mental snapshots

So recently, I took a journey south to meet up with some fellow PCVs. It was a lovely trip
full of tasty Mexican food and True Blood. Along with that, I got some perspective from a PCV who's been at site for over 8 months now. It's hard to think that far out, but I could see her comfort and can't wait til I get closer to that. Although, today felt quite comfortable as I walked through town to get my bread and phone credit. I was greeted with many cries of 'muzungu.' But I also got many "Racheri"s and "Umuntoni"s and smiles, that's all I need to just feel a little bit comfier.
Anywho, I was thoroughly enjoying my journey to the south, more specifically my time on my moto-taxi (my favorite method of transportation) where you're really just riding on the back of someone's motorbike you get the beauty of wind on your skin and time to appreciate and a 360° view not afforded by other means. I found myself taking mental snapshots as I went along. I was struck by so many funny and uniquely-Rwandan scenes.
The first of which was my moto driver trying to pass the giant truck ahead of us. Both cars were all over the road because of the ruts cut in by the water on the dirt road and he would speed up and move to one side...they would do the same in attempts to keep their shocks intact. It was a terribly amusing process especially after we did pass them and they then passed us, then we passed each other over and over until we hit the main road. It was especially amusing because it contributed to my slowly accumulating knowledge on Rwandan rules of the road...a great puzzle of honking and light flashing and no real appropriate side of the road to drive on (b/c usually it's right down the middle).
Then there's an image of the boys and men on bikes (you rarely see women ride them) with the big bunches of green bananas piled on the back and hanging off either side as they went to market. The best part of that image is the colors: the red dirt road, starkly contrasted by the green bananas and funny, colorful decorations all over the bikes.
As we continued down the road, we get to the part of my hood that is populated what I can only ever think of as "Lion King trees" stretching over the rolling hills, low brush and then over the river which allegedly has hippos populating it. (I have YET to see one, much to my chagrin). As we get into the city, we pull into the 'Bus Station' that is actually just a dirt clearing in the middle of many small shops with hand painted signs naming bus companies from whom you buy your ticket while the guys stand in the middle and yell the name of their company, their destination and time of departure (often, right in your ear...usually many at once). All this occurs amidst the buzz of moto taxis coming in and out and then pulling up as close as possible to the arriving buses to catch the customers getting off. My favorite though, is probably the looks on those yelling drivers faces when they try to speak to me in uncomfortable English and I reply in Kinyarwanda...the surprise and appreciation on their faces is always comforting, even if my pronunciation still leaves much to be desired.
These things make up every journey around this country, but this particular time, they froze to me and are added to my mental photo album of Rwanda (that wouldn't mean nearly as much to anyone else in its physical form even if I took those pictures with my camera).

Rwandan time

We had a running joke as trainees that everything we did was operated on either one of two schedules. When we were to take trips or go anywhere and were told a time to meet, we always asked, "Rwandan time or American time?" This question, here, is critical because it is not a difference of 2 minutes, but often, 2 hours.
I've known that Americans are absurdly prompt. As an impatient person, I love it. However, living in Brazil, France and Ireland, I learned to relax and enjoy waiting. If I was early, or they were late, it was an opportunity to explore, grab a coffee or read.
Here, it's on a whole nother scale. Some examples:
-I went to catch a bus in Kigali to get down to Butare to visit a close fellow PCV. I had grabbed a bite and then took my time getting over to the bus 'station' (I use this term loosely, as it really refers to a particular alley that is known to be where Volcano buses stop and where you can buy a ticket). I arrived around 11:10, so I asked for a ticket for the next bus at 11:30. A bus arrived around 11:20, so I hopped on it as usually these buses run only around 15 minutes late. Once I gave the driver my ticket he started laughing and then said I had the wrong time. I was apparently on the 11:00 bus...that left around 11:35. They changed the ticket for me luckily, since I'm white and they thought I was confused. I was, but not about the time.
-This weekend I went to visit my new friend family. I met them on my site visit when I told Father I needed to 'meet a family.' This was among the things asked of us in our Site Visit forms, but I'm glad it is, because my family happens to be very nice and a very useful connection as the father is the director of the local primary school and the mother is a Community Health Worker...bonus! I was supposed to be at their house at 5 on Sunday. I resisted the urge to leave 15 minutes early and arrived at 5:10...of course, neither of them were home so I chatted a bit with the students that live in their compound, then left at around 5:25 cause I was told they were both working. I figured no big deal, they make and break this kind of commitment all the time, and as a CHW, she can get called into the Health Center at any time. So, I began my walk home to make it back before dark. On my way, I ran into Papa T, who was very apologetic that he hadn't been home and was headed there right now, so I could come back with him for the visit. I told him I must be getting home because it would get dark and I really didn't wanna have another run-in with the crazy drunk ladies that had gotten me on my way to the house. Once I got home, Mama T, came knocking on my door. She had been over at the health center and been called by Papa once he saw me on the road. After her repeated apologies and my insistence that it really wasn't a big deal, I figured that it was more important for her if I went and she said they had a moto to bring me home. It turned out to be a lovely visit, especially because their son (who I teach at the pre-school) stopped himself mid-sentence to call me "racheri" instead of muzungu...I smell progress!

how snickerdoodles= sense of accomplishment

20/8
Not gonna lie, today is a day I've been very proud of me!! I baked for the first time in my PC oven. I'm not entirely sure why this brought on such a sense of accomplishment, but I'm not gonna question it. It made me remember, yes, THIS is why I joined the Peace Corps. I wanted to try things another way. I knew other ways were possible, but I wanted to experience them. The funny part is, I'm still an American, doing American things. I'm baking snickerdoodles...but I'm doing it in a way that's much more difficult, I guess. I had to hunt and get my ingredients from many different places, and figure out what temp my oven cooks at, and figure out how long they'd actually take to make, and how much of things to add without having my measuring things.
It makes me wonder what gene makes me want to make things more difficult for myself...did I not get enough out of my daily life in America? I think it comes down to my constant quest of self-improvement. I guess I consider this improvement process incomplete without these challenges. The challenges of living here are mostly ones I couldn't even imagine when I began this whole adventure. I think I was signing up half out of curiosity...this was all a big question mark and I had to see what was behind door number 1. Even when I want to walk right back through the door (which Peace Corps makes all too easy)...I think of the question mark that is the next day, the next week, the next month, the next 2 years. I'm curious to see what's there and I think I always will be. Maybe that's why I have to travel, because until I go there, until I see it, touch it, smell it, taste it for myself, it's still just an object of my constant curiosity. Some days I curse my curiosity, but mostly, I can't imagine living my life without it.

self-motivation

17/8
Motivational music...I know what you're thinking. How can music be motivating, inspiring or in any truly significant way contribute to your mental health and overall well-being? (I know these are the sentiments of certain diehard doubters such as Lynn O'Brien) Nay! I say to you! I feel music can serve just such purposes!
When I'm in the midst of my 'daily doldrums,' I have a playlist I've creatively entitled Peace Corps Motivation/Working Music. The first part is pretty obvious and the second may seem so as well, but it's deceptive. Here, as a classic overachiever and American, I feel like I always have to be 'working' and busy. They tell us at the beginning of training that this is not your average work. They call it the "toughest job you'll ever love." All this is true, but you don't realize it, until you're in the middle of it and you can't figure out how to fill your days. You begin to, typically with the newly time-consuming tasks that occupy the time of most Rwandans (shopping at the market or scouting through boutiques; hand-washing laundry; hand-mopping your floor; visiting neighbors; greeting nearly everyone you see and inquiring as to whether or not 'they're strong'). Unfortunately, while difficult most days, this does not feel like 'work' in the traditional sense, especially to a fine-tuned 9-5er as most of us are.
This is where it all comes together.
The playlist I've created magically reminds me first, that this is all part of the process. I am "working." I'm creating the puzzle pieces that I'll eventually put together to create my fulfilling life here. But this requires a great deal of patience (especially without a jig saw!) Creating the pieces is slow work, especially when you have no idea how they're even really supposed to fit together, and especially when this puzzle is supposed to improve people lives.
It has such songs as "Waiting on the World to Change," the "Yes, We Can" with will.i.am and Barack excerpts, and "Waving Flag." They all get to me, but the last one (besides making me miss the world's greatest summer AND the World Cup) reminds me that I'm actually doing this. When I was in the midst of the application process, in the summer of 2010 (the aforementioned greatest summer), I found a video of kids lip-syncing to that song as part of a project for English teaching from Peace Corps volunteers. While listening to the song now I remember, I AM one of those now, doing just such things, or beginning to...that's enough motivation to get me through the doldrums... and the extra greetings... and all the itchiness from mosquitoes that come outta nowhere to attack at night.
I remember why I wanted to do all this and then I get really excited because I am doing it. And then, I typically turn on some Kanye and dance around like an idiot, but a happy idiot.

bus adventures and revelations

13/8
From -African Visas
"What was behind that decision to join the Peace Corps? I'll never be sure. For me, part of it was an instinct opposite from the one that was settling everyone else down. It may have been the remnants of the ancient will to migrate which showed up as curiosity, a dream of other places, the way you gave yourself a chance. At bottom, there was rebellion. From the beginning, when I started to go away, first to [Italy], I wanted to flaunt it, as though crossing borders was a way of meeting the world's dare. And not to be a tourist either: `you had to go and live someplace for months or years to make it real. You had to learn the language which offered a kind of freedom, another way of saying things, another psyche. To know how an [Ethiopian] will express this or that, constructions that make you sound a stranger to yourself, let you be someone else."

I had to put this in because it exactly captures my feelings, the same ones that I have been trying to express since I started this blog.
The funny thing about the Peace Corps is that on the hard days you try and think about why you decided to do it, but you only remember on the good days.

16/8
Just got back from my delightful trip to visit Danae in the big city of Butare. All in all, a very refreshing trip, and as always when I'm with her, we make sense of each other's lives and talk through all our troubles. I also saw some other lovely fellow PCVs there and we chatted through our whole process here and also reflected on the 'us' of 4 months ago when we were getting ready to come here. A funny contrast to the 'us' of now. We were so full of excitement and ideas of what our life would be. Almost all of them have proven untrue in experience.
On the bus there I sat next to the parents of one of my students, a family that I coincidentally, visited on my first visit to this site. After the obligatory scolding for not having visited them, I talked for most of the 3 hr. ride with Mama Thierry. Here the women are often called Mama (enter name of child here, TYPICALLY the first boy). We talked in kinyarfranglais about life here, about my family in America, my life in America and of all things, student loans and interest rates. It's difficult sometimes to want to work through these conversations and forge these connections, but you're always glad you did. It's a lot like confession in that sense. Today I plucked up the courage to send a text to them asking when it would be good for me to visit. I'll likely be seeing them later this week.
On the way home, I sat next to a very nice Presbyterian minister who knows the volunteer nearest me and so we talked a bit about things around my area and then he was curious as to how much it would cost and how long it would take to drive from New York to Los Angeles if visiting the states. An interesting convo and now I'm trying to use my interactions with people in these situations to promote what we're doing here and give people a better understanding of the how and why as well. It's so funny though, because the immediate reaction most people have was verbalized by another woman I met on the bus. "You know kinyarwanda?" I replied, "I try...I am learning." When I told her what org I was with and what I was doing here and especially how long I would stay, she replied, "That's nice, that's good. We like you people." I knew she was referring to white people but I also like to think she was referring to people that stick around for more than a week or two or even a month or two. That's common here and I appreciate that our commitment is for much longer...even when it feels like forever.

Nunsense!

12/8
*Nunsense! It's habit forming! Nunsense!* (sung...obviously!)
First and foremost, I must take this moment to thank Lynn O'Brien for bringing me to see Nunsense the Musical all those years ago. I still find myself singing the title song, mostly because it's the only one I remember...but it makes me happy because it reminds me of my wonderful nuns here. The community has embraced me and brought me into their fold so quickly and effortlessly. Since I started working at the pre-school this week, if they don't see me at breakfast or taking tea or having lunch with them, I get a talking-to or a call. I love it.
It's nice to have somewhere where I am appreciated as a person and not a muzungu. They don't stare at me. They let me help with dishes. They're happy to see me when I'm there and ask where I was when I'm gone. I think I also appreciate them so much because the atmosphere reminds me of the HER House...which I miss so much. The value of living with a family can not be overstated, even if that family takes many different forms. I don't think I was meant to live alone. I love walking into a loud kitchen, a full table and intense discussions. It's part of the big family raising (although here my family size would be average to small).
They love learning about me and my life. They're all African but they're from all over the place so they have the common experience of foreigners in Rwanda. They have difficulty with kinyarwanda sometimes, too. It's a wonderful group of vibrant women that I'm happy just to sit around with. That's also part of the appeal. I have somewhere to sit around and chat about life, share a cup of tea and just enjoy life. This is my first, though not likely my last, note of appreciation for them.
Tomorrow I go to visit Danae and I could NOT be more excited for a chance to spend more than just a few hours with her!

take a look, it's in a book!

11/8
So today was interesting because I approached it with new eyes. Lasterday, I took some time to go through my old journal entries from when I first arrived. They were so amusing because they made the roller coaster of culture shock and life as a Peace Corps Volunteer sooooo apparent. My entries were all about how it was tough to get used to things but that I knew this is where I was meant to be. This was what I was meant to be doing.
I'm starting to see that again but there are definitely still moments in every day when I think about home. I think about how much more comfortable I'd be, how much more control over my life I would have, how much I want to be with my family and friends. Then, as part of this daily process, I start to remind myself what a unique opportunity this is, that I will have all the time in the world with these people I miss. Two years will fly by, it'll have been full of amazing experiences and I'll be glad I did it. Not to mention all the opportunities that will be open to me after this. I usually go back and forth for a bit then push myself out of bed or tear myself away from my sudoku to go outside and look around. This always helps.
I'm starting to realize I have more control over my life than I think I do. If I let myself be blown about always, I'll always feel out of control and a little more desperate. I'm already affecting people, even if it's only in the very first stage. Saturday will be my one month anniversary at site. I have to celebrate all these little milestones. They give me something to look forward to and to see as an accomplishment. I'm also trying to see other small accomplishments. I have to say, the students are probably the most helpful for this. I understand the gratification that teachers have on a different level now. When the students actually respond to my questions because they're understanding me...it's huge.
Partly, it's because I'm excited they get the material and a big part of it is because I'm starting to enable a little more creative thought. Even if it's just a new game or song, the exposure to those things is always helpful. Slowly, they're starting to understand something outside of themselves. These moments are what ultimately bring me back off the edge. These kids will keep me here because I want to see more moments like today when I read them a book. I can just about bet it was the first time many of them had ever had a book read to them. I could tell in that they didn't know what to do. They couldn't sit, they couldn't just listen at first. Slowly, they began to understand that I would show all of them the pictures and take the time to let them absorb everything on the page.
The craziest part is, this pre-school is not for the poorest of the poor. The kids that come here all have parents that are likely both employed (a rarity here). Even so, the number of them that have books in their homes is probably 1 in 10, as a generous estimate. I still find so many things that I've taken for granted. I make just as many unwitting assumptions about their lives as they do about mine.
They think:
She's white, of course she's rich. Of course she speaks French. Of course she cooks on a fire. Of course she wants to get married. Of course she eats rice and beans everyday.
I think:
They're children, of course they've been read to. Of course they're being fed three meals. Of course they know how to color or make their own pictures. Of course they spend their pre-school time playing games and making up their own stories.
It's all a great reminder that I can't take anything for granted.

why a muzungu is like an umusazi

or...why white people are like crazy people, and other thoughts

10/8
I'm really only updating because I'm avoiding doing all the laundry and dishes that are piling up in my room...but it doesn't really matter why as long as I'm doing it, right?
Today I was at the pre-school again and I think maybe some of the novelty of having a 'muzungu' teacher is starting to wear off. Although, obviously not yet all of it, as they were distracted in circle-time by touching my painted toes and rubbing my arm. I'm gonna take this as the positive sign that they're getting more comfortable with me.
There are all sorts of amusing myths about what 'muzungu' skin is like. They have one circulating that if you touch our skin we start to bleed. (I guess because it must be so thin...?) I can't remember any of the others right now so I'll post them as I hear them or remember them. In general, I think it's more the novelty than anything else. Our hair is another source of interest. They always want to touch it and they ask if we put grease in it, if we have to wash it every week (they can hardly contain their shock that's it almost every day), etc. All the explanations are just another part of the cultural understanding (on both parts).
In addition, I'm always having to explain why I don't know the other white people they see around. When we had the French people here that taught karate, all the kids expected me to continue the karate lessons because I, of course, had to know it also. It's also bizarre that I'm an American that speaks French...very confusing, even though they are constantly exposed to a minimum of 3 and often 4 languages.
The nuns appreciate that I'm a white person that doesn't snub my nose at the local food. I find this amusing because I never really saw that as an option. They like to call that and my languages part of the "esprit missionaire" which they identify with because they're all from other countries albeit all from Central Africa.
I also bought my first Rwandan outfit last night. I had bought the igitenge or fabric at the market on Friday and I went to pick it up from the umudozi (seamstress) last night. I had to walk home in it once I had it on and they were so excited that I was now, 'dressing well.' They're not entirely comfortable, in the countryside, with women wearing pants all the time (especially if not part of a suit).
All of this is mostly amusing, though I never thought I'd miss wearing shorts or showing off my knees and shoulders so much...I often catch myself in the paradoxical thought that this would all be easier if I'd grown up in a society like this. By "this" I mean one in which women hold a different position and in which some resources and capital are relatively scarce. But then, I would not (in all likelihood) be where I am today and doing what I'm doing. I'm obviously thankful for all that I've had and have but I envy their comfort with this way of life, even if it's because it's all they've ever known.
I wonder about 'development' in these situations because it always seems to happen so unevenly and right now, they know their lives, and how to live them. There are some obvious improvements (safe drinking water, access to education, training and jobs) that can improve anyone's life but I'm just trying to see how it can all play out successfully. I guess I'm just having trouble seeing past the 'growing pains' associated with these changes. I wonder if, in 'development,' we'll ever be able to work ourselves out of a job

Back to schooolll....

9/8
Today was my second day at the wonderful pre-school that now makes up my days Mon.-Fri. We always start with songs (in 3 languages: Kinyarwanda, English, and French) out in the courtyard all with accompanying moves. Then I started with English class in the "Baby class." The students are between 3-4 and there are just under 20 of them. They all have to wear their uniforms which are little jumpers and plaid shirts (a.k.a. really adorable). I had no idea what they had 'studied' previously and no book to teach from. They are used to just seeing things written on a board and then repeating whatever the teacher says. They have memorized the alphabet and an alphabet chart "A is for apple, B is for ball, etc." However, I was gathering that they didn't really understand what that all meant. They learned a different version of the alphabet song in which they repeat L-Q so when they have to recite the alphabet without singing it they get caught in a loop at those letters...again contributing to my belief that they were blindly repeating.
I was still figuring it all out on my feet so with the littlest ones I just tried to get them to answer "What letter does cat start with?" To get that conveyed, I used my broken kinyarwanda and a lot of repetition myself. However, by the end some of them were actually getting the idea and I taught them a song. We'll be doing some review Thursday.

With the two sets of older kids I started with the classic song "We're Following the Leader" leading them around the room and doing different things with my hands, arms and feet. This lead me to the idea of teaching, "go, slow, stop, left, right, forward and backward" while they ran around the room. They seemed amused and by the end they actually understood what they meant even if they won't remember tomorrow. Again, repetition is key BUT I was encouraged by them answering my questions by the end of the lesson. The first step is adopting how I can teach to how they're used to learning while throwing in some new methods that might just help.

The moral of the story is that I learned a lot from them and really really enjoyed myself and can't wait to continue. I also noticed that after they lined up for bathroom time...none of them washed their hands. I think I'm gonna build kid-sized gerrycan hand washing stations outside with the nuns and then do a lesson on hand washing, with a song of course. They love to learn in song, that much I now know.

biking! and farming!

5/8
Oh man a la mancha! My first real long bike ride, which I had intended to be twice as long, just about killed me yesterday. Holy altitude batman! I didn't think it was that bad and then as i was making my way up a hill (that didn't LOOK that steep) I had to pull a Rwandan and walk my bike. I missed immediately the small amount of distance created by being ON the bike when the children, who had been running alongside my bike, started to close in. For some reason, they always do that, for a certain amount of time they're fine just watching and laughing at you from a few feet away and then after about 3 minutes, they always get closer! Maybe it's because that's when the crowd usually grows from about 10 to 50...or centripetal force or something...When they made it even more difficult to breathe (as if the altitude and my 3 months of no real exercise weren't enough), I just jumped back on my bike and rode the downhill all the way home. They need to find a way for you to just be able to ride bikes down hill without having to go uphill...or maybe it's the uphill that make the downhill seem so great.

Today was an ultimate Peace Corps day. I reluctantly rolled out of bed with the sun at 6 so I'd have time to make some breakfast and prepare myself for the hard work I knew was ahead of me. I met with the women with whom I'm hoping to work and got my hoe! We went down to the field and started at it. They were pleasantly surprised that I knew how to work my hoe (unfortunately, any jokes I could've made about working my hoe would've not had the desired effect). I worked for about an hour and a half in the UNGODLIEST of sun that made me remember that I was in Africa. We of course, attracted an audience several times, but I was amazed how many people just walked by. It was one of the only moments of anonymity I've had here and it was awesome. It felt like some degree of integration was starting to take place. To not be noticed because I was IN IT was awesome. If I had had Rwandan clothes and a head scarf on, I might've had even fewer people notice! This was my single most motivating moment in terms of integrating into the society. I don't know if it's my contrary nature or my previous experiences or my constant American desire to be an individual, but I've fought some aspects of the integration...I'm still figuring out what aspects I have to fight to keep and what I'm allowing myself to give up for the sake of comfort and understanding.
While working, I was using the time to try and process their conversation and see what I could make of it. At some point they felt the need to capture the moment and asked if I had a camera. Rwandans, I've found, are obsessed with photos. If you have them, they want to see them and sometimes ask to keep them (No no, that's my family.) If you have a camera, they MUST get a picture with you. I think it's partially because most muzungus just come and go. When I told them I'd be back Weds. and the next Friday, they were happy and surprised. I think I won some points and because I got some blisters but told them, "Ntakibazo." (No problem.) Even though, I have 5 really angry blisters on my hands now that were not happy when I went later to wash my clothes.
The nuns then insisted I sit and have some coffee/tea and some of their little beignets. I didn't protest, but I did ask for some water and got COLD water!! OUT OF A FRIDGE! It was EPIC! Then, I got cheese! ALSO from a FRIDGE! It was the best day ever. I felt very much like a Peace Corps Volunteer and also happy to be where I was and doing what I was doing. I have to remember those moments clearly when running water, 24hr stores, and shorts start to sound terribly appealing.

New View

3/8
My first glimpses of hope of actually having a purpose here! I haven't started at the pre-school yet, that'll be Monday. BUT I met with the women's group today that farms on the land that the nuns have. I'm meeting again with them on Friday to guhinga (farm) and just try and talk to them to get to know them better. I'm hoping I can ingratiate myself enough to be able to start asking about their lives and getting info that I can use to actually help them. Part of the plan is to help them with nutrition classes, which are great...BUT I'd like to find out what THEY think they need. I do like that part of the Peace Corps model of development. I do think it's extremely important to sit down and hash out what's important for them, what they see their problems as, and what they see as their resources and what they can bring to the table. It makes it exceedingly more difficult because you have to reconcile their grievances with your capabilities and what's real and possible in 2 years. I think this might be the most difficult part of PC, because you want to help so much and they want the help...but first you have to figure out how AND you have to accept that it's not possible to do all the things you want to do and they want you to help with. It's so hard to look these people in the eye and tell them, "I have no idea how to help...but I'll figure it out!"
Part of the problem with the muzungu mystique is that they expect you to be able to solve all their problems, quickly and easily. So I guess the first part of my work is explaining that it's not easy and that we'll have to figure it all out together.

Adventure TIME!

Adventures in Kigali- 27/7
My first time in the big city all on my own...rather lonely really. I am thankful for the free wifi and iced coffee more than anything. I did get some exciting life staples...like soy sauce and pancake mix and peanut M&Ms. I think they'll make it possible for me to survive here, but the oats I've been in search of are elusive. Thus, making my "baking no-bake cookies to make everyone like me" plan very difficult....Last chance at the restaurant supply store, although they're probably ungodly expensive. Last time I got them at T2000...but today for some reason, I couldn't find T2000.
Yeah, I've been there twice.
Yeah, I walked around in circles for half an hour.
No, I still couldn't find it.
But! I did finally find a can opener so I can feed my little Fivel kitty the sardines that have been sitting on my desk/table since I got them from my host fam. A really sweet thought...but I can't bring myself to eat them. Fivel, however, will LOVE them.
Now, I'm trying to leave Bourbon but I can't remember the kinyarwanda word for "check"...sometimes I really really miss having an LCF on-hand to answer all my language and cultural cues. My ultimate goal is to find someone at site like that. Seeing as I see my supervisor only about once a week, I'm thinking the two housepeople that work at my complex (who finally seem to like me) could be very helpful in that capacity. I will, of course, show my appreciation with no-bakes (once I find oats) and with peanut butter (now that I know they like it). I'm really happy PB is such a universal good. It proved a favorite in Brazil when I made PB cookies, ditto in Ireland (although my office preferred scones) and now here. Thanks George Washington Carver. You're my favorite.

Adventures in Nyagatare- 31/7
So an exciting week for me! Lots of change of scenery! On Sunday, Alex and I planned a trip to our exciting, buzzing metropolis of Nyagatare! Though neither of us had actually taken public transport there yet, we braved the wilds of this rugged East and made it! We met up with another PCV from the area and had a lovely (though crazily overpriced) brochette and frites lunch complete with salad! it was very exciting. I think i might have to resign myself to the fact that salads will now be onions, cabbage and shredded carrots. I'm gonna attempt to plant lettuce...but I first have to find a space to do it. Not sure how well received a garden in our courtyard would be. I might still push that idea and just get everybody working on it to make it a fun project. I never really started a garden before, but I have a book...the process will be like everything else here...figuring it out as I go along. Not a bad method really, once you embrace discomfort. That step is critical to life as a PCV. Walking to my bathroom, from my shower, cooking dinner, going to the store to buy bread, planting my herbs...all of this must be done FIRST with the idea that you WILL be watched as you do it, and SECOND that they will likely think you're nuts.
Last night, as I was making pineapple fried rice, i was cutting up my carrots and one of the cooks said to me quite simply, "those aren't good carrots." When I asked why she replied because they were so small. I tried to explain, they were just as good, just tasted a little different because they were baby carrots. Not entirely sure how that was received in the end. I also get a lot of scrutiny for not adding a lot of salt or oil to my cooking. Saying that I liked it that way wasn't really understood so I tried to explain a family history of heart disease. Luckily, as soon as you mention a doctor, while they may not agree, they'll accept that as reasoning. I'm trying to use all this, first, to understand how to live here and make myself accepted (if not understood) and second, to see how that will all affect what I'm trying to do here in terms of improving community health. Every experience here is a lesson.