ndi umutetsi. muri amerika kandi mu'rwanda!

(I am a cook, in American and in Rwanda) 

I was asked recently about what food I’ve been eating over here.  First, thank you Jill for the question.  Sorry I haven’t mentioned the food yet, I guess it’s not something I really think about including in these rambling posts of mine.  Well, it’s not all that exciting to be honest.  Let me first tell you what composes the common Rwandan diet: Rice, beans (various varieties), potatoes, sweet potatoes (not yams like in America, but real sweet potatoes), cassava (both the roots and the greens- prepared separately; also in the form of a traditional type of “bread” called ubugali), plantains (big, savory type), local eggplant (they are small and green), tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, avocado, corn (cooked directly on charcoal (on the cob)), onions, green beans, pineapple (the best in the world, I promise you), passion fruit, bananas, eggs, pasta, tea, milk, fanta and beer.  

The above are usually prepared in a few ways... potatoes will be fried- either in the form of fries (frites) or whole; sweet potatoes are also fried; cassava root is boiled; plantains are boiled and made into a sort of mushy, saucy mash; beans are cooked exactly how you would expect; all types of vegetables are cooked until they turn to mush, and most of the flavors are similar.  Overall, the food is not at all exciting, but it’s not bad either.  Oh! for the meat-eaters, you can find meat on a stick (called brushettes) or different types of meat stews.  

Getting food in a restaurant is best done in a big city.  There is a restaurant that I go to occasionally that’s in the same town I go to to buy bread.  The food there is only ok, but the folks who work there are really nice!  They all know me and like to ask about how I’m doing, which is always nice.  At this establishment you can get the buffet (full of rice, chips, beans, plantains, some nearly unrecognizable greens, a type of sauce to pour on your now full plate-o-food and a genuinely COLD beverage.  Since refrigeration is expensive and highly uncommon, getting a really cold drink every once and a while has turned to a big treat!  In Kigali you can even get smoothies!  Perfect for the occasional lavish city snack.  

I do most of my cooking alone, but sometimes Jane and I collaborate or we’ll take turns.  Every time I cook she enjoys what I make, but she lets me know that according to Rwandans, I didn’t cook the food long enough.  Well yeah, she’s right, I like to have my vegetables remain in some sort of recognizable format.  I like my meals to have some semblance of texture, and varied texture at that!  This is going to be a never-ending debate between me and Rwandan cooking styles.  

Overall, though, the produce is really tasty.  Since everything is fresh and natural, this food is the perfect blank canvas.  And, thanks to my awesome parents, I have spices and hot sauces to help me create some really savory meals.  But at times I am actually surprised by just how good the food does taste.  The other week we made some Irish potatoes and they tasted so good!  I know, it’s crazy that I am praising a potato, but really, they were perfect.  Just like in any sort of farming community, you’ve just gotta know where to find the good stuff.  As far as seasonal produce goes, I know there is some inevitable variance in harvest times, but overall, finding what you want is usually possible.  Although, yesterday when I went to the market there were no avocados to be found.  If I can make me way into Musanze (about 1 hour north by van taxi), I can go to the best market and get tasty, fresh produce of any sort.  They even have apples there!  

So, as long as I do the cooking, the food here is pretty good.  I am able to remain completely vegetarian and feel healthy about the decision.  Hell, I’m remaining mostly vegan, which is awesome!  From time to time I will indulge in some fresh, local cheese, and I think the bread I get uses some sort of butter, but when I cook, it’s entirely vegan. 

Actually, I have a quick little story about drinking milk.  The other afternoon one of my fellow teachers popped into my house for a visit.  He brought with him a small jerry can full of fresh milk from his mother’s cow.  It was still warm... We then had to cook the milk.  I’m glad my Rwandan friends here agree with me on that- we need to cook it to make sure that if the cow has any sort of illness it won’t get passed on to us.  So, we cooked the milk then poured it into a few thermoses.  I then boldly went where I had yet to previously go- I drank honest to god, fresh milk.  It wasn’t half bad, though I will be contributing my recent stuffy nose and excess mucus to the milk drinking.  But, it didn’t hurt my stomach and it tasted ok.  We added some sugar (in true Rwandan fashion) and Jane and I sat drinking our hot, sweet milk.  I mentioned to her that I liked it and she said “well, if you like it we can get Juvenal to bring us milk every week.”  Nope, I told her that I liked it as a special thing that we indulged in every so often.  I didn’t share this with her, but I’d be happy to keep the milk drinking to a twice a year minimum.  It was ok, I’m glad I tried it, but I’m not trying to turn milk into a major dietary staple.  (Warning- vegan ideology to follow).  I am able to get good food most times, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me to maintain a super healthy diet.  Logistics just make it a whole lot more difficult to remain as healthy here as I could be in America.  I still firmly believe that I don’t want to depend on another living create for my health, and I think that I honestly don’t need to.  But, I do eat the occasional egg (less now than I did during training) and I indulge in the every-so-often cheese product and bread made with milk or butter.  And, like I just mentioned, I will share a glass of warm milk when the occasion requires.  And I’m ok with making these small diet changes.  I know the cow who’s milk I’m drinking, the chickens who produce the eggs we consume are always clucking around our school grounds and the dairy products used here are manufactured at local establishments using local ingredients.  Also, I would feel like a total prude if I didn’t try some new things here.  This is not changing my ideology, just allowing me to experience some new things (like fresh milk).  Some of you may think that I should try any and every food that I’m offered, but I am going to draw the line at meat.  No thank you.  I don’t think I’ll ever eat that stuff again if I can avoid it.  And fish?  This country is land-locked baby... and being from Florida makes you a potential fish/ seafood snob.  If it’s not super fresh, count me out.    On the other hand, some of you may scoff at my lax food consumption practices.  To that I say whatever, I feel good about the choices I’m making.  I feel like I am remaining fairly healthy while simultaneously experiencing new things and acting in ways that allow me to assimilate.  I don’t mean to jump to the defense, just trying to explain my thoughts a bit.

Anyway, that’s my take on the food here.  Perhaps a little inconsistent, but that’s how I like it.  But, please be aware, that my soon to come wish list consists of mostly vegan snack food items.  I love getting granola bars, chocolate and cookies from my parents- they really do sweeten my day (har har).  One thing I really miss? Vegan ice cream and popsicles... upon my return to America I am going to devote an entire day to eating vegan ice cream.  Who’s with me? :)

xoxo

Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone

While I’m sure it’s interesting to read my thoughts and feelings about this African life;  get some good ol compare/ contrast courtesy of your’s truly, I would like to step away from my perceptions and emotions for a bit.  I don’t want to tell you about how I passed the time on my rainy day painting my toe-nails and watching Indiana Jones (which may or may not have actually happened)... not now.  Now I want to talk a bit about my job.  My primary assignment as a Peace Corps volunteer is to teach English to Secondary School students.  I am attempting to do exactly that.  I’ve written a few e-mails recently that explore the theory that I will be the one learning in this situation; I will be the one experiencing new things everyday, adapting my habits and experiencing growth throughout my time in this country.  I think this is absolutely true and relevant.  But, I am also here to be a teacher, to try and facilitate some sort of exchange.  Already, I have been shocked into realizing just how different my learning experience was from those of my students.  In the states we get taught at an early age to think for ourselves, to develop our own thoughts and opinions and to express ourselves in the ways we desire.  Now, as we all know, the education system in the states isn’t perfect, but it does lead to the students producing varied responses.  A prime example of this: the other day, PCV Keira (my closest volunteer neighbor) was over, and we were opening packages from our families after she retrieved our mail.  Her mother teaches 3rd grade in Washington, and she had her students write letters to Keira.  Not only were these adorable, they were varied and individualized.  Some kids wrote about cakes, some wrote about stars, some wrote about Keira’s family, some about Africa... and even the ones that were extremely run of the mill were at the very least worded differently from the others.  Over here, when we assign homework that is meant to be creative, meant to try and push the kids to create individualized response, we get the same thing written on 50 different papers.  These kids grow up on bland note copying and rote memorization, and while they are great, intelligent kids, getting them to produce creative responses is like pulling teeth.  Every once and a while a student will surprise me with some elaborate tale that shocks even the other students, but for the most part, these kids are on auto-pilot, writing what they know to be acceptable text book answers.  

The kids I teach are smart, and many of them are quite motivated, but they are reluctant to step outside the box.  Well, that may not be true... it’s probably not reluctance keeping them confined to the box, but rather fear and lack of training.  If these kids were told that they must do things a certain way, then they are going to continue on in that manner until something (or someone) forces them to change.  Enter Allison, their zany American English teacher, with her crazy ideas, difficult to understand accent and rule-bending propensity.  I’m not saying that I’m going to totally rock these kids worlds, but I am already asking them to change their classroom manners.  I want them to SPEAK LOUD and I request this is a LOUD voice so they get the idea.  I start class with a stretch session and a request to “get ready for English class.”  We do lots of group and pair work, and the notes I give them aren’t perfectly copied from a text book.  I don’t want to derail them and go to extremes to make class hard to follow, but I do want to help expand their horizons.  

I am running into my fair share of challenges over here, and as you may expect, I’m no were near perfect at this job.  Once again, dear ol’ mum recently told me exactly what I needed to hear; this time via e-mail. “Hope the week continues to go well for you. It really takes a while to adjust to the dynamics of your classes and to adapt your teaching methods. Every class is different and what works for one might not work for another. Continue to work hard -(it will pay off)- you are making a difference in your kids lives and they are counting on you! You make me proud no matter what!!”  Thanks mama!  And, while this may be the same thing I’ve been told countless times since coming here, it’s always nice to hear.  As much as I don’t want to claim to be making an impact on the lives of my students I’m sure that in some ways, for some students I am.  In the very least, since I’m the first American that these kids have really interacted with, they will remember me for that.  And if I can leave them with one small piece of wisdom or helpful information, I’ll be happy.  I have many grad goals for my teaching practice, but hey are still in a fragile sort of developmental stage; not yet ready to be shared with the internet.  

I mentioned in the previous post that we avoided a surprise holiday yesterday.  These crop up all over the place, and if it’s not a surprise holiday keeping us from class, it’s an impromptu meeting or some administrative task that needs to be completed.  Today I walked into my Senior 1 class to find no students.  They were all outside harvesting the corn that we grow on the school’s property.  Being friendly with the Secretary has it’s advantages... I went to her and said “Jane, do I get students today or will they be harvesting for the rest of the afternoon?”  We laughed about it for a moment then she went to light a fire under their butts to get their share of the task finished so they could come back in for a stimulating English lesson.  

Songs are a good class activity for these kids; and I remember that when I was in High School, learning songs was my favorite part of Spanish class (in fact, I still remember a few of them).  Notes written on the board will get copied and homework will occasionally get done.  Overall they are good at group work and pair work.  The main problems lie in our communication barriers.  It is hard for me to keep my diction and syntax in check and my accent just ices the cake... they really do have a hard time understanding me.  I am working on this but overall there is not much I can do.  Speak slowly, write many things on the board, keep a slow pace in class... It’s not ideal, but it works.  Gone are my visions of conducting classes full of stimulating discussion, conducting innovative and exciting class projects and  eliciting work from my students that is ground-breaking and inspired.  As with everything here, the old African saying applies: slowly by slowly.  The fact that these kids CAN understand 50% of what I say is pretty good.  Their ability to complete work and spend hours studying is impressive.  And the ones who are extra motivated to work hard make my day every time I talk to them outside of class.

In my Senior 3 class we are in the midst of doing a debate segment for their English Listening and Speaking hours with me.  We had a class debate on Monday; topic: no money, no life.  This was a topic that the students chose (next Monday we get to do: birth control; should it be obligatory?).  We had 4 groups of students: support, opposition, judges and spectators.  The spectators from this week will be the participants next week- the only way I could think of logically breaking up the class in to manageable groups.  I never did debate in school, nor do I know ANY of the rules or protocol that accompany “professional” debate... but I can wing just about anything over here.  And, it worked out really well.  These kids have had some sort of debate training (I think they had a small debate club last year) and they needed little guidance from me.  This is proof that all the blood sweat and tears I’m having to put into my Senior 1 classes will one day pay off.  The judges kept track of the arguments and evaluated which side had stronger points, used better English and debated more effectively, and I sat in the back of the class and monitored from there.  

Like I said, I’m not changing the lives of my students, not really.  And I’m not forging new pathways in the realm of English education.  But I am learning a hell of a lot, I am enjoying this (most days) and I am helping my students (at least somewhat).  Now I just need to find the best ways to ACTUALLY help them, and I’ll feel pretty good about this whole teaching thing.  I am certain that this is not going to be an overnight success, and I am quite certain that the only way I’m going to improve my teaching is by allowing myself to make mistakes, to try something new and to hopefully learn from whatever ensues.  I don’t want to think of this as any sort of trial run, because I want my students to benefit, but I think that if I do this correctly, this will be one of the craziest periods of time of my teaching career (which itself may be very short).  

Also, even though it’s far too early in the game to make this sort of decision, I think I am cut out for some sort of less traditional teaching.  Call it informal if that makes you happy... I really like to teach, I do, but teaching in a formal primary or secondary school setting is not my favorite medium.  Can I just go ahead and jump the ranks to professor?  Or maybe I can go back to education via museum programs... OR I can get a job at a fancy private school that has a 10 student maximum class size?  Or, I can turn entirely benevolent and continue to help the students that need it most.  Those that don’t get to go to fancy private schools or universities; those who may never step foot in a museum, yet are still motivated to try and gain a higher level of education than their socio-economic situations predestine.  Who knows... all I can do is keep on trying over here.  Trying and hopefully not failing too miserably.  

All of that being said, if you (like my mother) have any words of wisdom, great class activities, advice or coping strategies you’d like to share, please do so.  

Oh! I am in charge of the newly completed school library.  I will be brainstorming on how to turn this into a functioning resource that will remain purposeful after I leave this place.  This will probably be a bigger focus of mine towards the middle of the school year, but if you have any ideas/ hear anything about how to run an extremely low-budget and resource stripped library, let me know?

xoxo

Why my headmaster may be the best in all of Rwanda

Today is one of those sorts of days when I want to share everything with you!  I want you to know the intricate details of my life here, and tell you all my stories.  Unfortunately, my fingers can’t keep speed with my mind, and even if they could, I doubt you would really want to read whatever encyclopedia resulted.

It has been a while since my last post, though I do have a few in the works.  Soon to come: Food (Rwanda Edition), Teaching (an attempt to hit the tip of the iceberg) and an on-going Wish List.  Being the selfish individual that I am, the wish list is likely to be first.  Only kidding... I’m not entirely selfish (please note: I first wrote “shellfish” then had to go back and edit) but I find it easier to be able to quickly throw together a wish list than to sit and ponder my teaching experience, methodology and student receptiveness.

On to the fun stuff.  Things at site have been going pretty well.  I was in a bit of a slump this past week- blame it on the Mefloquin, blame it on the rain, blame it on teaching troubles, blame it on whatever you’d like.  Really, I guess I’m just reaching the expected emotional period where I begin to question my effectiveness, question my methods, question my reasons for being here, and when the excitement of beginning something new starts to fade.  Nothing a good week of laying low, and a phone call from your mother can’t fix.  Oh, I suppose the moderately successful week of teaching and contact from some key fellow PCV’s didn’t hurt.  Yesterday was International Women’s Day, and the 100th year anniversary at that!  We were expecting to not have classes, but no official gave the go-ahead for this to become an official (albeit impromptu) holiday.  So, I began my day with a holiday mindset, thinking I would take a hike and make some delicious food... not so fast Ally, instead you get to go up to school and throw together some lessons for your favorite English classes.  That last part was true- the classes I had yesterday are my favorites.  Hell, you’ve caught me in a good mood- I favor them all at the moment.  Watch out, next week they may be little brats again... My mother offered me some great words of wisdom based on her days as a middle(?) and high school science teacher.  She said that everyday is different, every class is different, the same class will be different at different times of the week and year and that you can never really know what to expect.  Sorry for the inaccuracies of this quote, mommy, you said it more eloquently but I don’t remember the exact words.  Anyway, she’s absolutely right!  And I think that being able to acknowledge this truth is the first step to being able to use it to your advantage.  At the very least, I’m learning- a fact that I will keep returning to again and again (especially when I’m feeling low).

I want to walk you through a few wonderful moments of my day.  Let’s see... I’ll do this in a sort of bullet format in an attempt to have less dense text on this damn blog.

• In the wee hours of the morning I wake up to the unpleasant discovery that my bladder is uncomfortably full, and I have to make my way to the latrine (outside and around the corner of the house).  I must have been having some sort of crazy dream because I remember that during that “restroom” trip I was conjugating the verbs to have and to want... in Spanish.  Yo tengo, tu tienes, tu quieres, ellas quieren...  The only good part about having to go outside to pee in the middle of the night is that it’s the middle of the night.  The village centered is silent (whereas at dusk you can hear it bustling in the distance) and the stars are out in full force.  It’s quite chilly, but the promise of a warm bed to return to makes it ok to stop and stare at the stars for a few minutes.  
• Speaking of dreams, I’ve always been a vivid dreamer... but I think it’s true what they say about Mefloquin.  That drug gives you some pretty crazy dreams.  I think it’s a win-win honestly.  I get some good night time entertainment and I protect myself from Malaria. 
• A few hours later (well, some amount of time later) I am woken up by some sort of noise in my house.  I hold my breath, anticipating the audial discovery of a rodent in my “living” room, but instead discover that it’s just an exceptionally noisy moth.  My mosquito net affords me a safe sleeping haven, so I decided to put on some music and go back to sleep.  I don’t know if other folks in Rwanda are experiencing this, but lately my house has had a plethora of moths in and around it.  And they are quite varied in color, size and shape.  I also had a huge praying mantis on my wall last night.  If my house bugs remain so friendly, I will have little to worry about (these are SO much better than the ubiquitous Floridian cockroach).
• In class today, I taught my Senior 1 class “All you need is Love.”  I know many PCV’s here have done this song in their classes, and it was actually surprisingly successful.  Also, it’s a great way to shut your class up. :)
• Yesterday in my Senior 3 class (the oldest and my personal favorites), in honor of International Women’s Day, we talked about the advancement in equality in Rwanda.  In response to my question about what life in Rwanda will be like for women in the future, one student said “They will be pilot.”  Not the most outlandish answers to one of my questions, but amusing nonetheless (not to mention true?).  
• Today I discovered the real reason that my Headmaster won an award for sciences- I think it was something along the lines of head teacher of sciences in the country- and was sent to Switzerland for a conference.  He created this device that cooks food.  And it is able to do so b/c it’s wired to a telephone and you call this phone to send it a command to start the device and begin the cooking process.  Apparently there is a pan on the cooking apparatus (where you place the uncooked food), a separate container with water, the phone to act as a regulator (or whatever you would call it), a cord connecting it to a power supply (in this case, an electrical outlet in your home) and some sort of wooden frame keeping the thing together.  You call or text the phone, thee is some way to command exactly how much water gets added to the pan, and the device gets hot and begins cooking.  To someone who grew up tinkering with technology, this may seem like child’s play, but to me (and my fellow teachers) this seems like magic!  Well, if not magic, it at least seems like pretty advanced stuff.  All of the teachers are so proud of our headmaster.  Best part?  He totally fits the part.  He’s kind of like the quiet, goofy, crazy and unexpected inventor/ tinkerer character we see so often in kid’s movies.  I can’t wait to see his continued progress.  And since he’s always tinkering with something, I’m sure there is more to come!
• As I was walking to the market today, Vincent and Mary (two Primary Teachers from my school and two awesome people) joined me for the second part of the walk.  As we passed the butcher, right outside of the town center, Vincent asked me if I liked ham.  “Well no,” I reminded him, “I don’t like ANY meat.”  After I explained that not only do I not like it, I don’t like the idea of killing another creature.  He didn’t skip a beat- his immediate response was “but God created these animals so that we could eat them... also, someday they will eat us.”  I think that last part was a little nod to the carbon cycle and circle of life, but the first part surprised me.  Yes, I realize that is a somewhat common take on meat-eating, but I was surprised that one of the top science teachers at school is such a subscriber to this sort of biblical ideology.  I just smiled and said “maybe,” which is my favored response to almost any question or statement here.  What’s better is that in Kinyarwanda, the word for maybe is “wenda.”
• This morning I was not yet finished with my tea before heading off to school so I transferred it to my steel water bottle and brought it with me.  Every single teacher asked me if I was drinking beer.  It was 7:30am.  I got to get some humor out of this though, because after I explained that it was only tea, I added “with no sugar, and no milk.”  They were predictably aghast, and I was amused, and they were amused, and it’s always a fun time in the teacher’s room.
• Everyone greets each other out here, so saying good afternoon "Mwiriwe" to countless villagers is just another part of the day.  But, the number of people (including complete strangers) who greet me by name is growing daily.  "Yes, good afternoon Allison!" echoes through the tiny village center as I walk past.  Call me crazy, but that will never get old to me.  
• Everyone in my village knows I like pineapple and avocados.  It could be that I incessantly look for these easy to eat, delicious food items, it could be that when I'm asking for these things is when my Kinyarwanda is at it's finest.  

I think there is more I want to tell you.  I KNOW there is more, but for now I will leave you with only this.  Stay tuned for my next couple installments in order to get a more complete view of some of my life logistics over here.  As always, I welcome your questions and comments, and I miss and love you dearly. xoxo

PS: A big shout-out to all the wonderful ladies in my life.  You are wonderful, and though I say this in honor of IWD, it’s true all days.  Also, isn’t there a little song that goes something like “I enjoy being a girl”?  Well, it’s true, and being surrounded by other awesome girls (if not in body at least in mind) makes it even more enjoyable.  

Happy 50th anniversary Peace Corps

March 1st, 2011 marks the 50th year anniversary of the United States Peace Corps.  I don't wish to give you a run-down of the history of the organization, but I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge this day. I think it's pretty amazing that this organization was not only able to come into being, but it has been able to thrive and, at 50, is still goin strong!  So, thank you American tax payers!  And thank you to congress (I guess) for not slashing the funding too much.  I tend to try and distant myself from organizations, from bureaucracy,  from all the rules... but I can't deny that I am now part of something rather organized and bureaucratic.

Our awesome country director (no sarcasm intended... she really is pretty awesome) sent out an e-mail in honor of the anniversary, and she included some quotes from JFK when he signed the executive order that created Peace Corps.  Here are my favorites:


“Life in the Peace Corps will not be easy. There will be no salary and allowances will be at a level sufficient only to maintain health and meet basic needs. Men and women will be expected to work and live alongside the nationals of the country in which they are stationed—doing the same work, eating the same food, talking the same language.

“But if the life will not be easy, it will be rich and satisfying. For every young American who participates in the Peace Corps—who works in a foreign land—will know that he or she is sharing in the great common task of bringing to man that decent way of life which is the foundation of freedom and a condition of peace.”





Yes, the times they have a' changed, but the basis of this organization remains the same, or at least tries to.   No, I'm not allowed to pilot my own moto (a damn shame if you ask me); yes, it's because when Peace Corps discovered that moto accidents were the leading cause of volunteer deaths, they forbid moto ownership.  I have internet use readily available (I am literally sitting in bed writing this right now), and I can instantly communicate with folks anywhere in the world.  Gone are the days when you have to walk to the nearest post office, an hour away, to get access to a telephone (true story told to me by a woman who volunteered in the 80's).  But, the students still have a hard time understanding me, and the old mamas still look at me with awe, admiration and outright confusion.  And, I'm sure that some things I'm experiencing over here are experienced by volunteers in many countries; experiences spanning many years (in fact, some may be out-right timeless).  


Like it or not, I have gotten myself into an organization.  And, being part of this organization means that I have a common thread tying me to other crazy (or generous) Americans who sign up to serve abroad for two years, and who are all the better because of it.  Hooray for a solid 50 years!




*This just added* 

I want to share with you some “classic” Peace Corps moments, in honor of the 50th year anniversary of the organization.  I label these as “classic” because I’m sure that many volunteers have the same stories, the same sorts of interactions, and the same kinds of reactions.  But, I guess for all of us, the entire experience is somewhat unique.

• On Sunday I sought shelter from a rain storm.  In the carpenter’s “warehouse,” amidst new furniture and wood shavings, with a handful of Rwandans.  In broken Kinyarwanda I explained to them how life is in America.  I tried to convey that there are poor people in America, but I don’t think they really bought it.  Then, when I said I didn’t want a husband and maybe I would get married when I’m 30, the old woman in the group laughed in utter disbelief.  Also, I learned how to say “hail” in Kinyarwanda (hail on a tin roof is LOUD).
• Today, I walked out of class early because I wanted to spare my students (and myself) any further torture.  Having 60 blank stares when you’re explaining the simplest things doesn’t exactly raise your morale.  Alas, we will try again tomorrow!
• A few students came to visit me.  We nearly exhausted their English abilities and in the process one of them said something absolutely amazing.  His name is Richard, one of my best students, and when I teased him (though teasing is lost on these students...) about him knowing my name he said “I will always remember your name.”  And I knew that to be the whole truth, and nothin’ but.
• When I went to Kigali (the capital city) I spent almost my entire salary.  I need to remember that I’m living the vida village these days, and I need a budget to match.  We had a great time though!
• After retrieving packages from the post office in Musanze, I walked into town with a few to leave them for a fellow PCV (one of the ladies sharing our PO box).  A man offered his help and conversation... upon accepting I discovered that he was a teacher at the National Police Academy, and a very courteous gentleman.  He filled me on on the Police academy and I told him all about Peace Corps.
• I tend to stand out in this country.  Everyone notices my whiteness immediately (and to be honest, when you’re in a country where ever person has very dark skin, you notice your whiteness immediately as well).  This is certainly true even when I’m crammed in the back of a twegerane, one arm hanging out the window in order to facilitate more shoulder room.  But, it’s fun to talk to a taxi full of people (about 16) and try to explain to them (in broken Kinyarwanda) that even though I’m white, I’m a poor teacher and I live in a village.  Cue hearty laughter, followed by modest acceptance.  Also, when the traffic police stop your van to do the typical routine checks, the fellow passengers feel it is imperative that they yell that THIS van has a muzungu.  Thanks guys... 

tortillas, treks and tea

Via my facebook, I claimed that yesterday was the best day ever.  Well, perhaps it was not the singular “best” day, but it was damn good.  I had the day off, so I took the liberty of sleeping in (until nearly 7 instead of being up at 5), watched the second half of Shakespeare in Love while drinking tea in my bed, and had a slow, lazy morning.  Eventually I got up and did about an hour of yoga in my bedroom.  This was actually interrupted by a visit from my friend Clementine.  We have a new time table at school so now Clem and I only share one work day, so we are trying to see each other as much as possible outside of work.  She returned to school, I returned to my yoga, finished that, took a quick, cold bucket bath, and made my way up to school to visit everyone during break.  I’m really glad I did this, because I was able to talk with some of my favorite Secondary teachers and ended up hanging with the Primary teachers for about 30 minutes, talking about the differences between America and Rwanda.  I love that no matter who I’m talking with, my comment that there are poor people in America is met with shock or disbelief.  Now, I’m not saying that Rwanda and America are on par with wealth distribution, and I have been trying to explain that most Americans are middle-class, but we also talked about the homeless in America, and I answered questions about beggars in America, and tried to explain that yes, there are poor people in America too.  I am glad to talk about this, because as much as I recognize the privilege that comes with an American lifestyle, I think it’s important that people know that not everyone in America is rich and privileged.  I actually met a woman from Australia when I was on the bus yesterday, and we talked for the entire hour from Musanze back to my village.  She is a VSO volunteer, working with schools for the deaf here and she was a great conversationalist.  She mentioned something that someone once said to her about the discrepancy between being from a wealthy nation and being from a poor or developing nation.  The major differences lie in choice.  We, as Westerners, are able to make choices- and many choices at that.  We may have debt, we may not be wealthy ourselves, but we have been able to make a myriad of choices (and will make more as our lives and “careers” continue).  Just something to think about... I know this isn’t an Earth-shattering revelation, but it’s interesting.  

Back to my awesome day!  After chatting with the teachers, I went back home and began cooking.  I have been fairly lazy about cooking here b/c it’s such a process.  And the clean-up can be a bit daunting (again, my undying contempt towards doing dishes plays a role here).  But, I decided that I’ve got all the time in the world, so I may as well start experimenting with my culinary skills.  So, the result of a few hours of cooking yesterday was: flour tortillas, beans (fresh beans that were delicious), a cauliflower/ carrot/ onion stir-fry and pico de gallo.  Simple and delicious.  Clem came during another break at school and ate with me, and I was so thankful for her company!  Directly after eating, I went off to climb a mountain.  Really.  I went with two boys who live in the village.  These guys just completed their Secondary School studies and are waiting for their exam results.  The way it works around here is that when you complete Secondary, you take the national exams, wait for your results, then (hopefully) go to university the following year.  This means that these kids get a year of being at home between Secondary and university, and it makes them the perfect tour guides!  They know the area and the people here, they speak English and since they aren’t working or in school, they have lots of time.  We actually have plans to go on a long bike ride together next week sometime... if this keeps up, I’m going to have a new adventure every week!  So, when we began our trek, I honestly wasn’t expecting to climb so high, or to be hiking for so long.  The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring any water with me!  I got really thirsty really quick and there wasn’t much I could do about it.  I didn’t bring my camera yesterday b/c it was a little hazy out and I figure that I can take pictures next time I go out when it’s a little nicer out (sorry mom).  We were traveling up footpaths: some were wide, some were barely wide enough for your foot, some were nearly vertical, and some stretches of road were flat (a nice little reprise).  We passed many houses and a few people.  The houses were all small, typical Rwandan houses made of mud bricks and tiled roofs, and surrounded by plants.  Trees, bushes, flowers and various crops make it so the houses are tucked away.  Tucked under banana tress, behind tall bushes, flanked by flowers- they are lovely.  Every so often we would stop and look out over the villages below, through the valley and over the other hills that surround my house.  Once we reached the very top we could see for miles!  We met a man along the way who ended up turing around to walk back up the mountain with us and show us the cow cooperative that sits on top of this “hill.”  When we finally reached the top (again, a lot higher than I anticipated) it was a clear, flat sort of plateau.  From the center you could see in every direction, and into the valleys below on either side.  It was wonderful!  Apparently when it’s clear out, you are even able to see the volcanoes in the north from this mountain top.  The cow cooperative was a great thing to see!  We can use the term “cooperative” in it’s most basic sense here.  All of the cows were living together (maybe 10 total) and each one belongs to a different family.  Hence, the cooperative aspect.  They all work together to keep the cows, and the system seems to work really well for them.  From the first cow pens to the next, we wound through fields on tiny paths, through grass, through fields with freshly planted crops, through fallowing fields, and even through a few small groves of trees.  After walking through a small field of freshly planted potatoes, we saw the cows that belong to the man who was showing us the sights.  He had one bull and one (what’s the word for a female cow... heifer?) cow that were in their own individual pens, made of sturdy branches that were tied or nailed together.  I don’t think the bull was very happy to see me.  He had huge horns and I was a bit intimidated by the sounds he made as I passed him at an arm’s length.  But, the cows were completely harmless (of course... but pardon me for not really being a country girl... I was always scared of cows when I was young).  We greeted some of the folks who live up there, then slowly began our descent.  We decided to go back a different way, and chose some paths that were pretty steep, narrow and difficult.  Now, they aren’t really that hard, but I had to make the mental choice to be absolutely fearless.  I think I mentioned this in my post about the wedding... walking down a mountain like this is really not that bad, but I can get a little squeamish at times, and I have to remember to release my fear and just go for it!  These walks are far more enjoyable when I do that anyway.  Jumping down rocks, allowing myself to slide when the mud is slick, balancing and walking on two logs as a “bridge,” and remembering to look up from time to time to see the surrounding beauty.  We wound down the hill (mountain... whatever) following the water, so we passed a small creek a few times and saw many pipes and pumps where people come to get their water.  We passed through some forests with big trees, some with small tress, groves of sugar cane, and we saw great expanses of banana plants on the opposing hillsides.  Once we were finally down from the mountain one of the boys invited me to see his home and his family.  Since we were to pass his home regardless, I decided it would be nice to pay them a short visit.  I was covered in sweat, I was starting to get tired and I was THIRSTY, but we had a really nice visit.  And, because many of the banana groves we saw belong to this family, we sat down and ate fresh bananas and pineapple.  What a great end to any hike!  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again- the bananas here are the best I’ve ever tasted, and I’m pretty sure I could survive here on pineapple alone!  We ate fruit, I met the family and then I went on my way.  I arrived back to my home about 10 or 15 minutes before it started to get dark, and took a nice cold bucket bath.  Jane was back last night so we heated up the beans again, ate a bit of food, made some tea and sat and talked for a while.  Just to end the night on an even higher note, I got on to the internet for a quick minute and got to chat a bit with some great Americans and had a successful “conversation” completely in Kinyarwanda with one of my Rwandan friends (thank you facebook chat).  So, this is an example of a perfect Rwandan day.  I plan on having many more in the future, and I plan on not writing as extensively about them.  I’ll try my best to keep you posted and fill you in on some of the highlights, but sitting down and typing for an hour can be a bit of a bore (aka takes away from my much needed yoga time).  Miss you all, hope you are well!  If you come to visit me I’ll cook you tortillas and take you on a hike up this mountain.  I promise. xoxo!

Happy Valentine's Day

Part One: Learning about Rwandan Valentine’s day

Before I begin relaying to you what I’m expecting to observe on Valentine’s Day, I should talk a bit about the way Rwandans date.  Because they don’t really date; not the way that most Westerners do.  This is a result of the traditional Rwandan culture: a culture in which dating was virtually nonexistent.  It’s becoming increasingly common to hear talk of “boyfriends” and “girlfriends” in the younger generations, but there is a definite divide between the older and younger generations here.  Anyway, most people my age refer to “friends.”  That’s not a broad term or anything, right?  So, you can have friends (ex: me and Clementine) and you can have a “friend” (ex: the person you’re dating), and the only thing to really allow an outsider to distinguish the relationship is context.  It’s a little tricky but I think this is due to the fact that the society here is generally discrete.  While your business ends up being widely known (especially in a village) everyone remains rather discrete, and rarely do folks talk about their own personal business.  However, the teenagers are certainly growing up in a different world.  I think this is probably true no matter where you are- the youth today are experiencing a new sort of high-speed, highly connected, small world.  This is the information age after all (is that right?... I’m gonna go with it).  For me, this means that I have students that are modern and open-minded, and while they still have whatever sorts of societal norms and a certain Rwandan world-view, they are pretty “with it.”  They know about what’s going on in the world (to some extent), they keep up with current music and they really want to learn (which is something I love!).  So, how does this relate to Valentine’s day?  Well, I have been charged with the task of teaching “creative performance” to the Senior 3 class at my school.  What is creative performance?  Well, I’m sure I’ve already mentioned it here, but really it’s turning into a “do whatever Allison wants” class.  And it’s a lot of fun!  This past week, in honor of the upcoming holiday, we talked about poetry and Valentine’s day and music... again, basically whatever I felt like sharing with the students.  I absolutely love this class, and we always have a good time together.  I taught them “Roses are red, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet, And so are you” and they loved it.  Then, I asked them to make their own version of the poem... what a great idea (because I got instant entertainment).  They came up with a few really good versions, and a few that were absolutely hilarious!  Some of my favorites included lines like: “chalk is white and so are you,” and “our teacher is white like silver.”  Ok, race discussions aside, we all got a few good laughs out of those ones.  The important part is that they were trying!  So, they kept working on poems and I played some fun music for them (imagine head-bobbing with your students to some classic Outkast songs... so good) and I left them with a goal.  I reminded them that Valentine’s day was right around the corner (“please teacher, it is on Monday”) and that they should make poems or cards and give them to their Valentines.  “Maybe you’ll get a girlfriend... maybe you’ll find a boyfriend... maybe you can let your teachers know that you think they’re special..”  Just a little shameless self-promotion.  I’m excited to see if they write any sort of poems to each other!  I will certainly be on the look-out.  Also, I was told by Clem and K that here everyone wears red and black on V-day, and I plan to conform to that tradition for sure!  I always loved making Valentines in the states, and I plan on adapting my crafting skills and continuing to make them here.  There will be no glitter or foam or lace or doilies, and I don’t even have glue, but I have paper and magazines and markers and colored pencils and I am prepared to give it my best effort.  

Part 2: February 15th:

Valentine’s day passed in a flash.  If I didn’t have a calendar, I would’ve never known that yesterday was at all special.  To be fair, I wasn’t in the most festive of moods.  It was rainy and cold, I had a frustrating class to start my day (more details to follow) and I was tired!  I didn’t see much card exchanging happening around school, and since the kids all wear uniforms, there was no visible display of holiday spirit.  I indulged in some cake that a purchased over the weekend (yep, made with corn flour), ate some great fresh fruits along with it, and watched romantic comedies while the rain poured down outside for the better part of the afternoon.  I did get an awesome valentine from my friend Clementine!  She totally outdid me on the craftiness- definitely took me by surprise!  Apparently in the bigger cities, you can see the type of holiday commercialism that we all know goes hand and hand with St.Valentine, but out in the village, February 14th is just another day.  

PS: big shout-out to my #1 Valentine! Robin Talley gets to celebrate her 23rd birthday tomorrow... wish I was back in Tallahassee.  I’ll be with ya in spirit, babygirl  

It's a nice day for a Rwandan wedding, It's a nice day to start again!

Ok, so it wasn’t really a nice day for a Rwandan wedding.  The weather sucked, to be quite honest, but we were able to make the day special regardless.  I went to my first Rwandan wedding yesterday- my first wedding as an adult actually- and had a blast!  I want to give you all the details, so bear with me (or you may choose to stop reading now).  The day started as they usually do around here.  It was foggy outside and I took my time getting up and getting ready to greet the day.  I had a nice, warm bucket bath then came inside to listen to dance music and do a bit of yoga.  My PCV neighbor, Keira stopped in to say hi on her way to Kigali, so I got to chat a bit with her, and our friend Kay (who was visiting from her site in the West) was there as well, so that was a nice little morning visit.  They went on their way to the big city and I hung out at home.  Did a bit of cleaning, did a bit of dancing around, enjoyed my slow and quiet Saturday morning.  Clementine called me and we made plans to go to the wedding.  The wedding was due to start at 1pm, and was being held at a church “not too far from here.”  Well, this being Rwanda, I didn’t expect anything to be easy or to really go as planned, but I knew that it would all be taken care of and everything would work out wonderfully.  The initial plan was for Clementine and myself to go with some of the bride’s family members in a car.  Before I continue, I don’t know if I’ve written much about Clem... She’s another teacher at my school, teaching sciences and ICT to the Secondary students.  She’s also my closest friend out here.  I guess I’ve become really close to a few of my colleagues- Jane, Clementine and Kizito- and I’m at least friendly with the rest of them.  I thank the stars almost daily that I have been fortunate enough to end up working with these teachers.  We can talk about anything and hang out and have fun, and we can also work really well together and get things done.  Back to the event at hand... So, as I “prepared myself,” getting on the closest thing I have to a party dress, putting on some makeup, making my hair big and messy and fun and listening to more dance music, I also made a make-shift wedding gift for the new spouses.  I made them a card that was pretty simple (though I wish I had taken a photo of it). It included a little note of congratulations and a photo of a waterfall that I brought with me from America.  That last addition to the card felt a little cheesy, but I think it was a good thing to include.  I was searching my house for something to give them, and the only things in any condition fit for a gift were photos, so I chose the prettiest one and that was that.  I also put a little bit of money into the card and I think it turned into a fine “gift.”  I couldn’t really get a straight answer on what an appropriate gift is for a wedding, but as far as I can tell, it’s similar to America.  You give household items and the like, or you slip some money into a card.  So, I put the card into an envelope, put on my fancy sandals and hit the road.  What followed was probably the most awkward walk through my village that I will ever have.  Saturday is the big market day, so there were lots of people on the roads and milling about the towns, and here I was, walking the half hour walk into town to meet Clem, in a dress, with silver shoes on my feet and makeup on my face... I just felt a bit out of my element.  But, it wasn’t that bad, because (of course) I ran into a student and talked with him and his friends for the duration of the walk.  Thank god! The 1/2 hour walk feels like 5 minutes when you have company, and it made me feel better about looking all fancy-like.  

I should’ve known that I couldn’t attend this sort of thing and really blend into the crowd, but at least I was met with hugs and smiles and excitement... Upon arriving to town, we walked around, stood around, and waited for the car situation to get figured out.  Well, what got figured is that Clem and I would go to the wedding by moto.  And it was a fantastic moto ride!  By this time, it was full-on overcast outside, and it actually began to sprinkle during our ride.  Our destination was a church that sat on top of one of the surrounding hills, about a 30 to 40 minute moto ride from the town center (aka, the market).  We rode through the tea fields, through a few small villages, a small forest or two, curving through the valley, then climbed up the final big hill and stopped right at the church entrance.  I wish it had been sunny out, but the ride was still amazing nonetheless.  This was a Catholic church, and therefore a Catholic ceremony.  I didn’t understand any of it because it was all in Kinyarwanda, but I was able to notice a few things.  First, the formality of the whole process seemed a bit lax by American standards.  The bride and groom arrived in the same car and there was no procession in the church: everyone just kind of came in together and sat where they wanted.  The ceremony was led by the priest, but it really felt like more of a sermon than a marriage.  I have not attended a Catholic wedding ceremony in the states, so it may very well be the same there, I don’t know.  There was a lot of intermittent singing and clapping, and many readings from the bible, and the whole ceremony was about 1 hour.  About 2/3 of the way into the ceremony, another wedding party entered the church and sat on the empty benches behind us.  I thought this was slightly reminiscent of a Vegas wedding chapel- couples lined up to go through the motion- but apparently it’s quite common to have one ceremony for many couples (up to 10 at times) and that these folks were just late to the party.  I guess I was supposed to have seen two couples be wed at once, but I was glad it was only my friends up at the alter.  Also, this church was not decorated.  Not a single special decoration or rearrangement of chairs- it looked exactly as it would for any other church service.  After the ceremony, we all congratulated the newly-weds and took photos and hiked down the the reception.  

The bride was the person who invited me.  Her name is Elyse and she is a Primary School teacher at my school.  Her new husband is the head teacher at a school in the village where the wedding was held.  Apparently Elyse will go and join him at his school, so I won’t be seeing her around school anymore.  That made me kind of sad, because she was really nice!  But, it’s good that she was able to request to be moved to a school closer to her new house.  You see, the district office is in charge of placing teachers at schools, and they make all of the staffing decisions- you go work where they tell you- so it’s nice to know that sometimes personal requests are taken into consideration.  The groom’s name is Alexis, and while I hadn’t met him until the wedding, he was super nice and happy and welcoming.  Another awkward moment in my day was when Clem and I went to look at the pictures being taken of the families and friends and as soon as I walked into view, the whole process stopped.  Then they told me to come and get a photo with them.  I tried to resist for a split second, but there was no way for me to say “no, this is special for your families! carry on...” so I went along with what they wanted and got a photo with the bride and groom.  I was more than happy to do so, but I didn’t like feeling that I was a special guest just because I was the muzungu at the wedding.  I suppose it is something “special” in the sense that most folks don’t have foreigners come to their weddings, but being treated as a straight up VIP all day and night was strange.  

There were many ways to reach this church at the top of the hill.  When I arrived by moto, I took the long way, on the road that winds through the valley and up the hill.  When we went by foot, we just walked straight down the mountain.  And I swear, living in this country is going to make me fearless.  Moto rides? Well, no need to be scared of those, they can be exhilarating and are a great way to see the sights.  Walking down a mountain on a steep foot path in fancy sandals? No problem, you just gotta go for it, and it’s a much more efficient way to travel.  But, there was a moment during the walk: I was faced with the prospect of walking down a virtually vertical section of the path, when I stopped and laughed and said “you do know that where I come from there are no mountains!!!”  Ok, not entirely true.  Well, I have plenty of experience climbing around hills and mountains, but I was a little intimidated by this path.  I decided to just go for it and hope for the best, and after making that decision, we had a pleasant walk.  I like to think of myself as adventurous, but I know I’m also very cautious, so sometimes I have to throw that caution to the wind and do as the locals do.  Don’t worry, my judgement is pretty good, and I won’t be haphazardly saying “fuck it, let’s go!” in every situation, but sometimes it’s for my own good. 

We arrived at the reception, met up with more friends and found seats inside the make-shift party tent.  It began to rain right as we entered the sheltered area, and it continued to rain on and off for the rest of the night.  I was actually impressed that everyone carried on and enjoyed themselves, because it is a very rare thing to find Rwandans outside in the rain.  Usually when it rains around here, people seek shelter inside (even if it means hiding out in the house of a complete stranger).  The “party tent” was made out of wood with various tarps on the top, and it worked really well.  Some household furniture was taken into the tent for the wedding party and there were wooden benches for the rest of us.  The ceremonial stuff continued during the reception and everyone seemed to have a blast!  After the fathers exchanged words and drinks, after the couple said a few words and drank some traditional banana beer, after the champagne was popped (which made me laugh...), after the cake was cut, everyone joined in on the party!  The cake was passed around and drinks were dolled out.  Kizito was helping run the show, so he made sure I got a beer, and the rest of the evening was spent talking and drinking and celebrating!  I gave the new couple my wedding gift, hugging both of them and singing praises and congratulations, and I talked to a few new, friendly faces.  Right when I was about to go (in the rain, as it was getting dark), Kizito told me that my presence was requested inside the house.  And so I made it to the VIP after party... More beers, more talking done by the fathers, more dancing, more talking... it was wonderful!  This was done in the living room of the house next to where the reception was held, and inside were the closest friends and family, who had gathered together to send off the newly-weds and have one last hurrah before the night was through.  Clem and I finally made our way out to the road to find a way home.  The moto driver we were going to use had disappeared, but we were able to get seats in the taxi-van and made it back home safe and happy.  One of the highlights of the van ride: I was seated right next to the door and we had to stop at some point, and open the door and do some rearranging or something, and when we were ready to go again, I slammed to door.  And everyone loved it!  They all said that I was a star... haha, I guess it’s the little things.  I proved to them that muzungus are able to hang out and be social and act like Rwandans, and properly operate car doors and take care of themselves.  In all, this was a really great experience.  I got invited to come visit many of the families that I met, and I fully intend to do so!  I also hope I’m able to attend many more Rwandan weddings.  

Rwandan celebrations, the cliff notes:

• drinking together means sharing beers-  passing them around and everyone getting included in the fun
• it is possible to fit a dozen people AND party goods (food and the like) in the smallest pick-up truck ever made
• the folks at the church still ask for money for the church during a wedding ceremony
• people don’t really smile... not during the more official parts of the ceremony at least. it had me wondering if these folks wanted to get married in the first place.
• ALL cake is made with corn flour.  why? 
• the most important thing is celebration- having a good time and sharing the fun with everyone around you (some of these folks may not have much, but they know how to have a good time)
• everyone sings and claps and dances (I need to learn these songs!)
• you WILL find a way home, or a place to stay... it’s the welcoming, supportive sort of culture here... there’s always room for one more person in the car.  

Thanks for sticking with me- I’m sure this isn’t my best writing (more of a stream of consciousness mess).  It’s early on Sunday morning, but I wanted to give you a full recap before I forgot all the fun details.  Also, be glad, I’m sure I left out many things... Today I fully intend to make Valentines for my favorite fellow teachers... I’ll surely end up having a fun Valentine’s Day story for you, so stay posted.  Happy Sunday. xoxoxo