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 (I attempted to explain to the kids about outdated language that they should not use; nevertheless, I have no doubt that thanks to me, at least one Rwandan teenage boy will be writing a love note to his "bonnie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!

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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.