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.