The End

It's after midnight here in Kennett Square, so it's officially Christmas Eve. I've been home for a week now and haven't found any time to write this blog! Turns out America is pretty overwhelming. Lots of people ask me if I've "adjusted." Like it's just a yes or no question. At moments it's so normal -- I'm happy to be here, and I'm blown away by how friendly people can be while working in the service industry (a foreign idea). But my mind is definitely still confused. Example #1: I was in the basement when my mom turned off the lights, but I didn't blink an eye because I assumed the power had gone out... until I remembered that that doesn't just randomly happen in America. #2: I was in my room when out of the corner of my eye I saw something move across the wall (my own shadow). I first assumed it was a lizard, obviously... but I guess they don't populate domestic interiors in suburban Pennsylvania. In December.

The fact that I traveled a bit on my way home, though, definitely helped to ease the transition. It certainly would have felt stranger being transplanted here directly from a rural African village. My time in Senegal was pretty luxurious as Peace Corps goes, I have to say. My friend Andy lives in a high-rise apartment overlooking the ocean in metropolitan Dakar (the nation's capital, population 2.5 million). Then I passed a few days at Emilie's site, Louga (regional capital, population 85,000). I've spent time in Senegal before so most of the sights weren't new to me, but it was nice to have a chance to relax and catch up with old friends. Emilie is quite proficient in Wolof, so it was fun to see her interact with neighbors and her host family. Speaking of which, check out the sweet impact Em has made in the form of American hand clapping games. Featured here is her young sister, Aïda Lô:

Other highlights of the time in Senegal included ever-entertaining market shopping, delicious food (both Senegalese and other international fare), cooking adventures, Christmas decorations, and a visit to a Belgian-owned liqueur factory that uses only local fruits. See pics for more brief stories.


But THE ABSOLUTE BEST part of my West Africa travels was... the opportunity to go back to my village in Mauritania!!! I wasn't sure if it would work out, and frankly it was a bit of a hassle to get there, unsurprisingly. The visa cost about $83, and transportation was as fickle and agonizing as ever. But it was all absolutely worth it.

One of my big concerns was that I wouldn't be able to speak Pulaar anymore, something kind of essential in my tiny village where that is the *only* thing spoken. When I took a bush taxi from Dakar to Rosso, the border town with Mauritania, there were a few Pulaars in the car with me. As I listened to them speak to each other and on the phone, I just kept smiling to myself as I recognized one thing after another. It was just like opening a floodgate in my brain, some torrential force that had been barricaded up for so long but suddenly came flowing out in abundance. Honestly, by the end of that six-hour ride, I felt just about fluent again! Which was certainly helpful for the border crossing. "Oh, she speaks Pulaar!" they all said. "Are you Peace Corps? You must be Peace Corps." Sadly, no one seemed to realize that PC has left the RIM (Mauritania).

I had so much anticipation as I finally pulled up to my village, sitting on a pile of pebbles in the back of a "prison van" delivery truck. In 18 months since my leaving, I had spoken to literally not a single person from Dar el Barka. What if the village looks different? What if my family's not there for some reason? What if I'm not welcome?


...not welcome?! HA!! I guess I was forgetting this was Mauritania, home of seriously the most hospitable people in the world. I got off the van and started shuffling across the village towards my family's house. It was 2:30 PM, a great time to arrive. A couple people recognized me on the way and called out to me by name. I smiled to myself, trying to contain my excitement. I rounded the last bend, spotting some of the girls' heads over the compound wall. I think Goggo spotted me first. "HAAAAAAIIII-YO, RAKY TUBAKEL!!!" She physically dropped what was in her hands and came racing to me, followed quickly by at least five others. They swallowed me in hugs and breathless greetings. The children hopped up and down. I had envisioned this moment for months upon months, and in the end it was better than I'd dreamed.

I spent less than two days in Dar el Barka, but truthfully that was all I needed. It gave me such a wonderful sense of closure that I just had been lacking. And other than the little kids getting taller, everything was exactly the same; that was somehow so comforting to me. When I rode away this time, with hennaed feet and beaded wrists, it was not with sadness but with peace.


The flight to Washington, D.C., was uneventful and fine. I got through customs very quickly, even though the agent seemed surprised when he read the list of countries I'd visited during my stay abroad: Rwanda, Uganda, Togo, Benin, Senegal, Mauritania. He asked what I was doing there, and I hesitated before deciding to answer, "Visiting friends." He gave me a skeptical look. "You have friends in all these places?" Yes sir, in fact I do!

For my welcome to America, my mom's car broke down on the drive home, just as a snowstorm kicked up. While we sat at the garage, everyone seemed so apologetic -- about the snow, about the car, about the wait. I just laughed. I was thrilled! There was a 7/11 right next door where I could get SO MANY KINDS of food!! So my first "meal" in America was dried-out chicken tenders with bleu cheese dressing, a taquito, a muffin, and overly sweet cappuccino. And in that moment I was so excited about seeing snow that I didn't even much mind that my only protection against it was my thin rain jacket (all I had!).


And that's all, folks. Thanks for following me on this meandering, two-and-a-half-year-long Peace Corps journey. Murabeho from Rwanda and... well, there's no word for goodbye in Pulaar. You just say thank you: On jaaraama.

P.S. I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW FAST THE INTERNET IS HERE. God bless America.

Been in Bénin

On November 13, I passed through (and attempted to sleep in) five countries and thus survived the most extensive solo travel experience of my life! At about 10:45 PM the night before, I took a moto to the tiny international airport in Kigali, Rwanda. The "system was down," so they couldn't confirm my booking -- but no problem, they just issued me a handwritten ticket. Seat number: "FREE." Awesome. We took off half an hour ahead of schedule, at 1:30 AM. Good thing, because after less than an hour in the air we had a surprise unscheduled stop to board passengers in Entebbe, Uganda. But we made it to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in plenty of time for my next flight. The Addis airport is a great place for people-watching, as it's a hub for much of Africa and also the Middle East. And I would like to go on record as saying that Ethiopian women are stunning!

I found my connecting terminal, where we boarded an hour late for the flight to Lomé, Togo (with onward service to Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire -- you're forgiven if you've never heard of these places!). Fun fact: I was literally the only white person on the entire Boeing 757. These aren't hot spots on the tourist circuit, I guess. We landed around 1 PM local time, and as I stepped off the plane in exhausted excitement, a brick wall of heat rocked me. I had been mentally preparing myself for the fact that West Africa is considerably hotter than eternal-spring Rwanda, but it still just takes the breath out of you.

All things considered, my arrival in Togo went pretty smoothly. At the airport I needed to purchase an entrance visa... which had to be paid for in West African CFA francs... which cannot be obtained outside of West Africa... and yet there is no place to exchange money before the immigration checkpoint. (In moments like this, you just think, surely I am not the first person who has ever had this issue in the history of this airport.) The immigration official was a little testy with me, but fortunately he allowed a guard to escort me out into the lobby where I could change my money. I got my visa without too much hassle, as well as my one checked bag that had arrived safe and sound.

I found a local cab to take me to the bush taxi park, which was little more than a deserted dirt lot with a few broken-down vehicles on offer. I found one headed to Cotonou, Bénin, and we were on our way immediately, picking up other passengers along the way. The border crossing was painless, and even after hitting some traffic and rain (plus losing an hour due to a time difference), by about 8:30 PM I made it to the Cotonou Peace Corps office where I was warmly received by my friend Dave.


Dave and I went to Boston University together and met in our a cappella group, In Achord. He has been a PCV in Bénin since July 2009. For his first year he was posted to a tiny village where he had no electricity or running water and was the only foreigner around. But now he's moved up in the world, assuming the big bad position of "PCVL" (Peace Corps Volunteer-Leader). My PC programs did not have this role in Mauritania or Rwanda, but here in Bénin it's a pretty sweet deal for Dave. He lives at and maintains a regional "workstation" for other PCVs, and he serves as a community liaison in Parakou, the departmental capital of about 200,000 people. I can attest that Dave works really hard and is kept quite busy! And since he did put in the time roughing it last year, I don't begrudge him that he now lives in a gorgeous palace (okay, Peace Corps-grade palace) and has the highest-speed wireless internet I've ever encountered in Africa.

So what have I been up to here? Became well-acquainted with the delicious, abundant, and cheap street food. Celebrated the Muslim holiday Tabaski (Eid al-Adha) with some Beninese friends. Sat in on a Bariba language lesson and a meeting at the UN Population Fund. Got a private guided tour of an up-and-coming local music history museum. Visited another PCV in a more remote post (and felt some oddly fond nostalgia for the familiar blistering heat of an African day without electricity). Went for bike rides around town, and in related news remembered how sadly out of shape I am. Spent a lovely Thanksgiving with the greater PC family, about 15 of us together.

Don't want to ramble, so I'll let some pictures do the talking...

Murabeho, Rwanda

I'm thisclose to being an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, meaning I completed my service successfully). Tomorrow is the official day, but it's a PC holiday for Veterans Day so I need to have all my stuff closed out by the end of today. Currently I'm just sitting in the PC bureau in Kigali, waiting on staff to sign some documents for me and give me more documents to keep track of. Your taxpayer dollars at work, folks!

Among all my "last" experiences in Rwanda, I had a lovely evening with some PCV friends on Monday night. There is a great restaurant in Kigali that hosts trivia nights once a week, but because I lived too far away and worked during the week, I hadn't gotten to go to them. Let me insert here that if you aren't already aware, I'm kiiiind of obsessed with pub trivia nights in America. Let me also say that during my first month at site in Rwanda, I had a lot of down time, and I memorized all the world capitals. Yes. Kind of just for fun, but also with the hope that SOMEDAY, SOMEWHERE, this knowledge would enable me to wow my teammates and rival teams at a pub trivia night. Anyway, I'll cut to the chase: it happened. It was my crowning achievement. Capital of Montenegro? Podgorica, bam! I was absurdly happy.

A lot of people have been asking me how I "feel" with respect to COSing, or closing my service. Are you sooo excited? Are you really sad? Is it so weird? And usually I've been responding simply that I'm at peace with it (no pun intended). I certainly enjoyed my Peace Corps service, and I'm really glad I decided to do it. But for me, I'm definitely ready to be coming home to the grand ol' USA. I'm not counting the minutes and hours until I get on a plane, but I'm ready. I will leave Rwanda at 2:00 AM local time on Friday night/Saturday morning. (Then my crazy epic travel adventures begin!)

I moved out of my site on October 25 without too much fanfare, which was fine. I don't like super emotional goodbyes; I have my memories and I am content with them. Then I headed to Nyanza, 90 minutes south of Kigali, to help with pre-service training (PST) for our newest arrivals. About 70 trainees are learning all the ins and outs of Peace Corps and will swear in at the beginning of January. I assisted mainly with TEFL-related training, talking about my experience being a teacher in Rwanda. The trainees are great and very motivated, full of questions. One thing that I was asked several times was how often I'd gotten sick in Rwanda. "Never!" was my emphatic response.

So, of course, then I became extremely ill during my second week in Nyanza. It seemed like it could possibly be malaria at the onset, but the final diagnosis was tonsillitis. I never knew that could affect a person so seriously, but I was laid up in bed for 72 straight hours! Let's just say that of the symptoms listed on Wikipedia, I had ALL of them:

* red and/or swollen tonsils
* white or yellow patches on the tonsils
* tender, stiff, and/or swollen neck
* bad breath
* sore throat
* painful or difficult swallowing
* cough
* headache
* sore eyes
* body aches
* fever
* chills
* nasal congestions

But our Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) is the greatest, and he got me everything I needed to be back up to snuff in a few days. Sadly, the last random issue is that this week I have some unexplained rash on my chest and back, which the doctor says does not seem to be from my meds... so who knows! At least it's not bothering me; I just look like a leper. Ah, Peace Corps.

Speaking of how I look, I'd wanted to post some pictures of all my African outfits. I'd had a bunch made in Mauritania because that was all we really wore there, no Western clothes. As I'm leaving Rwanda, I'm giving almost all my clothing away, so these photos will serve as the last documentation. Enjoy.

Freestyle Farewell

You're in for a treat! Here it is, in all its glory, what you've all been waiting for...

(There was more to it, of course, but unfortunately I only captured a portion of it on film. You get the drift.)

Bye-bye, Buyoga

I proctored 8 final exams, each 2-3 hours long. I graded my 285 English exams. I recorded all of their grades in my computer and also in my grade book. Then I calculated end-of-year grades for every one of my students. If I were a typical Rwandan teacher, after those calculations I'd get to copy every figure onto a grade reporting sheet. Let's do the math: (2 marks per term x 3 terms + 1 grand total) x 285 students = 1,995 numbers to write by hand. And let's be honest, if I were a typical Rwandan teacher at my school, I'd have more than 285 students and more than one subject's exam to grade -- but you get the idea. Anyway, I took a shortcut and printed out all my grades in nice pretty spreadsheets. Oh, how I love thee, Microsoft Excel.

The monotony of grading was tempered with the cute little personal notes that many kids include on their exams. Examples (you can click to enlarge):

With that, my responsibilities at Buyoga Secondary School were complete. But as Rwandans love ceremonies, they insisted on having a send-off celebration for me. It was held where all large school gatherings are, in the cafeteria. They remove all the tables and arrange the benches in rows for the spectators. But inevitably there is not enough space, so kids jam together as tightly as possible and the latecomers stand crowded in the back.

The festivities began with a few students doing traditional dance while another small group sang and played a drum. At first I didn't pay much attention to the Kinyarwanda lyrics, but then my ears seemed to hear "Juliana." As I listened closer, I heard that the chorus did indeed sing my name, followed by umurezi wacu na mama we meaning "our teacher and her mother." So I could only assume this was a little piece penned in my honor (and my mom's, who the kids all talk about ever since she visited in July). Really sweet.


(Disclaimer: These ceremony pictures are not from my camera. It's somewhat unbelievable to me that the quality is so terrible, because the school actually has a really nice 10.1-megapixel camera. C'est la vie.)
But that wasn't the only original composition! Some time later, two of my boys took the floor, each clutching a microphone at a rapper's angle. They proceeded to perform an amazing a cappella freestyle song that they had written for me. It was both touching and hilarious. If by chance you are familiar with Kanye West's 808s & Heartbreak, it reminded me of the last track "Pinocchio Story." Basically the boys screamed out my name many times over, dropped to their knees in anguish, and kept returning to the chorus: "I TAKE THIS MICROPHONE / TO TELL YOU BYE-BYE..." I have some priceless video of it, so maybe if I can get to fast internet sometime soon, I'll try to upload it because this description really doesn't do it justice.


At the end of the ceremony, the headmaster and the "head girl" and "head boy" student representatives presented me with a small gift: a hand-carved wooden map of Rwanda. It was unexpected and really thoughtful.


After that two-hour long ordeal, there was essentially an after-party in the school library. In attendance were about half of the teachers, a handful of select students, the headmaster, and a local government rep (I guess to make everything more official). Of course, in typical Rwandan fashion, EVERY SINGLE PERSON had to make a personal speech to me. It's kind of obnoxious, not to mention time-consuming. Over half of the people who gave speeches have hardly said two words to me this entire year, but sure enough they get up there and talk for 5 or 10 minutes straight. I'm continually amazed how every Rwandan is so good at speaking extemporaneously, especially since sometimes the emcee cold-calls with a specific topic ("Antoine, tell what you learned during the teachers' classes with Julie Ann"). The payoff for enduring the never-ending speeches was a small feast of goat brochettes, seasoned potatoes, and Fanta. Yum yum yum.

Many of you have asked me when I'm leaving Rwanda. I deliberately hadn't mentioned it yet because the plans were a little bit up in the air, due to some miscommunication that I don't need to rant about here. In the end, I am moving out of my Buyoga this Monday, October 25. For two weeks I will be in Nyanza, helping to train our newest class of Peace Corps recruits. Then I will leave Rwanda on the evening of Friday, November 12. (So, please don't send me any more mail! There's not enough time to ensure I'll receive it.) I'm planning an epic journey through West Africa, and at last I will be back in the States sometime in December. I'll be home for Christmas... =)

My favorite goodbye experience was heading to the Buyoga market on Thursday to bid farewell to my tomato lady, Mukashyaka. This woman brought me joy every single market day. Here's a typical exchange: she lights up when she sees me coming, and she greets me in Kinyarwanda. Then she says, "Ushaka inyanya -- You want tomatoes." It's a statement, not a question. I ask how much. "Today, they're 500 for the small bowl. But FOR YOU, 400!" Then she personally picks out the best-looking ones, fills the bowl to overflowing, and throws about 5 extra tomatoes in my bag for free. Then she says, "And I know you love green peppers, too!" and she dashes off to a nearby stall to pick the best peppers for me there. She brings those back and throws them in my bag, for an equally rock-bottom price (not sure how that works, since the peppers aren't hers to begin with). "So you'll come back!" she explains. I thank her profusely, and she just says, "You're my good customer."

So I took her a small gift of a scarf I was going to get rid of anyway. She was so taken aback! Then I really floored her by asking to take her picture. She did the typical Rwandan pose of looking down with a serious expression -- but she gives herself away. Her eyes are smiling.

A Red, Red Rose

Our third trimester of school was extremely short. After I gave my midterm (belatedly), I was left with a meager total of 5 class periods before final exams. I had really wanted to look at some poetry with my kids, just as a very brief introduction, but would there be time now? And let's be honest, my students can barely speak English. Could they handle poetry? Did I dare?

Why not! With the short amount of time, I chose to focus on just five poetic devices: imagery, end rhyme, repetition, simile, and alliteration. I spent a good amount of time searching for works that would be simple enough for my students to grasp. The best piece turned out to be "A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns. Where feasible, I took the liberty of updating much of the old Scottish language into more comprehensible terms -- e.g. a' the seas gang dry became "all the seas go dry" -- but some of it I couldn't bring myself to defile in that way. (I attempted to explain to the kids about outdated language that they should not use; nevertheless, I have no doubt that thanks to me, at least one Rwandan teenage boy will be writing a love note to his "bonnie lass.")

"A Red, Red Rose" was an especially good example because it's so lyrical and has a distinct rhythm. And so I had the kids practice reading out loud as a class, first repeating after me one line at a time, then reciting a whole stanza at once. It was a blast. I have one particular student who is quite good at English, but I think school bores him entirely, so about 80% of the time he skips my class in favor of wandering around outside. But on the day that we were boisterously reciting, he heard us from wherever he was, and I noticed him quietly creep back in the room and sit in his seat. While we all clapped the beat to keep time, he softly tapped the table in front of him. One small success.

As we discussed the meaning of the poem -- that he will love her until the seas are dry, that he will come 10,000 miles to see her -- an unconvinced Fanny cried out, "Teacher! He is a LIAR!" Then Jonathan raised his hand. "Question, teacher. Is this hip-hop, or R&B?" I laughed. I had already noted that Robert Burns lived from 1759-96. I pointed to those dates on the board. "Ah," nodded Aimable, understanding: "It is old-school."

My final class period with each of my sections was special. Because the kids looove American pop music, I brought my iPod and speakers and let them listen to a song. But the catch was that I made them identify poetic devices -- who knew Jordin Sparks & Chris Brown were so prolific with end rhyme and imagery? There's even a simile! "Losing you is like living in a world with no air," which one of my sweethearts announced that he would like to change to "Losing you is like living in Buyoga with no English teacher." Love.


As I exited one class, a student caught me outside the door and presented me with a small folded-up note:

BECOUSE YO TEACH ME POEM
I WRITE TO YOU THIS POEM
THIS IS MY GIFT TO YOU
THANK YOU

"MY BEST KNOWLEDGE"

My knowledge,
deep of my knowledge.
I respect you until land become sky.

I know,
I know your kindness,
when you become our teacher,
who teaching well.
Your ideas is well,
is well like my father,
My father is a Rwandan.

I want to be with you,
you you are my happy,
my happy like my study.
My study when continue,
I'm never forget my best knowledge.
Throughout the year, I've really tried to give a lot of positive reinforcement, since in general students just don't receive much of it here. So I always give stickers on every assignment for good marks, and I also give an additional prize of a fancy American pen for each section's top scorer on my tests. As the year draws to a close, I wanted to give special recognition to the kids who have continuously worked hard. Since I'm a nerd who's obsessed with Microsoft Excel, it wasn't hard to find the students who have achieved an average of 85% or more for the entire year, and these I invited to a special ceremony. I gave them each a certificate (because THEY LOVE CERTIFICATES), and they also each got to choose a small gift from my smorgasbord of American magazines, books, pens, notebooks, etc. (This served the added function of helping me to empty my house before I move out in a few weeks!)


And thus ends my formal teaching experience in Africa. I have to say, though I miss Mauritania all the time and especially my host family there, my work has been far more rewarding in Rwanda. My students here are, simply put, the best. And certainly the best part of my time in this country. And I will luve thee still, my dear(s), / While the sands o' life shall run.

Why even plan?

I needed to go to Kigali for a training development workshop for a few days, but I really didn't want to miss any precious class time. I teach six sections of the same level, and it's very frustrating when due to missed classes they're are at all different points and then I try to coordinate things like scheduling a midterm. Thus, I went to great lengths beforehand to arrange for making up all the hours I would miss. I juggled stuff around, once got usurped by another teacher and had to re-reschedule, worked my booty off -- but I did it. I was set to go away for the conference, and when I returned all my sections would be on the same page again.

...or so I PLANNED...

Honestly, I never learn. I know I have previously mentioned on here the frustration of "surprise holidays," but I really can't over-emphasize how often they seem to crop up and drive me insane. (A subset would also be "surprise staff meetings," which are almost always held during teaching hours.) People here often ask me some variation of, "How can Rwanda become like America?" And in situations like this one, I just want to scream: STOP! DOING! THIS! Stop missing all these class hours for nonsensical reasons, or your kids will never, ever get ahead.

This time it was a national holiday for President Paul Kagame's second swearing-in, on a Monday. Banks, post offices, schools, all closed. Then it was announced the following Thursday that the next day would be yet another national public holiday, for the Muslim celebration of Eid ul-Fitr. This day off in particular made me even angrier than the first. Let me just say, I love Muslims, and I have much respect for Islam after my 14 months living in Mauritania. Commemorating the end of Ramadan is an important event -- FOR MUSLIMS. Do you know what percentage of Rwanda is Muslim? Reports vary, but my almanac says 5%. And more importantly, that 5% is all but ignored the other 364 days of the year. In public schools and public ceremonies, prayers are always given. And they are always given to a Christian God and Jesus, never to Allah. It just disgusted me that suddenly when an opportunity arose for another day off, everyone would embrace the Muslim population, and only then.

Anyway, I digress. So my classes were all messed up despite my best efforts, and I had to push back my midterm by a week and add some additional "filler" lessons for the sections who would have extra class hours before the exam. When I went to grade them, the first class I looked at performed so well that I wondered if I had made the exam too easy. The next class was the same, and the next. But then two of my sections, even some of the best students, scored rather atrociously. I was so confused, at first. What's going on here? Then I realized: Duh. What do you know. The two sections who did so terribly were the exact same two who did not get the extra in-class practice. And the results were undeniable: the median grade in my worst-performing class was a full 20% lower than that of the best class. It sickened me to discover. I'm sorry, children. I'm so, so sorry.

In other news, rainy season is back in business, and with it my treacherous-moto-rides-of-death down my mountain. I achieved possibly my all-time worst moto experience not too long ago. When we set out on the 45-minute ride back to my village, the weather was very overcast, but dry. Then before long, it started POURING. It got extremely cold, and a dense fog surrounded us. My bag was getting absolutely drenched, and I felt certain that my computer inside was done for. Helplessly I just sat shivering behind the driver and fought the urge to cry in misery. My guy drove very slowly so that we wouldn't wipe out, but in the moment I couldn't be grateful because I so desperately wanted to be in my house, dry and warm. Miraculously, the computer survived relatively protected. The worst damage was to a paperback novel I'd thrown on top of the bag, but even that dried out okay.

My PCV friend Mandy came to visit my site for a weekend, which was a good time. I gave her the grand tour, which mainly consists of showing off the animals:

Even got Mandy to milk a cow for the first time!


And we couldn't miss the opportunity to cook up some delicious Mexican cuisine. We noted how for this same meal in America, we would just buy a bag of tortillas, buy a bag of shredded cheese, buy a jar of salsa, buy a tub of guacamole. All we'd have to "do" really would be to heat up some meat. Here, we rolled out the tortillas by hand, used a veggie peeler to shred the cheese that Mandy had carted literally halfway across the country, bleached and then chopped up tomatoes for the salsa, mashed an avocado for the guac but didn't have any lemons so made do with a bit of vinegar, then warmed and seasoned the canned chicken sent in a care package from my mom. Ah, that Peace Corps get-up-and-go.

Stop telephoning me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e

There is better cell phone coverage in Rwanda than in much of rural America (granted, the country's the size of Maryland, but still). Go to the smallest possible barely-a-village you can find, and someone there will own a cell phone. It doesn't matter if they don't have electricity; many small shops or even government offices will allow people to charge their phones for a small fee.

It's easy and relatively cheap to get yourself a phone number. There are no contracts to sign up for. You buy a SIM card from a little corner store, for $1.70 or less. You pop this into any cell phone, and you're good to go. The most economical phone model only costs about $16. Then you buy phone credit as you go in the form of a little card with a code you punch into your phone. You can check your credit balance on the phone at any time. It's pretty efficient.

You are only charged for outgoing calls, never for incoming. Consequently, if someone wants to talk with you but they're low on credit, they will "beep" or "flash" you -- that is, call you so it rings once, then quickly hang up. If you are the recipient of a flash, you are expected to call that person back (and spend your own money on it). It's a pretty annoying practice, if you ask me. There are only a handful of people from whom I'll tolerate a flash.

When you do answer the phone, who speaks first? This is always a fun game. A lot of times here, it's the person making the call, not the one answering. I can't help but find it a little disconcerting when I am just bringing the phone to my ear and I already hear someone greeting me. But sometimes they do wait for you to speak first, which brings us to the next question -- what does one say when answering the phone? The French "Allô" ("Hello") is possible, but more common is the French "Oui?" (or Kinyarwanda translation, "Karame?") At first I hated this, because it's like you're answering and just snapping, "Yeah? What?" But I confess that now this is actually how I answer the phone when speaking with Rwandans.

And to end the conversation? Well, that's easy. Just hang up. No need for goodbye! When you've said all you need to say, hit "end" -- as quickly as possible, it seems. You get charged by the second, after all.

Now in the U.S. we have a certain social convention that says you're not supposed to call most people, say, before 8 AM or after 9:30 PM. This rule DOES NOT APPLY in Rwanda, to my deep regret. Here it's acceptable to call absolutely anytime you feel like it. I have woken up to the sound of my phone ringing as early as 4:40 AM (seriously) and as late as 10:45 PM (I tend to get in bed at 8), and these calls were from people I barely know. Charming.

But if you don't answer the phone when someone calls you? Well, God help you. Rwandans cannot fathom what you could EVER POSSIBLY be doing that would preclude you from picking up their call. It is not only acceptable, but in fact expected that you answer your phone any time it is ringing. This includes: if you are on public transportation, if you are a teacher teaching a class, if you are sitting in a meeting, if you are in church, even if you are the guest of honor at a special ceremony. Accordingly, when I don't answer my phone because perhaps I've decided that I don't want to speak to that particular caller, the person will continue to call. And call. And call. And call. Twenty times consecutively is not unheard of.

We have another social convention in the U.S. that says you probably shouldn't pass around someone's phone number without their consent (be it implicit or explicit). Nope. Not here. Rwandans share my number like it's going out of style. I can't confirm the following chain of events, but I honestly believe something like this has happened more than once:

1: I give a moto-taxi driver my number while arranging a pick-up.
2: This driver then, I can only assume, tells all his friends, "Hey, guys! I met a muzungu, I even have her number!"
3: Random men I've never met start calling me incessantly (flashing me, more likely) and attempt to practice their very, very poor English.

Sigh.

So the title of this blog comes from, of course, the Lady Gaga song "Telephone." The lyric above is what I often sing out loud while trying to send a telepathic message to my relentless caller.

To close, in other news, today marks two years since I first swore in as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mauritania. I shaved my head. Hair grows back.


(If you never got to before, you can see more head-shaving photos here.)

Welcome to my crib

(I know I promised this some time ago, but if I may quote two clichés: easier said than done & better late than never...)

So I hope you're happy! =P I just sat in this chair for the better part of an entire day in order to upload this short video, a tour of my house in the village. I wanted to add some captions to it, but at this point I'm too sick of sitting here! You're all smarties -- I think you'll be able to figure most things out. And sorry the quality isn't great, but it gives you an idea.

Disclaimer: For the record, I know that I'm not "roughing it" as much as I could be, and not nearly as much as I did before in Mauritania. I'm grateful for my nice little house here!

Mama meets Africa!

View Larger Map
Total time Mom spent in Africa: 21 days
Total time on public transportation: 55 hours

But, if I can speak for both of us, it was a glorious time! First we spent four days at my site, the little village of Buyoga. Usually I am the only white person for miles around, so since my mother doubled the local muzungu population, we attracted quite a lot of attention. In particular, my students were SO excited to receive her. They even arranged a precious little welcome ceremony, where different groups performed traditional dance and modern hip-hop routines. There were also a number of "speeches" made in careful halting English.

It was really fun to get to share with my mom how I live here. First order of business, a tutorial on the squat-latrine -- yes, it may sound scary, but I pride myself on keeping mine really clean! Then I showed Mom how I wash my hands, cook food, wash dishes, bathe, do laundry... no simple tasks without running water. I also taught her about the different rhythm of village life, and I was pleased she was already getting the idea when after the second day she was slipping on her pajamas by 6:30pm! (Once the sun goes down, what is there to be awake for?)

After Buyoga, it was on to the south of Rwanda. We visited Butare a.k.a Huye, where there is an informative national museum and a newly opened ice cream shop (the first of its kind in Rwanda!). I also took my mom to our favorite local "pork joint," where we buy fried pork by the kilo. My friends and I typically share a platter between just two people, so that's 1.1 pounds of meat apiece. Mmmm. Then we had a lovely drive through a rainforest (Nyungwe) to reach Nyamasheke, right on Lake Kivu. There was a Peace Corps kickball tournament there, so Mama got to meet some of my PCV friends.

Next came the big day we'd especially been waiting for, the gem of tourism in Rwanda: GORILLA TRACKING! Less than 700 mountain gorillas exist worldwide, and all of them live in the wild in a region that spans Rwanda, Uganda, and D.R. Congo. (These are the same gorillas of Dian Fossey/Gorillas in the Mist fame.) For visiting the gorillas, the limited number of daily permits sells out months in advance, but we had secured ours for July 27.

We got a car to drive us up to the entrance of Volcanoes National Park, where we were assigned to a group of gorillas. Ours was called Hirwa, which means Luck. There is a maximum of 8 people who may visit any group on a given day. You set out together with a park guide, who communicates via walkie-talkie with trackers who locate the animals. The gorillas make new nests every night, but normally only travel about 1 kilometer per day.

We walked for about an hour, ascending the mountain, pushing our way through the dense forest. Then the guide told us to leave all our things with the guards who were with us, and we were able to bring only our cameras as we continued. And suddenly, there they were. Right in front of us. In a small clearing, the massive silverback "daddy" lounged on his stomach, scratching his chin, completely indifferent to our company. A mama (one of six in the family) tended her two tots in a bush to our left. The rule in the park is to maintain a distance of 7 meters from the gorillas -- but the gorillas themselves of course don't mind this restriction, and one pushed right by us when we evidently were in the way of his crossing. It was incredible!

We were allowed one hour to spend observing the gorillas, an hour that passed far too quickly but was unforgettable. My photos aren't spectacular because I don't have a fancy enough camera and flashes were forbidden (plus I'm sure my hands were shaking!), but I do have a few shots and I managed to post one video too:



Mom and I spent a lovely afternoon and overnight in Gisenyi on Lake Kivu before we crossed the border north to Uganda. We have a friend from home, Janet, who's been there for five years now working as an engineer, so we stayed with her and enjoyed her generous hospitality. She lives with a Ugandan friend "Mama Jordan" (meaning the mother of first-born Jordan) and her two children, Jordan and little Janet. While in Uganda, we traveled to Jinja, self-proclaimed adventure capital of East Africa. We white-water rafted on the Nile River! It was awesome, yet another truly memorable experience. We camped right on the shores there, and then the next day we hiked around Mabira Forest and spotted some monkeys.

We also accompanied Janet on a site visit to consult on some local water projects. It was neat just to see more of the countryside and to compare. In general, my impression of Uganda was that the poor are poorer and the rich are richer than in Rwanda -- but I don't know if that's accurate. There is an abundance of street food, which is heavenly since it's illegal in Rwanda. There is also more litter, though. The landscape is different, too, because whereas Rwanda is one rolling hill after another, Uganda has a considerable amount of flat space, and at a lower altitude (therefore hotter). We visited a tiny rural church literally made out of sticks, and a lavishly funded orphanage/school where the children have an impressive show choir:



Our last couple days together were spent relaxing and unwinding a bit back in Kigali. After mostly roughing it in "austere" rooms with questionable foam-pad beds and occasional hot water, we upped the ante a bit and lodged in relative extravagance at Step Town Motel, for which I'd like to give an enthusiastic recommendation. They just opened within the past year, so they're pretty unknown in Rwanda, but we had a fabulous stay and the staff were excellent.

I whittled my array of photos down to a manageable amount, so please enjoy. (The fact that I was able to upload this many pics AND two videos is courtesy also of Step Town Motel and its incomparable wireless internet!) You can browse through the slideshow below, or click through to the external Picasa album to see the photos in larger format.

Catching up

You may have noticed I've been terribly, terribly delinquent with my updates. I apologize! I have lots of excuses, but they're all pretty lame and predictable: busy, work, traveling, sick, etc. etc. (Nothing cool like burning my face off this time.) And the longer I wait, the more I want to tell you! Sigh... I don't like doing mega-long blog entries, so I will choose only the highlights and also try to break this up with a few sub-headings for you.

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Surprise!
Trimester 2 of school is winding to a close. The close-of-term date that the Ministry of Education originally gave us was July 23. It's assumed that this is the day kids get to leave (it's boarding school), so I guessed that exams would be the week leading up to that, putting the last day of classes around July 16. Then I found out that teachers demand an entire week for grading, so the last day of classes would be more like July 9.

I went to teach last Thursday, July 1. It was Rwandan Independence Day. I knew it was Independence Day. Several times now in the past weeks, I've had this conversation:

- Will we have class on July 1st?
- Why? What's July 1st?
- Well, it's your Independence Day. [I point to the red-inked date on the wall calendar.]
- Oh, is it? No, yeah, of course we'll have class. Independence Day isn't really a big deal.
- Really? Because it's important to me to plan. It's near the end of the term, and I want to know how many more class periods I'll see my kids.
- Yes yes yes, of course. No, we'll definitely have class.

So, clearly we had no class that day. I reeeeally should know better by now -- this happened frequently in Mauritania, too. It's like every time an ANNUAL holiday comes up, it seems to be the first time anyone has ever heard of it and they have no recollection of it until the day before. Or day of.

In addition to the surprise holiday, we had a surprise teachers' meeting that day, in which we discussed the proposed exam schedule. "OK," says the school director, "so the last day of classes is tomorrow. Right?" Everyone agrees. What?! Tomorrow? And you're telling me this now?? That's just great, because I don't even teach on Fridays, meaning I've unwittingly already taught my "last" class to each of my sections. I was not pleased. The final compromise was that this week will be a week of "revision" (review), but if teachers want to still teach last-minute things, they have that option. Fine. I figured I'd have two hours left with each of my classes, and I would be able to get them all on the same page before exam time. I planned accordingly.

Came to school this morning for my 8:00 class. I found only one person in the teachers' lounge, but that's not strange because teachers are often late (a fact my director pointed out to them during the staff meeting, saying that Julie Ann is the only teacher who is always on time -- not awkward at all, yes). But this teacher then informed me that it was a holiday today. Again? Surprise! Two surprise holidays in a row! Happy Liberation Day (which was really yesterday, the 4th, but why not take an extra day off school as well?).

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Live from Buyoga...
I saw an idea in one of my language teaching manuals about having kids prepare a "newscast" presentation in groups. They suggested you show an example clip first so that the students clearly understand what's expected. Well, that's great, I thought, but I don't have anything to show them... or do I? So, some PCV friends helped me out, and I had far too much fun making a 5-minute faux-newscast, complete with amazing transitions and news-y music. (Wish I could post it here for you, but my connection can't handle that!) I wasn't sure if the kids would "get" it, but they seemed pretty into it when I showed them in class on my laptop. Then I divided them in groups of 6 and set them free over the weekend to prepare.

I had a blast watching them present. Some of them really got into it! One boy fashioned a necktie out of notebook paper, looking very sharp. I had some real characters, trying on their best enthusiastic American accents (which more resemble a speech impediment) and using some of the same tag lines I'd had in my sample newscast -- they have great memories.

Maybe my favorite group set up a desk like a little panel, and the "host" stuck his compass in it, pointy-side down, with the pencil directed towards him like a microphone. He finished his bit and the next girl sat down, but she was nervous so she didn't notice the compass there and was not facing it. Her group was trying to whisper to her, but she didn't hear, so the host walked over and casually spun the "microphone" pencil so that it was pointed toward her. I was cracking up!


And then their stories... I told them the news didn't need to be true, since I was more concerned about their presentation abilities than actual content. One group reported on our school's football club in a match with Manchester United, and another had Beyoncé and Rihanna coming to perform a concert in our school refectory. One girl cast all her friends as Miss Rwanda, Miss East Africa, etc., and had them all in attendance at the BET Awards. A few other stories of interest, in their own words:

"In last day America told to Iran let to produce nuclear weapon. Iran refused and answer America we are continue to produce them. If you want to fight us come we are ready to fight with you."

"The new singer called Lady Gaga who likes to wear knickers in her clips now is going to stop wearing knickers in her clips."

"On Friday 51st Septdecember 2030, in Amazone forest the lion was collided with mosquiato, after that accident the lion was dead. But mosquiato had only problem on leg and on buttocks, after that accident two elephants quickly take a mosquiato to the hospital and doctors told us that tomorrow this mosquiato will be allright."

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Little Miss Sunshine
Up until now, I haven't really had a Kinyarwanda name in my village. During training, my teachers had given me the name Kamikazi, which I thought was hilarious and awesome. It means little queen. I tried to introduce myself with that name when I arrived to my village, but the few people I told just laughed and asked what my real name was, so I gave up.

Now that I've been here a while, I decided to let my students choose and vote on a name for me. Their suggestions were super sweet and touching. In the end, the winner far and away was Akazuba, which is a diminutive form of the word "sun." One group summed up their choice thus:

"We name you this name because it's that we love and you shine and you are white as sun. Many people like the sun in the morning and all students love our teacher as that sun. Before that you come here, our knowledge was low, we were like in darkness. But after that you get here we're in light. It means that you are like a sun in darkness. Thank you!!!"



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Umunyarwandakazi
I got my hair braided again, with extensions. This woman did a much more thorough job than I had last time, and everything's holding up well after about 19 days now. Even in Kigali people have been impressed that I got it done in the village. It took 7 hours and cost 5000 francs, about $10. Now, I'm told, I am a true umunyarwandakazi -- Rwandan woman.



P.S. My mom arrives on July 17, to stay for 3 weeks! Not sure that I'll get to update while she's here, so perhaps expect another short hiatus... =) I promise to take lots of pics!

Relishing Rubavu

This past week I was with 30 other PCVs from my class at an "in-service training" (IST) conference. These events can feel a little tedious, but -- perhaps as consolation -- they're typically held at very desirable locations. Our IST was in Rubavu, also known as Gisenyi. In Rwanda's burgeoning tourism industry, this spot is one of the highlights. It's on the shores of Lake Kivu, touching Goma in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Our hotel was gorgeous, tucked up on a hillside overlooking the lake:

It came with many amenities. As wonderful as it all was, though, there are constant little reminders that it's still the developing world. Let me illustrate this for you:

- The hotel was quite sizable...
but the layout was incredibly confusing. We commented that it resembled an M.C. Escher print -- stairs, stairs, everywhere.
- There was a large, professional billboard down by the road, thanking you for visiting Rubavu...
or, as the case may be, "Rubava." Close.
- All around the hotel, the walls and railings shone with bright, crisp paint...
which rubbed off on your clothing if you happened to lean against anything.
- There was high-speed wireless internet...
which stopped working after the first day, supposedly because after a bit of lightning the staff didn't know how to reset the router.
- We had a color TV in our room...
which only got four channels. (Some rooms got fewer or none, though.) And the batteries in the remote were all corroded, so I had to replace them with my own.
- We also had a phone...
but not all the rooms did, so you could only call certain people.
- The beds were large, with many pillows...
but they were more foam than a "real" mattress, so that your body digs a nice a little valley each night.
- There was a net hanging up for protection against the ubiquitous mosquitoes...
but only a single net, in between the two beds. And no screens on the windows, so skipping the net was hardly an option.
- There were private showers with great water pressure...
but the drain would always stop up, so usually you were standing in water up to your ankles while you bathed.
- The hotel provided flip-flop shower shoes...
but the left and right didn't match -- in pattern, color, or even size.
- Over the sink was a fancy-looking glass ledge...
but you didn't dare place anything on it because it quite easily slipped out of the wall.
- The bathroom boasted deliciously hot water...
but no shower curtains, or drains in the floor, so you had to constantly navigate through a huge pool on the tile floor every time you wanted to use the toilet or wash your hands.
- There was maid service each day, and they mopped up those floors...
but there was only one key to each room, so you had to track down the head maid every morning and give her your key, or else your room wouldn't get cleaned. And the pool would grow.

I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my stay, though! In particular, the food was amazing. I'm used to cooking for myself on a single burner, so it's usually a one-pot affair. But here we had a fabulous all-you-can-eat buffet for each meal! And on the first day, we arrived early so we ordered food from the hotel restaurant. I had a Nile perch (capitaine) filet, fresh from the lake, in a pepper cream sauce. I'm pretty sure it was the best food I've ever had in Rwanda.

We also got one afternoon free to have a little picnic down on the beach. The beach is very clean with nice sand, but it's pretty narrow. Abruptly, lush grass and thick trees disrupt the landscape. I tried to capture a pic of this as I lounged in the driver's seat of a PC car (don't worry, Washington, I wasn't driving!). Also, a shot of fellow Mauritania PCVs Ashley and Michele with PC staff Kassim, Assinath, Claudine, and Alphonsine:




A few of us went out on a little "speedboat" (I use the term loosely), and although we got splashed a fair amount, it was a good time. We scooted right up to the Congo border, and I was amazed at how posh it looked on the other side! Goma is said to have really cheap markets with lots available, since nothing is regulated there -- the upshot of having a government in shambles, I guess.

Here's me in the back seat of the boat with PC staff Alphonsine again and PCV Chris, and in the second pic the hills behind me are Congo:



All in all, a fun week spent with friends, and now I'm equipped with concrete new ideas to tackle the second term of school.

The future of Rwanda

Trimester 2 is underway, and it's found me rather busy again! But so happy to be back with these kids again. In teaching some weather vocab recently, I shared some photos of snow. My sister had sent me one shot of my nephew flopped down in a blanket of white after the big blizzards this winter. I walked around my classroom with this pic and asked: what is he doing? The kids were, suffice it to say, SO confused. "He is washing? He is swimming?" Nope. Tried another tack: where is he? "In the water?" No... "In the -- sky??" So awesome.

Taking a cue from a Voice of America daily feature, I introduced a new long-term project this term that I'm calling "On This Day in History." For each class period, two students sign up to speak. I write up some short texts (~75 words) about an event that happened on that particular date, and the kids present the text by memory. When I first announced the idea, I was met with rather blank stares and just a couple brave souls venturing to go first. Now each week when I ask for volunteers, a sea of hopeful hands shoots up before me. It's been really great! Some kids choose to recite the text verbatim, but I'm encouraging them to paraphrase as long as they hit all the relevant information. I love to see them really own it, with cute introductions like "Good morning, class. Firstly I want to thank our English teacher..." Their pronunciation is frequently creative (I enjoyed hearing about "Deekay Erringtone" and his contributions to American jazz), but above all the goal is just for them to make themselves comprehensible in oral English.

Inspired by Earth Day, I did a discussion-based lesson that I titled "Rwanda of Yesterday and Tomorrow." First I had the kids brainstorm in pairs what Rwanda was like 100 years ago, in 1910. We shared the results together, and I listed their contributions on the board.

Then, above a second column I wrote the heading: "Rwanda in 2060." In EVERY one of my six classes, before I even said a word, there were audible responses of amazement. It's like they've never been granted the freedom to think creatively, openly, with no limitations. I think they really enjoyed it.

Most of them had grand ambitions for their country. I got a couple "It will be like heaven/paradise" responses, and Zainabu's which I just loved: "It will be like WOW." But then there were also some pessimists. One kid was convinced there won't be any people because they'll all have died from AIDS. Yikes! Another girl said it "will be like Sodom and Gomorrah"! Some predicted the traditional culture will be "destroyed." A few very bright kids hit on the fact that I wanted to drive home: there will likely be a ton of people, and the same small land area. There are 10 million people in Rwanda today; I had the kids guess predicted population numbers for the years 2025 and 2050. When I shared the actual figures (15 and 25 million, respectively), an exasperated Jean-Baptiste cried out in disbelief, "Teacher! HOW THEY WILL LIVE?!" My question exactly, buddy.

There were some creative solutions to the population issue. More than one class said we'll all be able to go live on Mars by then (one kid was even pulling for Jupiter and Saturn). Some said they'll just move to other countries, so I tried to illustrate the concept of a brain drain. One kid said we can just invade Congo or even Uganda and take some of their land by force (I replied that personally I would not want to mess with Congolese soldiers). One of my real smarties raised maybe the most plausible answer, that everyone can live in high-rises, thus artificially creating more land.

For homework after this lesson, I gave the kids some critical thinking questions (another foreign concept) related to the environment in Rwanda. I was a bit dubious about the kinds of responses I would get. I really wanted them to express some cogent opinions, regardless of minor errors with wording. The somewhat odd thing about many students in this all-anglophone school system here is that they end up knowing words like infrastructure (or "inflacitricture" as I've seen it rendered), but can hardly form a grammatical sentence. My feeling is, at the end of the day, teaching grammar ain't no thang. But can these kids think for themselves? That, I'm not sure I can teach.

The good news is: these kids are on their way.

Enjoy a few sample responses:

Why are plastic bags not allowed in Rwanda?

"plastic bags not allowed in Rwanda because the plastic bags are not distroyed when it is in the soil and these plastic bags against water to travel or to enter in the soil or land"

"the plastic bags are not allowed in Rwanda Because they wasn't to use for fertilizing the soil, so when the people finished to use them, they put the plastic bags every where for example on the farm. because the plastic bags are increases the developement are reduces because the crops are scarce."

What can YOU do to help Rwanda to be beautiful in the future?

"There is many events which I can do. I must continue to study when I finish university in USA I will became a pilot. and when I get for money I will put in different activities like agriculture or mineral exploitation is will create the industry of crops which I will cultivate and I used many people in these industry; so our country it can develop."

"To help Rwanda to be beautful in future, I can do the following:
- I must study.
- I can go in the others countries to coperate the modern activities.
- I make a good election for the leaders.
- I can remove those children who live in the roads without job, to the school.
- I can fight against Genocide Ideology.
- I can advice the Rwandese to do their own business and avoid to beg.
- I will tell the people to have a self confidence of being well."

Never Again

What do I tell you about the Rwandan genocide? It seems that the more I learn about it myself, the further muddled it becomes. It wasn't just 100 days in 1994; the groundwork had been laid for decades, and the repercussions continued to claim lives for years after. The story is far more complicated than just Hutu vs. Tutsi. There were extremists and moderates on both sides, and killing bloodied the hands of government forces and a rebel army and organized militias and ordinary citizens (not to mention the various foreign abettors allegedly involved).

The single event that sparked the inferno of death was the fatal shooting-down of a plane carrying the Rwandan president on the night of April 6, 1994 -- the exact circumstances of which have remained a mystery even to this day. What is certain, though, is that widespread slaughter began immediately, methodically and earnestly: one author reports, "The dead of Rwanda accumulated at nearly three times the rate of Jewish dead during the Holocaust. It was the most efficient mass killings since the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki." Husbands killed their wives; priests, their parishioners. Children killed children, and mothers with babies on their backs killed mothers with babies on their backs.

Rwandan survivors are committed to remembering these atrocities. They've dedicated memorial sites all over the country, in almost every little town. And from April 7-13 each year, they observe a week of mourning for the dead (between 500,000 and 1,000,000, depending who's counting). There is no school during this time, and businesses are required to be closed all day on the 7th and in the subsequent afternoons.

I'd had simultaneous dread and curiosity about what it would be like to be here during these days. Truthfully, I felt a little awkward about being here at all, like I would be intruding on a private time that I couldn't possibly understand. How would people act? We have a Memorial Day, too, I mused. What do we do? Oh, yeah -- Have a picnic. Go to the beach. Somehow I doubted that's what would be going on in Rwanda.

I opted to lay pretty low. I listened to President Kagame's speech on the radio. He grew up in anglophone Uganda, and he tends to slip in and out of English without a second thought (helpful for me, though I'm guessing it might be frustrating to many Rwandans who listen to him). Throughout the week the radio played various pop tunes decrying the genocide. Some were catchy, upbeat; for the songs in Kinyarwanda, you'd never even guess the ghastly things they were referencing... until your ears happen upon those unmistakable syllables, jen-o-seed. But it's great to know the radio is being used now as a constructive medium for solidarity, as opposed to the horrific role it played 16 years ago in enjoining Hutus to kill the "cockroaches."

I spent a good part of the week reading Shake Hands with the Devil, the two-inch opus written by Lt. Gen. Roméo Dallaire, Force Commander of UNAMIR, the UN peacekeeping mission to Rwanda. (Aside: He declares his most beloved spot in the country to be Kinihira, which I could literally see out my front window as I read. A little surreal.) Dallaire was on the ground from August '93 to August '94, and he saw the worst of the worst. A million dead is a whole lot of bodies -- he tells of rotting bodies piled into dump trucks, dismembered bodies stacked on the side of the road, bloated bodies clogging up the rivers. Rats actually grew to the size of small dogs as they feasted on the endless supply of decomposing flesh.

The book is subtitled "The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda," and that is the message Dallaire drives home: yes, by all means, the machete-wielders and gun-toters are the ones ultimately responsible -- but we the international community could have done something to stop them and chose not to. It's heartbreaking as he details the support he repeatedly begged for from UN member states, with little response. Mid-bloodbath, one U.S. government rep asked for an accurate count of the death toll so far, because "estimates indicated it would take the deaths of 85,000 Rwandans to justify the risking of the life of one American soldier." But how many U.S. soldiers were risked in Yugoslavia? How many so far in Iraq? Is it worth it now? When it comes to human rights, Dallaire raises the question: are some humans "more human" than others?

The crazy thing is, looking around this place, you'd never IMAGINE the horrors that happened only 16 years ago. Kigali is modern, clean, organized, and above all safe. As I learn disturbing stories about now-familiar landmarks there and elsewhere in the country, I have so much trouble reconciling the past with the present. I try, really try, to picture these terrifying scenes that I read about. How is it possible?

I was thinking: I wonder what Germany felt like in 1961, 16 years on. Well, guess what? That's the year the Berlin Wall was built. But here, killers and victims now live side by side. In peace. Sound idealistic? It's somehow the astounding, unprecedented reality here.

Over 42% of Rwanda's population today were born after 1994. They will build the better tomorrow. Turns out maybe, eventually, unbelievably, there is a happy ending after all.

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We bear witness today not just to Rwanda's suffering but also to its renewal -- to survivors who have rebuilt shattered homes and restored battered lives -- to parents who have taken orphans into their arms and their hearts -- to refugees who have found the courage to go home and start anew -- to soldiers who have laid down weapons and taken up tools that build -- to men and women who have won fresh prosperity and brought new comfort to their neighbors and their region -- to leaders and public servants who have strengthened the institutions that enshrine the rule of law and ward off the temptation of turmoil -- to ordinary citizens who have searched their wounded souls and chosen healing over strife, forgiveness over grievance, and reconciliation over revenge. Just as genocide cannot happen without thousands of individual decisions to destroy, recovery happens only with thousands of individual decisions to create.
- Ambassador Susan E. Rice
U.S. Permanent Representative to the United Nations
April 7, 2010

Home sick

This is the Blender Bottle® :

It's awesome. That little whisk ball goes inside. Then you unscrew the lid, pour in your ingredients, shake shake shake, and dispense out the handy flip-spout. I use it all the time to whip up salad dressing, stir-fry sauce, milkshakes, or just powdered drink mix with water. I love it. (I admit, I guess it wouldn't find it as cool living in the Western world, where you probably just use, you know, an actual blender.)

The other night I was thirsty and thought I'd fix some lemonade. I went to my little pantry cabinet to get the drink mix, and there I spotted these apple cider packets that my mom just sent. Mmm, sounds yummy. I changed my plan and set some water on to boil. I emptied the cider mix into my faithful Blender Bottle and waited.

Now, honestly: are there red flags screaming out to any of you at this point? Through a loophole at my high school, I was the only member of my graduating class never to take a physics course. Maybe this is where it's doomed me. *Apparently* (as corroborated on Blender Bottle's website), you are at no point to put hot liquid in this container. Nor baking powder, nor carbonated drinks. Because it's possible that if you do...

The thing will explode in your face.

And it turns out boiling water to the face really kills! Who knew?

For a brief moment, I was frozen in shock, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Slowly I blinked them open and was immediately very relieved that my vision was normal -- but instant pain started stinging at my face. Confused, I managed to grab a bandana and run to my water filter. I got the bandana wet and started dabbing frantically at my face, but pain was increasing by the minute and I realized I was shaking. Not knowing what to do, I dashed for my phone and weakly dialed the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) in Kigali. She authorized me to go to the little village clinic, which happens to be right by my house. My very sweet neighbor escorted me and translated for me, since I sure wasn't up to fending for myself in Kinyarwanda. This was about 7 p.m.

A receptionist or nurse seemed quite unhurried and unconcerned as she wrote my name in a book and then disappeared. I kept blotting at my face and tried to concentrate on breathing normally, because I kept gasping and I felt like a child. The woman came back accompanied by a man, who wanted to give me an injection of some kind but I refused because the PCMO had advised against it -- can you imagine what could go wrong with that? So they put some zinc oxide ointment on me (it's worth noting, actually, that they did not personally apply it but just gave the tub to my neighbor, who then smeared it on for me) and gave me two little ziplock baggies of pills and sent me on my way. No paperwork and no payment.

Fortunately, I thought to ask what the pills were. The first were just ibuprofen, but the others were amoxicillin -- good to know, because I'm allergic to penicillin. Later, I thought about how often average Rwandan citizens must be administered drugs they might be allergic to, maybe even dangerously so. I'm sure meds are abused all the time, since the clinic staff didn't exactly give me clear instructions about how long to continue medicating, and the supply I received was excessive to say the least.

So, I didn't take the amoxicillin, but the PCMO said ibuprofen and Tylenol should be enough. The pain was really bad that first night, although the zinc oxide helped some, and it subsided considerably the next day. The water hit me the worst around my mouth and under/inside my nose, so they were very sore and numb. My eyelids also were quite tender.

The pain seemed to decrease in inverse proportion to the ridiculousness of my appearance. At first I was just kind of pink and swollen, although suffering greatly. Two days after the fact, I thought I'd return to school because I was feeling basically fine. I got dressed and ready, but upon stepping back from the mirror I realized I actually just looked like a clown. So I resorted to staying home a while longer, following a strict thrice-daily routine: cleaning my face with a baby wipe and carefully removing all the dead skin, lathering up almost my whole face with antibiotic ointment, then covering it all up with gauze.

For roughly 84 hours straight I was locked up inside my house. But the human body is an amazingly resilient thing, and I'm pretty much all better now. Because I guess I'm a masochist, I leave you with some brief photo documentation of my fun-filled week. I don't know how well you can see all the gory details, but enjoy.

Oh, and for the record: I still love you, Blender Bottle.