small number of people become monks for their entire lives, much like Catholic priests in the U.S., most Cambodians stay at a monastery for a week or so as young adults to experience living as a monk. We ended our time in the village by visiting a primary school nearby. Most students in rural Cambodia go to school six days a week, for either the morning session (7-11am) or the afternoon session (1-4pm). Students try to get into the morning session if possible, because everyone knows the afternoon sessions are not as good, since most teachers don’t return from their lunch break on time. We arrived at the school around 2:00pm, at which point there were no teachers around, and all the children were playing outside. Seeing this obviously raised the question of how the government or school administration could better motivate teachers to show up on time – but that’s a big question for another time.

The following morning, we set out early on a sunrise bike tour, which offered not only beautiful views but also another chance to see village life. We left town on our bikes at about 5:00am, and it felt very rural again within about half an hour of riding. Just outside of town, we stopped to watch the sun come up over a rice field, which was beautiful. We then climbed to the top of a small hill, considered by Cambodian Buddhists to be sacred, which offered great views of the village below and the lush countryside. This stop also gave us an opportunity to talk more to our guide, and he told us more about Cambodia’s history and societal norms. He talked a lot about marriage in Cambodia, and said that arranged marriage exists but is becoming less prevalent, and that dowries are always paid to the woman’s family. I also found it interesting that, after the wedding, the new groom typically leaves his family and moves in with the bride and her family.

Next, we biked over to a monastery, similar to the one we had visited the previous day, where we met some monks and nuns, who gave us delicious dried mango and told us about life in the monastery. One of the nuns said she moved to the monastery when she started getting older, as there are no nursing homes in Cambodia, to become a nun and focus on finding enlightenment. Our last stop on the ride was at a local market, where our guide treated us to a typical Cambodian breakfast of rice pudding, which was pretty good. It was like a clear porridge with rice and pieces of chicken, as well as chunks of what I thought was tofu covered in something but turned out to be congealed cow blood mixed with an unknown solid. It was fine as long as you didn’t think too much about what it was. Regardless, we were pleasantly shocked that, as the only foreigners around, we were able to look around in the market and sit down to eat at a table full of Cambodians without anyone hassling us at all.

A Day of Leisure

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-25 20:49:11

Today was my day off so I decided to visit one of the nuns, Cresence, at work. Before I left I stopped at the orange tree outside of my room for some breakfast and chatted for a bit with one of the convent workers who was doing some planting in the garden. It is surprisingly [...]

The Polar Bear Club

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Rwandan Nights

2012-05-25 19:30:10

“Nicholas, do you know what happened?” says my room mate through the door, alarmed. Of course I don’t know what happened. It’s 9:30, so clearly I’m in bed (yes, I go to sleep on village time.) I had heard a weird popping noise from the other side of the house and the lights had flickered, [...]

KitchenWeek: may 19-26

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Rwandan Nights

2012-05-25 19:38:21

I tried out a couple of new things this week: -Pasta with a veggie cream sauce (made from vegetable soup thickened with rue) -Cornmeal and sorghum porridge with cinnamon (sounds bland but is actually really good) -Fish stew with black sorghum bread (I used the little dried sardines that come from the Lake regions of [...]

Americaland!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda christine in rwanda

2012-05-25 14:16:34

It’s been a while since I’ve last updated my blog – mainly because I have been busy enjoying a short vacation home to America. One year into service, I flew home to recharge and spend some well-needed time with family and friends. I was able to see my brother graduate from college and be commissioned [...]

the big apple is too big for a bite!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Rachel + the World

2012-05-25 14:50:00

So I hope I'm not being too terribly redundant in all my posts about readjustment but whether or not they're being read, it certainly helps my process to get it all out. This week I've journeyed to NYC to visit some dear friends and make a foray into Boston. Though it's only been 4 days now of travelling, and 2 of those days were spent in Boston, I've been struck by the loveliness that is city-life. Not that Champaign, IL does not have its own charms to recommend itself, but I definitely needed a dose of big city. What I got, was the biggest! What I've enjoyed most is the "AMURKA!"-ness of it all. The 4 different languages I heard next to the US Vets Memorial display in the Boston Common, the 478529043 different looks of people on the NY Subway...it's amazing and unique.
In a selfish vein, it's been nice to have a crowd to blend into. In New York, I can literally wave my arms above my head and yell "woogedy woogedy" and no one bats an eye. It's a far cry from walking down the street in local clothes, speaking the local language and drawing about as much attention as a 6-legged dog. (Complete with phone photo-ops and exclamations to the nearest deity.) It's also kinda weird because I think people are still constantly judging me. I look around and wonder if I'm wearing the right thing or if I'm blending in enough (just like i did in Rwanda). I get overly flustered when my metro card doesn't run right, I spend way too much worrying about what I'm wearing, finally deciding on an outfit after trying on 4, only to go back to the first and then spending half an hour struggling with accessories. I'm convinced everyone knows how 'fresh off the plane' I am. I'm convince everyone's thinking...."Um, who let her in this country...back on the streets...where small children could see!?"
Luckily, I'm pretty convinced that it's mostly in my mind. I'm almost positive NYC has not noticed the addition of another 20-something girl with impractical shoes. I just got to get around my crazy enough to enjoy that.

words of wisdom from the old man on the bus

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda ubugingo (the good life)

2012-05-25 11:29:12

“What an opportunity–to live in Africa, to have your own small piece of this incredible continent…it’s different. And for you, probably very difficult, coming from America. But, you’ll see. You’ll leave and want to come back. Rwanda is a special place. And you are doing good work. Yes, what an opportunity.” Do you believe that [...]

First Weeks

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Off of the Grid

2012-05-25 10:59:00

It’s hard to believe that I’ve only been here for a short time. The past two weeks have seemed to fly by, and though they certainly haven’t been easy, they’ve been some of the most rewarding days I’ve had so far (yes…as in, my life).

The buildup to leaving was a very stressful time. It seems to be an impossible task to pack up everything you own, say goodbye to loved ones, and then jet off halfway across the world to start a new life. Even as I was being driven to the airport (after having finished packing last minute as always) it all seemed a bit surreal. Is this it? I’m really going to be joining the Peace Corps?! Of course, in hindsight, the packing and flying were the easy part. Staging in Philadelphia was the typical orientation. Topics including hard pressing issues such as: hopes and fears, what did want to get out of the experience, why did we join, what is the weirdest things we packed? These two days were very hard for me, the buildup reminded me a lot of a roller coaster, it takes forever to get to the top but you know that once you do you’ll be in for a wild ride.

After staging we spent the next day (literally) flying, from JFK New York to Brussels, and finally down to Kigali, Rwanda. When the plane landed late that night, I was a mess. To put it nicely. I had thrown up, slept way too much, had no idea what time it was (or what day for that matter). As we descended the steps I was nervous, excited, panicked, eager, anxious. As I saw my bag coming down the baggage claim belt I was relieved and ready. Before I knew it we were shuffled out and into vans that would normally house…hostages (?), and taken to the Peace Corps compound in downtown Kigali. The air was cool and misty, and as we unloaded bags it began to rain lightly. The first night at the compound was interesting. Some people zonked out, while others (myself included) rolled around for most of the night. Add to that some of the crazy side effects from my malarial prophylaxis and it was not a good night. I fell asleep promptly around noon the next day during a quickie language class (quickie only in the sense that it was meant to teach us enough to navigate our first night with the host family).

Our group is a small one composed of all health volunteers. We range in ages 22-(well there is someone older but there is no way I’m going to ask how old), but I would say on average about 27. We come from different backgrounds, races, religions, states (although 4 from Wisconsin!), and experiences. Despite all of this, we’ve come to know each other well over the past few weeks and have bonded like old friends. Which is good, because without a good support network this would be a nearly impossible task.

After spending two days at the compound, we hit the ground running. We packed our bags and were bused to the District of Kamonyi, where we will be living for the first ten weeks of service. In the center of Kamonyi is the Peace Corps hub where we meet for technical training twice a week. The first day we entered the hub the entire one half of the room was full of Rwandan families. One by one a family would stand and say their name, and the director of Housing would announce their new son/daughter. It was full of awkward moments, but the whole time we were laughing (some crying) and almost dying of excitement. My host dad was there to greet me and eventually take me to my house. My dad is the town tailor, and our house lies on the main road (or The Strip, as I like to call it). Along with my host mom, I have a little brother and sister, 12 and 7. As far as living situations go, I couldn’t have gotten luckier. Each day is new and exciting, and of course full of awkward moments.

Training is definitely an intense process, and perhaps the most intense component is learning the national language of Rwanda, Kinyarwanda. I’ve read in some places that Kinyarwanda is one of the most difficult languages in the world to learn, and I would be apt to agree. I wish I could go back in time and kick myself in the balls for ever thinking Spanish was a challenge. A few reasons why: it’s a tonal language (so depending on what syllable you put emphasis on the meaning of the word can change), almost every word looks the same (memorizing vocab lists is near impossible), there are sixteen noun classes (English has two), and everytime I want to tell someone that I am a volunteer I have to say ‘Ndi umukorerabushake.’ Despite the difficulties, I feel like I am making progress, and I’m excited to see where I’ll be at in another eight weeks.

All in all this has been an incredibly rewarding experience and it’s hard to believe that it’s just getting started. Internet here is spotty, and none of the modems work with my computer. Because of that I can’t really check facebook that often, but really…that’s a good thing. My plan is to write up blog entries on Word, and then just upload them to the internet once I track down someone with internet. It seems impossible to describe everything that’s happened, so I’ll leave you with some of the craziest/best/worst/ moments so far.

Sipping home brewed banana beer out of a jerry can. Gross. Being called muzungu everywhere I go. Annoying but I’m getting used to it.Sitting through a five hour church service. Horrible! The satisfaction of carrying on a conversation with someone in Kinyarwanda. Rewarding. Looking up at the night sky and seeing more stars than ever before. Watching a storm cloud rush from one mountain to yours. Feeling the fog descend and seep in through the windows. Watching the sunset from your front porch and pinching yourself because you’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Incredible.

Getting Real

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Mwaramutse, Rwanda!

2012-05-25 08:21:00

As a rule, Peace Corps volunteers are cautioned to keep their negative feelings to themselves. This is especially true where the internet is concerned. “Journal on bad days, blog on good days,” they tell you at staging and again in pre-service training and probably again at in-service training. Well, I’m not having a bad day. I just got over a bout of stomach flu and I feel fantastic. Thus legitimated, I am going to complain a little bit. Hopefully this will be as edifying for all of you as it is cathartic for me.

DISCLAIMER: This post is not a cry for help, nor a call for praise, nor anything else of the kind. I’m not trying to elicit any particular reaction from anyone whatsoever. My goal here, as with my all my posts, is simply to share and inform.

Let me begin by stating the obvious.

Peace Corps is hard.

Everyone knows this. The fact that it’s hard is what entices some people to join as much as it deters others from even applying. I realized I was signing up for something difficult when I accepted my invitation to Rwanda. But Peace Corps service isn’t difficult for any of the reasons one would expect. Within Peace Corps the idea that “it isn’t about the amenities” is another enormous cliché, but it might not be as obvious to folks who aren’t serving. Allow me to elaborate.

Peace Corps isn’t hard because there’s no hot running water or because your toilet is a hole in the ground. It isn’t hard because the power goes out all the time, if there is power. It isn’t hard because you constantly have either diarrhea or constipation, or because you have to go all the way to the Peace Corps office in Kigali to restock your Pepto-Bismol. It isn’t hard because of the mosquitoes. It isn’t hard because of fungal infections. It isn’t hard because it rains every time you hang your laundry out or because your roof leaks. It isn’t hard because there are rats living in the ceiling or gravel mixed in with the rice. It’s true that all of these things are typical to the Peace Corps experience in Rwanda and lots of other countries too. It’s also true that none of these things are pleasant and that oftentimes they’re the final straw for volunteers who already want to go home. But they aren’t what make it hard.

Peace Corps is hard because no one listens to you. It’s hard because your biggest assets as a volunteer, so you’re told, are your knowledge and skills, but all anyone wants from you is money. It’s hard because when you do get support for an idea, you spend half your time and energy trying to entice people to help you implement it.

Peace Corps is hard because nothing ever goes the way you expect it to. It always rains the day you wanted to take your class outside. There’s always a national holiday or a staff meeting or an umuganda when you least expect it. People don’t show up, or they show up three hours late. Or an hour early, depending which you were least prepared for.

Peace Corps is hard because people never leave you alone. People always want to greet you, to visit you, to ask you for money, to ask you for food, to invite themselves in for tea, to invite you over for tea, to throw things at you, to insult you, to laugh at you, to flirt with you, or, most commonly, to just stand and stare at you. This is true wherever you are, no matter what you’re doing. You could be walking to the market or waiting for the bus. You could be sitting in a restaurant. You could be sprinting down the road because you’re late for work. You could be using a latrine with a door that doesn’t quite lock. Whatever the case may be, people will take every possible opportunity to harass you.

Peace Corps is hard because your neighbors regularly mock you for the one thing you can’t stand being mocked for, whatever that may be. Your height, your weight, your skin, your hair, your voluptuousness or flat-chestedness (as the case may be), your athleticism or lack of athleticism, your way of walking, your way of speaking, your native language (or a native language that is assigned to you based on your appearance), your age, your religion, your ethnicity, your gender, any physical blemishes or abnormalities. Nothing is off-limits, and whatever bothers you the most will be the favored object of scrutiny.

Being a Peace Corps education volunteer is hard because you’re emotionally invested in the well-being of your students but you can only do so much for them. It’s hard because you have to penalize them for showing up late even though you know they just walked ten kilometers uphill in the rain in broken plastic sandals and no coat having not eaten breakfast. It’s hard because they come to school with fevers and coughs and stomach aches and headaches and you can’t give them water or medicine. It’s hard because, despite the law against it, students still get beaten by other teachers and there’s little you can do to stop it from happening. It’s hard when a girl stops showing up because she’s pregnant or when a boy comes to class drunk at seven in the morning. It’s really, really hard when you find out that one of your students has HIV.

Peace Corps is hard because no one ever tells you “Good job.” For that matter, no one ever reprimands you for giving up or flaking out.

Peace Corps is hard because no one understands. Your neighbors don’t understand what it’s like to be a foreigner in a remote village because they’ve never left the remote village. Your coworkers at site think you have it easy since they all know you’re eventually going to back to America, The Land of Plenty. Peace Corps administration doesn’t understand because they’ve never done what you’re doing, or if they have, they did it decades ago in a different country with a significantly different culture and climate. Your family and friends back home don’t understand, and (let’s be honest) they probably dismiss you as crazy for joining Peace Corps in the first place. Other volunteers don’t understand because they’re not you and they’re not at your site. Even when they do understand, they have their own problems to deal with.

So if Peace Corps is so hard, why do it? Well, like I said in my last post, there are the little things that keep you going day-to-day. Whether it’s fireflies or a cute baby or a few words of encouragement from a nice coworker, there’s always some little bright spot to be found in even the darkest of days. But more broadly, Peace Corps service is worth it precisely because it is hard. In a context where everything is a challenge, the tiniest achievements are enormous victories. Too, where there are multitudinous problems, there are endless opportunities to make a positive difference. Sometimes just being the sole American in a homogenous community is a huge contribution because you and you alone are providing people the opportunity to meet someone from the outside. When you’re in Peace Corps you’re important and special and you know it, even when people are treating you like dirt.

When I was a trainee, I was told that the hardest part of Peace Corps service is the first three months at site and that it’s all downhill from there. Maybe it’s just standard practice to tell that to trainees or maybe some people actually feel that way, but I disagree. Peace Corps service doesn’t get easier. In the first months at site everything is overwhelming, but it’s also new and exciting. Once volunteers enter their second year, malaise can start to set in. Or in some cases, volunteers take on too much at the beginning of the second year and begin to burn out.

That didn’t happen to me, but I did take on a lot of new things fully expecting to continue doing everything I had been doing before. I’m also a lot harder on myself now when I react poorly to a challenging situation or when I fail to be culturally sensitive. And the things that used to calm me down, like walking in the coffee fields or talking to my neighbors, have lost some of their magic as they’ve become more commonplace. I continue to show up, to chip away at projects and to do my best to be a friendly, positive representation of America, but sometimes my enthusiasm fails me and I start to wonder if I really am a “good” volunteer.

Deep down, though, I know that just being here is cause to be proud. Why? Because it’s hard. As an RPCV Zaire once wisely said, if it weren’t hard, it wouldn’t be Peace Corps.

The Rwandan Mama

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda My Adventures

2012-05-23 17:56:00

I find myself running low on topics to write about. So I have decided to write about the influence of having a Rwandan mama. During training my mama was exactly what I needed. She was good at recognizing when I was overwhelmed, when it looked like I really needed to take a few minutes, walk back into my room and just feel American. She tried her very best not to use any English with me, her English was rather basic but anything was better than nothing and she was continually trying new ways of communicating with me. I seem to recall one morning when I was extremely sick, she saw this and said to me in Kinyarwanda "you are sick child, go rest." I only understood the "you're sick" part but told her I was going to class…she took my cell phone, called my language teacher and had a conversation that essentially said "my child is sick and she will not come today". Mama's here are mamas to every child they meet. I love that about this country.

At site it was more difficult to find that kind of relationship with mamas in my village. The compound that I live in is attached to a rather large house with a large family. The family's mama is Mama Frida. She is my "landlord" essentially. I believe that my headmaster and deputy headmaster explained to her what my deal was, when I explained to her that I was an American Peace Corps volunteer she seemed to be in the know already. She has five children all between the ages of 1 and 10 (I believe) and her kids are extremely energetic. She and her husband run a shop in town - about a 15 minute walk downhill. When I find myself in town I make a point of going into her shop to chat with her. She speaks no English at all and speaks extremely fast Kinyarwanda so I often have to have her repeat herself. She explains to people that I am a teacher, I'm here to help the community and the students at my school. I think we aren't nearly as close as my host mama and I were but she's a close second.

Earlier last week, I found myself without gas in my tank for cooking and had to try and find some charcoal. This is fairly easy to find most of the time. I went to her first to ask if she could point me in the right direction to the person who sells charcoal. She made a few calls and told me that I would have to buy a big sack full (approx. 20 lbs) and I didn't need that much but half a bag. She told me this wasn't possible and I went home feeling rather defeated. An hour later, her oldest child showed up at my door with a brown paper bag full of charcoal. The child said "this is a gift from my mother, she tells you to cook a lot of food". Mamas take care of everyone.

In my compound I have another mama, she is called Mama Pilles (Pee-less). She has three children 5, 8 and 12. Her daughters are very well behaved and enjoy chatting with me and teaching me to play cards. When I seem sad Mama Pilles asks me to come into her living room, her sewing machine looks out onto the shared pathway so she sees me. She asks me to sit down and to tell her about my day. She listens while she mends her children's clothing and gives an opinion when she can. She - like Mama Frida - speaks very quick kinyarwanda and I often find myself lost in translation.

I think for everyone serving in Peace Corps its normal to find one thing about a culture you absolutely adore. There's a lot that takes some serious getting used to about Rwandan culture, but the one thing that took no time for me to love is the help of a Rwandan mama.

Umutetsi

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda adventures in rwanda

2012-05-23 12:57:58

Almost every night, I use my handy little petrol stove to cook my dinner. It’s not even the size of a grill; people take bigger cookers to parking lots for tailgates. Rwandans will most commonly use either firewood or charcoal … Continue reading →

The great chicken saga

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-22 19:37:49

Last weekend, after Umuganda, I went to visit my host family. Instead of writing a post I thought I would simply copy and paste an email that I sent home- so here you go! After Umuganda today I went to visit my host  parents. My mom had to leave this morning to visit a cousin [...]

Umuganda

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-22 15:47:02

Umuganda is mandatory community service that usually happens once a month all across Rwanda. The shops and transportation systems shut down from about 8am-11am and people gather together to work on some type of project in their village. Since rainy season has been wrecking havoc on the country this year there are now two Saturdays [...]

PCV Cribs

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Chase This Light

2012-05-22 12:24:44

This has been in the works for quite awhile and I’m happy to finally be able to share it with you! First, I had to have visitors to help me film is and then the biggest hurdle was finding an internet connection. I actually sent the video home to America with another volunteer who went [...]

Women are great, by Caitlyn G.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda PC/Rwanda GAD

2012-05-21 11:53:00

Caitlyn Griffth

Kayonza District, Eastern Province

Women are great.

I mean come on, its just true.

When I look into the shockingly beautiful faces of the women here I just know in my core that it’s true. When I see a thin woman carrying a 50 L Jerrycan of water on her head with a baby on her back and a sack of potatoes at her side I know that strength comes from a different place than muscles. When I listen to my friend talk about how, after being impregnated by her teacher in her first year of high school, she never wants to marry but rather to continue raise her child herself and get a job in business, all the while smiling and laughing, I know that joy can come from a place other than your circumstances. Women are the embodiment of paradoxes, of strength and joy and sadness and passion and exhaustion all mingling together in an encasement of beauty.

Rwandan women are amazing. In the village, they literally do everything. They cook, clean, farm, bear, birth and raise children, they run informal businesses, and see their children through school. They are amazing.

Rwanda, like many developing countries (and developed ones too) has a long history of unequal gender roles. Girls education, women’s involvement in politics, in formal business and as leaders with a voice are all still fairly new ideas. These ideas take time to reach out to the village where old habits, customs and cultures die hard and men are reluctant to relinquish their power.

This can be hard to watch at times. Especially because oftentimes Rwandans don’t see it. The government talks about gender equality a lot and so many people just assume that now they have it. They see girls in school (though fewer than boys with lower scores on average) and women on TV or the radio and assume there is equality. But even though there is great progress being made there are still some frustratingly entrenched ideas persisting here. For example a girl is not a woman until she is married while there is a special word for young man and also a boy can become a man by virtue of age while a girl’s womanhood is directly connected to her husband. People here call my fiancé Joe my boss, which is completely normal. Many of my friends call their husbands “Boss.” Also, women are often called upon to be the servants at people’s parties so that the men never have to get up but can have a woman continually refill their beer. And in the home women are distinctly below their husbands’ rule.

Needless to say, things need to change. And things are changing, just very very slowly. The tricky thing about change is that you can’t just run out in front of a man sitting and drinking beer while his wife cleans, cooks, cares for kids and refills his cup and wave your arms to say “STOP STOP! ARE YOU CRAZY!? Things have to CHANGE!” No. You have to be patient, ask pointed questions, plant seeds, draw people’s attention to the inconsistencies and injustices, and ENCOURAGE people to greatness. You can’t tell people they are wrong with aggression. You have to help them see that and come to their own conclusions. You have to encourage them to be better, to think larger, to act consciously. If you make people angry and defensive the change will not be positive.

I love to do this exercise with my students. I ask them to draw a table with two parts: one for gender equality and one for inequality. Then I ask them to consider some places in their communities that they can identify equality and where they can identify inequality. Often, even with all the rhetoric regarding gender balance that you hear here, no one has ever thought about their communities critically. That is a perfect place to start. And not just in Rwanda. Change will not happen naturally. All of us need to be constantly looking at our lives and our communities identifying areas of injustice. I never, however, leave the exercise at that. I ask the students to make a list of practical things THEY CAN DO to address the inequalities on their table. Then we make and action plan. Because change can’t happen without actions-thousand small actions slowly chipping away at a structure of oppression until equality, freedom and unity is birthed forth in its place. This may sound overly optimistic but I live it out every day. And so to dozens of women and men in my community.

So optimistic yes, but overly….never.

In the name of change,

In the name of women everywhere,

Hello world!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rwanderingtaylor

2012-02-10 20:00:43

So “Hello World” was the title WordPress named my first post, and I figured it was an applicable title so I am going to keep it. This is my first shot at blogging on my own so please forgive me … Continue reading →

My World’s on Fire

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rwanderingtaylor

2012-02-15 02:40:11

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDmPcSWE0WU&ob=av2e

Ever had a song that changed the way you view the world? Something that cut right to your heart? When I first viewed this video senior year of high school, I knew that something in me had changed. I like to think of this video as the first seed that led me to apply for the Peace Corps. Watch it and let me know what you think!

Continue reading →

Carpe Diem or “Can’t say no”

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rwanderingtaylor

2012-04-07 21:47:51

The Beautiful thing about having so much time between receiving my invitation and staging is just that, I have so much time. Time to over-think things, time to be with people I love, time to read as many Peace Corps … Continue reading →

Up At Bat

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rwanderingtaylor

2012-05-08 22:03:19

The way that Peace Corps sends you out to your assigned country is through a process called staging. Everyone in your “stage” (think like a graduating class, it’s everyone else who has received the same invitation) gathers in the appointed … Continue reading →

I am in love

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rwanderingtaylor

2012-05-13 23:50:21

So it is official. I am in love. Completely, 100%, head over heels in love. With my Kindle. I was always vocal about my love of books. There is something about holding a book in your hand and the new … Continue reading →

Great Zimbabwe

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda A Corporate Exchange

2012-05-21 20:23:00

The entrance to the king's complex on the hill.

A view of the great enclosure from the king's complex. From here the king could see his kingdom and all his wives.

The Zimbabwean flag. Notice the bird on the left.

The king's court. Can you see the bird in the rocks?

How about now? This is the bird represented on the flag.

The faux granary showing the wealth of Great Zimbabwe. It's now Zimbabwe's greatest icon.

Hanging out on the wall of the great enclosure.

When you think of monuments to ancient civilizations in Africa, what comes to mind? The pyramids of Egypt would easily be first, then maybe Timbuktu in Mali, but what about Great Zimbabwe? It’s a long forgotten ruin that more than deserves recognition for the civilization and ability to teach us about ancient Africa.

In 1980 Southern Rhodesia changed from a British colony to an independent country. In search for a new name and symbol, they looked to the ancient civilization in the center of the country. Zimbabwe means “house of big stones,” and Great Zimbabwe symbolized this with massive stone walls and civilization. Furthermore, the bird symbolized on the Zimbabwean flag comes from a stone crafted bird found in Great Zimbabwe in addition to stones in the King’s judicial court in the form of the bird. Despite this deep representation of Zimbabwe, few Zimbabweans ever travel there.

The greatest era of reign for this ancient civilization was from the 11^th to 16^th centuries. Due to seasonal winds and greater abilities to travel exceptional distances, traders from all over the world landed in ports in current Mozambique to trade with Great Zimbabwe. This impressive feat of trading with sea faring vessels despite their location far from any port is only shown in one other place in Africa (Axum, Ethiopia). From the coast goods would be brought into Great Zimbabwe, which in turn would be traded for goods to be sent back to the ports. The results are astounding: pottery, tools, and beads have been found from Portugal, Persia, and China. These cultures were interested in Great Zimbabwe’s two greatest commodities: gold and ivory. As a result Great Zimbabwe flourished and became the greatest sub-Sahara African ruins that we have today.

The ruins are basically divided into two areas: the king’s hill complex (perched high on a hill overlooking the rest of the structures) and the great complex. Between these two areas there is evidence of education, iron smelting, a court of law, and congregation area to discuss issues with advisors. In a sign of wealth (a la the Tower of Pisa in Italy), Great Zimbabwe constructed a fake granary which still stands as the premier symbol of Zimbabwe.

I took a two hour tour of the ruins with a Zimbabwean guide. We battled the heat and baboons to explore the grounds, but the effort was worthwhile.

Book Review: Rosamond Carr’s The Land of a Thousand Hills

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Dispatches from Rwanda

2012-05-21 16:09:00

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Great Articles about Rwanda/ East Africa

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Dispatches from Rwanda

2012-05-21 16:11:00

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The Power of Failure

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Dispatches from Rwanda

2012-05-21 16:13:00

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Coloring with the Neighbors

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Dispatches from Rwanda

2012-05-21 16:33:00

Rwanda kids near Brassiere Teresa and her littlest brother Florence drawing Francois doesn't quite get the "Say Cheese!" concept Francois's Masterpiece

an overdue summation

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda this train is bound for...

2012-05-21 15:36:39

friends and family and potential other readers, it has been a long time. Let me be frank for a moment and delve into the various reasons why: We have been unimaginably busy. We have been unimaginably busy, and traveling every … Continue reading →

IST

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Rwanda

2012-05-21 05:13:10

My group of volunteers reached a pivotal time in our service a month ago— In-Service Training. For me this week-long vacation near Lake Kivu was a chance to finally break out some of my pop culture references, relearn how to speak ‘American’, swap stories, and clock in some much needed girl talk. Getting there was [...]

Getting To “I Can Do This.”

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rachelandtristan

2012-05-20 21:24:36

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juv%C3%A9nal_Habyarimana)

There's a whole lot of Swaziland and no Rwanda going on in this journal. I need to fix that.

We landed in Rwanda in September and stayed with a host family for 3 months. We gawked at how green everything is.

We had more trouble than we anticipated with Kinyarwanda, which is a deceptively complicated Bantu language. We learned how hardworking and industrious Rwandans are. The farmers work in their fields from the moment the sun rises until the sun sets. The men and women work side by side, together in the fields, which I really like. We got through three months of training and model school, which was “practice school” to prepare us for being actual teachers in the Rwandan school system. We had a lot of food poisoning. And then in December, we moved to our permanent site, a misty mountain village in Northwest Rwanda, between Musanze and Gisenyi.

We became good friends with one of the local Rwandan priests. He moves from parish to parish around Rwanda and stays long enough to accomplish a development project or two, in addition to his regular duties as a priest. He is kind and thoughtful and funny and welcoming and we absolutely love his company. He, along with our fellow teachers and my headmistress, gave us Kinyarwanda names. My name is Teta, which I was told translates to “We must spoil her because she is much, much loved” and Tristan's name is Hirwa, which means “Lucky.”

During one of our first evenings in our new home, my headmistress paid us a visit and gifted us with a massive sack of potatoes. She squeezed me tight. “I'm so happy you are here! You may visit me in my house whenever you want. Please, if you are ever lonely, you may come and sleep at my house whenever you want.” A teacher from my school translated for her, as she only speaks French and Kinyarwanda. The school system in Rwanda changed from French to English only a few years ago, so most adults (even the highly educated ones like my headmistress) do not have much knowledge of the English language.

Shortly after we arrived in our village, I started feeling sick. Sick in a really gross way. I told myself that I needed time to adjust to being in a new place and went about my business as usual. We worked on putting our house together and unpacking our things. On Christmas Day, we went to mass at the Catholic Church in our village. We were doing the thing we always do, where we try to act interested despite the fact that half of the congregation is staring at us and we have no idea what is being said because it's all in Kinyarwanda, when I felt something wet land on my leg.
“It's just rain,” I told myself.
Plop. I felt it again.
I knew what it was, but I ignored it because I didn't want to believe it.
Plop. It happened again. I looked up. People in the rafters above us were spitting on us.
“Tristan,” I whispered. “The people above us. They're spitting on us.”

I left the church, hot tears filling my eyes. I stood outside, thinking. Some of the people in our village were more than happy to greet us and talk to us, but the majority seemed wary. They didn't trust us. They didn't respond when we greeted them and they mocked us when we tried to speak Kinyarwanda, but they had never spit on us before. I was mortified. A cluster of children quickly surrounded me.
“Give me money, mzungu (white person), give me money,” they repeated over and over.
I was too upset to laugh it off and give my usual response of, “No, YOU give ME money.” I went home and cried. I missed being a valued member of a community. I missed being respected. I missed not being treated like an animal. I didn't know what to do. I was used to responding to sexual harassment. I didn't know how to respond to people spitting on me.

Our village is gorgeous and difficult at the same time. We are located at one of the highest points in the country. We can see the volcanoes from our house on clear days and our house is on top of a large hill, overlooking a massive green valley. It's breathtaking. There is a beautiful cemetery in the valley, which houses some of the people from our village who were murdered during the genocide. The genocide, or the “g” as we call it here (because it's an extremely sensitive topic) affected the entire country, but dealt a more devastating blow in certain areas. I've been told that our village is one of those areas. The former President of Rwanda, Juvénal Habyarimana , is from our village. His house is located near my school. Our village was supposedly a hard hit area both during the “g” and in the invasions and violence that followed in the time after the “g.” I think that some of the people in our area are closed off and distrusting as a result of the horrible things they've experienced.

It all hit me at the wrong time. Feeling sick made it difficult for me to muster up any positivity. By the time school rolled around, I was too sick to teach. I went to Kigali numerous times for lab work that was always inconclusive. I was asked if I was depressed. Well, yes, you'd be depressed too if you couldn't control your bodily functions. Things went on like this for about three months. I felt sad because I wasn't doing anything. I felt sad because I practically lived in my pit latrine, which meant I was having absolutely no interactions with anyone except Tristan. I was eventually given treatment for amoebas, which had previously been avoided because they had no idea what the heck my problem was and treatment for amoebas is notoriously unpleasant.

It worked. After I finished my treatment and killed whatever was living inside of me, everything seemed to turn around. I had energy. I could leave the house.

We took a much needed vacation during the school break to recharge our batteries and adjust our perspectives. We spent two weeks in beautiful Thailand and had an amazing time.

We arrived back to Rwanda for our in service training. It helped us refocus and we returned to our village, cautiously optimistic and ready to accomplish something. Things are slowly progressing and getting much better. I am teaching the equivalent of 10^th, 11^th, and 12^th grade English Communication Skills at a Catholic boarding school for girls. I have about 240 students. Tristan is working at his school to organize the library and establish a functional check-out system and fix several broken computers and set up a computer skills class. I'm getting to the point of where I think I can do this. And be happy about it.

We focus on appreciating the little things. The shop owner who we buy bread from, who will occasionally throw in a few free pieces with a smile. The women who know me by name and watch me clumsily descend the slippery rock steps down from my school, yelling out “Komera!” (“Be strong!”) with each step because they've watched me trip over myself/fall down so many times. Our friend, Emile, who occasionally walks with us around the community and outlandishly yells at people who don't respond to our greetings or who insist on calling us Mzungu instead of our names.
“HEY. MWIRIWE." (GOOD AFTERNOON.)
"AMAKURU?" (HOW ARE YOU?)
"OYA MZUNGU. YITWA RAHSHELI. YITWA TREESTAHN." (NO MZUNGU. HER NAME IS RACHEL. HIS NAME IS TRISTAN.)

And my students.

My students are my favorite part of being here. I teach five classes. Two 10^th grade, two 11^th grade, and one 12^th grade. They range in age from 16 to their mid 20's. I absolutely love teaching older girls. I established on the first day of class that questions are good and they are free to ask me whatever they want. Students were typically discouraged from asking questions in the Rwandan school system. This is starting to change, but is still regularly practiced in most locations. Most kids don't ask questions because they're afraid of looking stupid. I think I've managed to convince my girls that questions are good because they seem to have no shortage of them for me. They're very curious about American culture and the opinions of the strange American girl who teaches them.

Some of my favorite questions so far:
“Does Lady Gaga have both sexes?”
“What is the Illuminati?”
“How many machines do you have to do things for you in America?”
“Which machine is your most loved machine?” (They forget how to use the word “favorite.”)

All of my students are very sweet, especially my 10^th graders. They always tell me how much they enjoy their classes and have asked me to teach through their study hours on more than one occasion. They love debating and I feel like I can almost see their thoughts moving rapidly around their heads like cogs in a machine, as they rush to think of how to make their next arguments. They ask to discuss gender and women's rights fairly often and many of the girls are quite passionate about it. We recently had a debate about whether or not a woman would make a good president and I taught them about the current President of Liberia, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, who is also the first woman president in Africa. At the end of their debate, I shared a comment that Rwanda's President Paul Kagame made recently. He said that he wanted the next President of Rwanda to be a woman. My students' faces lit up. I often see excited little fires burning brightly behind their eyes when we talk about equality and gender. These girls are going somewhere and I love being part of it.

-R

ps: I'm going to update on a more regular basis now that I'm not hosting any parasites and I'm actually doing important with my time.

Continue reading →

Leaving Swaziland

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rachelandtristan

2012-05-20 19:24:55

Our last weeks in Swaziland were rushed and hectic. Our service ended with the successful completion of the community’s orphan feeding center/preschool. They finished the construction close enough to our departure to cause us an immense amount of stress, but none … Continue reading →

The Good And The Bad

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda rachelandtristan

2012-05-20 16:53:31

I haven’t written for a while. I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel like it because I couldn’t figure out how to compose a journal entry for my friends and family without including the negativity and obstacles I’ve been … Continue reading →

dig deep

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda ubugingo (the good life)

2012-05-20 10:36:52

It’s rainy season and so you have to play the game: the rain rules. When you see the clouds forming in a perfect synchronization against all your plans for the day, run. And, run fast. The rain is coming. Just a few weeks ago, I recall facing the ultimate decision in my short Peace Corps [...]

So much depends upon a red dirt road glazed with rain beside the white water tank

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Mwaramutse, Rwanda!

2012-05-19 15:05:00

I have a new headmaster! His name is Sylvan. I don’t know much about him yet, but so far I have a positive impression. He’s a young college graduate and he speaks excellent English. He was a science teacher for several years before he got his degree. He likes to say that he’s a teacher first and a headmaster second. It makes an encouraging first impression.

We had a small going-away party for Evariste/welcoming party for Sylvan at school on Wednesday. Drinks were provided, and our school’s meager kitchen managed to provide a meal of brochettes and grilled plantains for everyone. It was impressive considering I’ve never seen anything come out of that kitchen other than fried balls of dough and small quantities weak, milky tea. The outgoing and the incoming headmasters made long speeches about teamwork, responsibility, motivation, the usual. The dean of studies then stood up and made his own speech along similar lines. Finally the floor was opened for teachers to say a few words. Most teachers took it as an opportunity to voice complaints about the students or their salaries, turning the gathering from a party into an ordinary staff meeting. By the time we disbanded, it was well after nightfall.

As I made my way slowly home in the dark, I kept slipping on muddy patches of road and stubbing my toes on rocks. I was tired and I felt a little dejected, having sat through hours of complaints at what was supposed to be a celebration. But then I noticed for the first time that the fields around my school were full of fireflies. It had been a long day and I was exhausted, but as I looked out over the glittering, blinking expanse, the frustrations of the day dissipated. I know my COS date now - November 14th- and knowing that date has changed things for me somewhat. I find myself dreaming of home a lot more often. When something bothers me, rather than thinking “I’ll resolve this eventually,” I find myself thinking, “Only six more months!” The things that bring me back and keep me here, in body as well as mind and spirit, are those little moments of beauty. Like noticing the cassava fields are glittering with fireflies.

So much depends upon the little things.

A Renewal of Faith

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-18 09:52:09

After a pretty rough week in the classroom I wanted a fun activity for my Thursday classes. Earlier in the year I received a shipment of white boards and dry erase markers from my fabulous Mama Brodie and decided that today would be the perfect day to start using them. I cannot even start to [...]

You've got brains, kid

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda The Sojourner's Log

2012-05-17 05:43:00

The power went out in the village so I went to go buy some candles at the boutique nearby. On my way returning home, I passed by the teachers’ house. I saw a flashlight bouncing through the darkness, so I called out a greeting. It was one of the teachers. He shined his flashlight in my face as I approached, then said, “We need your torch.”

He grabbed my flashlight from me and brought it to where a couple of other teachers were cooking. One of them was hacking away at a goat head with a broken machete. I thought for sure the old man was going to take one of his thumbs off. The power soon returned, but I stuck around to see how they planned to prepare this goat head.

While we stood around the boiling pot that smelled like a distinct mixture of beef and wet dog, an interesting conversation ensued. This particular group of teachers is all Congolese. I discovered that they segregate themselves from the others because they are not Rwandan. The distaste that they have for Rwandan culture became more and more apparent as the conversation progressed. The two groups get along on the surface, but they don't like to spend extended amounts of time together.

I learned all about Congolese cuisine. It seems they will indiscriminately eat any kind of meat in the DRC, including small birds, tortoises, monkeys and rats. One of my Congolese friends explained to me that there is a certain organ in crocodiles that is extremely poisonous and must be removed under the supervision of the local authorities. When they remove this particular organ, they must throw it into a 30 meter-deep pit, dump gas into it, light the gas, and then bury the hole again.

When I finally tried to leave, my friends asked me to stay and eat with them. I obliged. Goat brain is now the strangest food I have eaten. It made the cassava paste seem normal. One of them described it as smooth. I would say goopdescribes its texture best.

Joy and Frustration

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda suzanneinrwanda

2012-05-16 21:06:05

I have made an effort to keep this blog relatively positive, but I also want to tell the truth. Here is the truth- sometimes this job is a lot harder than I imagined. Don’t get me wrong, this is a truly amazing experience and I love my life in Rwanda but lately teaching has been [...]

Namib and Kalahari Deserts

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda A Corporate Exchange

2012-05-16 19:36:00

The Namib desert outside of Swakopmund, Namibia.

Sandboarding in the Namib Desert, Namibia.

Quad biking is actually really fun out in the desert dunes. Namib Desert, Namibia.

Catching the sunrise on Dune 45, Sousselvei, Namib-Naukluft Park, Namibia.

Atop the Sousselvei Dunes, Namib-Naukluft Park, Namibia.

One of the many dunes in the Sousselvei, Namibia.

A fisherman piloting a mokoro in the Okavango Delta, Botswana.

Cruising in a mokoro in the Okavango Delta, northern Botswana.

The desert is a cruel and unforgiving place. It’s also where a nation, Namibia, sits between two of the largest deserts in the world. The west coast of Namibia is the sand dune Namib Desert which houses the world famous areas of the Sousselvei and Skeleton Coast. To the east is the bushier Kalahari Desert. This arid Kalahari plain extends from northern South Africa to the Congo border, and from Namibia to Botswana.

Look on a map of Namibia and you won’t see many settlements. There is a reason: no water. Namibia is (along with Mongolia) the least densely populated country on earth. Coming here from Rwanda was a night-and-day situation. Here is a land of vast stretches with nobody around. In fact, on my drive from Swakopmund to Sousselvei (five hours on a gravel road) I came across one building: a gas station with no gas. Now look at a map of Botswana. Most of the country (with the exception of the east and south border areas) has very few settlements due to the Kalahari Desert. It’s no different than looking at a map of Nevada.

Undoubtedly the most famous part of Botswana is the Okavango Delta. The largest inland delta discharges all of the Okavango River water into dry salt pans in the middle of the desert (this was the area that Planet Earth filmed their first hour of the series). As a result Botswana has some of the best wildlife viewing opportunities in the world. Traveling in a mokoro (carved out wooden boat), you rarely encounter water deeper than a few feet.

The past two weeks have been a journey of going through these two deserts in search of their best activities and most scenic opportunities. Enjoy the photos.

THE BOOKS HAVE ARRIVED!!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Rwanda Carina & Andy in Rwanda

2012-05-16 17:56:49

WOW!!!! It’s all that I can say today. . . .the books, that so many of you have so graciously donated money to help ship them here, have arrived. It has been almost a full year since our initial post about needing your help to get books sent to our village. I just want to [...]