A year in review

The year mark has come and gone, and here are some of my thoughts, in no particular order, when I think back over the year.

Children. Everywhere, always. Sometimes welcome, sometimes driving me up the walls.

Bananas bananas bananas (food, primarily. things being nuts, secondarily)

Students crying out "Teacha! Teacha! It is too difficult!" HahaHA

Rain pouring down so hard it creates puddles throughout the house (or school) and makes being heard absolutely impossible (thus also making teaching absolutely impossible). If this happens at home, it can be amazing, not only for the peace but for the endless buckets of water to be obtained!

Long Rwandan ceremonies- weddings, funerals, meetings, church, doesn't matter. It will be long, and you will be sitting on a wooden bench the whole time. But there might be food after 6 or 7 hours!

Crammed into tiny buses. How many people can you fit in a 15 passenger van? At least twice that. Plus luggage.

The joy of a real shower, standing up with water pouring down from above. Hot or cold, doesn't matter, its glorious.

Cups of steaming African tea- milk, tea, spice, mmm.

The walls of my house covered, and I mean COVERED, in children's drawings.

The ridiculousness of Kinyarwanda. 16 noun classes, really?

Daily screams of "muzungu muzungu!" Come on, I've been here a year, you know my name.

Trekking down into the valley with the kids to get water, then struggling back uphill together.

Being a visitor in a new church and suddenly having to stand up and SING, in Kinyarwanda, with only 3 other people and a MICROPHONE in front of the ENTIRE church. And not knowing all the words :-P

Vacation. Camping in Uganda, 35 hours on a bus to Tanzania, lounging on the beaches of Zanzibar, eating street food...

Shocking the socks off of anyone who watches me cook American food. What in the world is she doing to do with those potatoes and that milk? She can't, NO, she's...mixing them??

Stomping the ground in wild, frenzied church dance parties

Fresh avocados and bananas whenever you want... bread and eggs a rarity

Explaining for the billionth time that Americans also farm, because we too must eat food, and no not every American is as rich as the ones you saw on that music video, we also have poor people. And no, they do not speak Kinyarwanda in America, but yes, I will try to teach it to them when I go back. And yes, there are many black people in America, and they are also Americans. And we have all the same kinds of foods as you, except for plaintains and cassava and sorghum. Oh and no banana beer, either. And in America its not nice to tell someone that they are fat, but thank you, I guess, you are also looking fat today.

....

I could go on and on but I need to get out of Kigali and back to my village, where all these wonderful and sometimes trying things happen, seemingly daily (except for the showers). I've been traveling a lot during this break, visiting the hometown of a student and fellow choir member of mine, seeing other volunteers, and going to Tanzania and Zanzibar. In the next month I hope to stay mostly in my village, playing with the kids, hopefully planting my garden at long last, singing those Kinyarwanda church songs, and visiting neighbors. I also need to finish writing my proposal to build two giant rainwater collection cisterns at the primary and secondary schools, try to get some bookshelves built for the school "library", and work on a curriculum for the coming school year. Phew, got my work cut out. And somehow there is only one more year left...yikes.

Peace and happy holidays, eat pumpkin goodness for me!

Si njyenyine (Not me alone)

Sometimes, reality smacks you in the face. Sometimes, you realize that you aren’t the strong, independent, confident foreigner living in a village in Rwanda that you had thought you were. Sometimes, you realize a small child has been carrying you the whole time.

I called Ani over and told her to get her jug, Ngiye kuvoma, turajyana? I’m going to get water, we are going together? She came running back a few minutes later, jug in one hand and an igitenge cloth wrapped around her neck, to use on our way back as a cushion for the heavy jug on her head. We set out, down the dirt road, onto the path, past the fields. Down that steep rocky hill where small children often slip or fall under the weight of the water, staggering back up with cuts on their hands or faces. Down down down.

At the well we waited our turn to fill our jugs with the fresh, clean groundwater flowing out of the broken pipeline. The pipeline that used to run into a huge storage tank, and was then pumped back up the hill to surrounding villages. The pipeline and pump system that has been sitting useless, growing old, for years, no one really remembers how many now, because the motor broke and no one came to fix it.

After we fitted the openings in our jugs with plaintains to keep the water from spilling out, made our ingato from our igitenge and swung our jugs up onto our heads, we set off. Up up up, carefully placing our feet on and between the rocks, slowly rising. I met some of my S2 girls along the way, carrying far more water than I could ever dream to do. We started chatting, and Ani fell behind with the smaller children. Up up up. Off the rocks and onto the red dirt path. Ani fell further behind, still with the other children. I paused at the place where the red dirt suddenly gives way to brown, and where the hill decreases its angle, becoming more of a slope. She was far below me now. I decided to continue on with my students. Off the path and onto the road. With all the curves and bushes in the way, she is nowhere to be seen. Home is so close, just up that last hill and slight curve in the road. I can see it now, past the idle cement well, the well where we would go to fetch water if the motor down the hill worked…

She finally arrives home about twenty minutes later. I call to her, and I know she hears me, but she doesn’t look or respond. Her older sister comes by and I tell her Ani is upset, arababara, she feels pain, because I left her behind on the hill. Mimi reassures me that its fine, and tells Ani to come over. Ngiye kugura imineke, urashaka kujyana? I’m going to buy bananas, do you want to go together? No response, no eye contact, but when I start walking away from the house, she follows. We proceed down the street, Ani always a few steps behind. I buy bananas, not a word. We turn back towards my house, not a word. Niba urababara, ntukeneye kujyananjye. If you are upset, you don’t have to go with me. She turns and walks away. I know I’ve made a mistake, but she’ll bounce back I think, she’s just a kid.

Twenty minutes later she’s at my door, and I think all is well. But no, she’s just asking if I want milk from their cow tonight. She turns to go, hesitates, starts to walk away. Ani ngwino, mbabarira. Ani come here, I’m sorry. Like coaxing a kid to take their medicine. Come here, I’m sorry. Don’t go. She finally submits, and we go into the house.

We sit silently for minutes and minutes. Ani stares straight ahead, lips tight, eyes vacant. I apologize, nothing. I ask what else is wrong, nothing. I give her a banana, nothing. Then suddenly a waterfall of quiet, rushed, mumbled Kinyarwanda. Small tears in her eyes, but she’s tough, she won’t let them grow and fall. She spends the next eternity telling me how I lied, I said we were going together, and then I went ahead. How sometimes I tell her she needs to go home. How sometimes, when other muzungus come to visit me, we don’t play with her enough. How we cook American food and don’t share it with her. I’m trying to keep up, trying to follow all that she’s saying, trying to defend myself because I do give her food, every single day, and because we did play with her and the other children when my friends came, and because I always share my American food with her. But I’m beat. She’s exaggerating yes, but she’s also only 6 years old, and there’s some truth to what she says. We could have played with her more, we could have given her more food. I could have waited for her on the hill.

Then, stone faced, she says she will never fetch water with me again. Sinzagenda kuvoma nawe. Sinzatembera nawe. Sinzasura abantu nawe. Sinzagaruka hano. I will not walk with you. I will not visit people with you. I will not return here.

I try to convince myself that she’s just upset, she’s just a kid, and tomorrow all this will be behind us. I know it will. But then I think, what if she’s not lying? What if she really never comes again? What if she hadn’t been here all along? And I have to walk away, hide in my dark room, because this little child’s words have made me cry. Because I suddenly envision the previous 8 months without my constant companion, friend, teacher, helper. I imagine going out every time, to visit people or to buy something or to get water, alone. No Ani holding my hand, teaching me the right words to say, correcting my hilarious Kinyarwanda, making me laugh, making me less nervous to go do new things, because I have my trusty little friend right by my side. She’s with me when the crazy old drunks try to capture me, she’s with me when I just want to listen to American music and do silly dances in the house without a dozen children grabbing my arms and hair. She was with me all during Genocide Memorial Week, so strong, keeping me going. She’s with me every day, we do everything together. When I go out without her, everyone aks, Anita ari hehe? Where is Anita?

I cry and I reflect and I realize that this amazing little girl has not only been holding my hand this whole time, she has been carrying me.

_______________________________________________________________________

We continued discussing, ate dinner, and she finally fell asleep on my bed as I made my lesson plans for the next day. The next morning, there she was outside the door, Julie bite?! Julie what’s up? She’s not leaving me behind, and I will do my best not to leave her behind again, either.

There is so so so much more I want to say, but I’m already late to a celebration. In short, things are quickly becoming busy here-- the water situation is my main concern, and I’m in the midst of trying to work out solutions, talking to villagers, the school, the health center, the higher ups, and an NGO in Kigali. More on that to come. School started up again, so I’m busy with teaching and making lessons. And of course visiting people, playing with the kids, seeing other volunteers…That’s all I’ve got for now, sorry for the lack of messages, and the abrupt end to this one!

Love to you all

Pictures to tide you over!!

…because I have so much in my mind and it has been so long, I know, that it cannot possibly be cohesive at the moment. So in truth you might never get the details of these months unless you ask for them J The main timeline goes something like this though: Returned from SA in time to give some slapdash exams, had several weeks of vacation from school in which I hung out with an awesome woman in my village quite a bit and participated in Genocide Memorial Week with my community (which was very intense in too many ways to put up here anyways, so you can ask me about it individually if you want), met up with the other volunteers in my group for a conference, got back to site and started teaching again, remembered just how hard teaching here really is, and experienced major house invasions by stinging ants (swarms, thousands, really) AND termites. Phew. If anything piques your interest, shoot me an email and I’ll do my best to get back to you!

So, in lieu of real news, here are a few more pictures of the village kids, the scenery around my house during rainy season, and my new good friend Mama Iradukunda (which means “Mama of God Loves Us”, her eldest child). I am super happy to have Mama Iradukunda and her whole family in my life, and they along with my 6 year old neighbor Anita pretty much make my life :) Enjoy!

MAIL!

I will get a real update out soon, ish...

But for now, here's my new mailing address. Please use this one from now on, otherwise I might not get whatever you send for, oh, maybe a year :-P

Julie Greene

Peace Corps Volunteer-Rwanda

BP 47

Rwamagana

RWANDA

Mini America, plus some

I'm not entirely sure where I've landed, some place called Pretoria, South Africa. For all intents and purposes, it looks like I'm back in America. Only, it's an America I've never really seen with my own eyes, only in movies and on TV. The America where people live in mini mansions and water their lawns every day and night and have high walls with fancy electric fences running along the top. The America where you never see your neighbors because there's too much protective gating all around. Where shiny shopping malls are filled with thousands of items you actually have no need for (machines to crack your eggs for you, glittering jewelry, thirty different kinds of soap...) all at exhorbetant prices. It's terrifying, really. We're not supposed to walk around by ourselves, especially at night, which seems ridiculous given the wealth of this area. But then you realize that right next door are the "rougher" parts of town, where people kill each other in broad daylight for a petty theft. Certainly a different scene than Rwanda, all around. The initial shock has started to wear off, as I've been here for 5 days now. I still relish in my hot shower and the breakfast served to me at the "guesthouse" that they put all the med evacs in, but I'm itching to get back to Rwanda and my village.

It is really interesting to see a part of South Africa though, and my curiosity about apartheid has been spiked. Our guesthouse is exactly what I've always imagined a colonial era white man's home in Africa to look like (I hope that makes sense?)...its Victorian to a T, lacy curtains and china dishes, manicured lawns and gardens, heavy dark wooden furniture, help staff wearing black dresses and white aprons and caps...you feel like you've stepped back in time. And I don't like it. Almost all the waitstaff or workers I've seen around here are African, and the owners are white. The white kid who drove me from the airport made several racist comments...its definitely a challenging environment. Obviously, this is a small, rich part of the country though, and quite different from the rural areas. I've gotten to talk to several SA volunteers while here, as well as volunteers from Zambia, Burkina Faso, and Swaziland, and problems in rural Africa are problems in rural Africa...there are certainly differences, but for the most part we're all facing similar challenges at site.

On the plus side, our PC doctor here took all the med evacs (who were able) on a "walking safari" over the weekend. It was funny because the reserve is smack between highways on two sides, and the city on one end, so from certain places you could hear cars flying by, or see tall buildings rising up, but it was GREAT to get out of our Victorian prison and walk around. We actually saw most of the wildlife the reserve has to offer too-- giraffes, zebras, impala, wildebeest, birds, etc. I've seen all of that before in the Serengeti, but the rules are a little different over here, and besides the fact that we weren't limited to our safari landrover, its also ok to "offtrail" it here...so we did our best to leave the footpaths and get as close in as we could :-P Our wonderful doctor guide also wisely advised us that if we bent down and acted like we were grazing, we might be able to get in even closer...of course we immediately took his advice, giving him quite the entertaining spectacle, but I do think we got a little closer...:-P I'll attach that picture for y'all, it makes me laugh.

Other than that, I'm just waiting to hear when I get to go back home to Rwanda. Since I only needed one root canal, I didn't expect to be here so long, but with the PC you never know!

Home sweet home

Wait, what season is it?

Naturally, as soon as I wrote the previous post, we had a solid week and a half without any rain, so I began taking the daily trek down the hill to the well with my yellow jerry can in hand, and came huffing and puffing back up the hill with my yellow jerry can on my head. This caused quite a stir with all the locals, and was a huge hit-- As I walked along, usually with my neighboring children, I was met with wide grins, lots of laughs, and my favorite outcry of surprise, "Ye baba we!" (which sounds something like yay baba waaaaaay). I also met a few awesome women during these trips, and have since visited some of them in their homes, teaching them a little English and working on my Kinyarwanda. Needless to say, fetching water from the well is now one of my favorite activities (work and workout and community interaction combined, what could be better?). However, the rains have hit again pretty intensely in the last few days, giving off some excellent lightening shows, making it completely unnecessary to head down to the well, and making me seriously question what season we are in...The line between rainy and dry is much less clear than I had expected :-P

In other news, Rwanda has a community work day one Saturday a month, called umuganda, in which everyone from neighboring villages or towns come together and work on some kind of local project. It's a really unique government initiative, promoting both unity among communities and local development. Umuganda was a few weeks ago, and several hundred people gathered at my school to work on finishing the construction of a new classroom building. I headed over with my next door neighbor, and along the way we joined groups of women wearing bright igitenge (patterned wraps/dresses/etc) and carrying the ever present yellow jerry cans of water. When we got to the school, there was already a big crowd, dozens of jugs sitting on the ground waiting to be used for who knows what (I never did find out...) and a growing pile of rock chunks next to the building. As we stood there awaiting instruction, a long line of people appeared out of the woods, and one by one dropped the large rock chunks they were carrying on their heads onto the pile. I joined them as they headed back for more, and all the way down the hillside into the valley and fields below stretched a long line of brightly dressed women and muscular men, each with one, two, sometimes three large rocks stacked on their heads, slowly making their way uphill to the school. I am continually impressed with how things are done here! Again, I was met with all kinds of reactions (mostly shock, disbelief, and perhaps some excitement, ok lots of excitement) as I had rocks stacked onto my head and started making my way up. I'm pretty sure they were actually trying to test my strength, because the guys kept giving me bigger rocks than all the other women, but I showed them what's what and kept coming back for more :-P It was a great way to hang out with the locals, and to show them that the muzungu can get dirty and do work, too.

Alright, this is getting long, so finally, local elections for all kinds of community-level leaders took place two weeks ago. I got to watch the process, as they were held on a Friday morning right outside of my school. It was very different than elections in America, as you might guess :) But it worked really well from what I could see, and was cool to watch. So, everyone breaks into groups based on their village (umudugudu) and then the people who are nominated stand and say a few words to their group. Then, the nominees spread themselves out in a line, turn around so they can't see, and everyone else lines up behind the one they want to vote for. Officials count how many are in each line, and bam, winner is known instantaneously. Sometimes, there was absolutely no question, with a single file line stretching 80 or 100 people long, and others were more equal. The elections were supposed to be finished around noon, but when I came back around 1pm to see what was going on, they were still going strong, and weren't over when I left again around 3. Mayors, leaders of the youth, news and communications, security, sports, health, women...I didn't catch all the positions but those were a few.

So thats most of the news here. Busy with classes, entertaining my 5 year old neighbor (who is now pretty much a housemate, we feed her at least once a day, usually twice), hanging out with my real housemate (the other female teacher at my school), and still trying to get to know more people in the community...Good and busy :)

kuvoma amazi

To fetch water.

One of my favorite activities in my new life here at site. The closest water fetching site is about an hour round trip, down a steep hill into a valley and then back up, carrying a heavy jug of water. Mostly, fetching water is a job for the children, and every day hordes of them go running past my house with their varying sizes of plastic jugs and jerry cans, racing down the hill to where the water flows out of a big pipe. Some of the kids are tiny, probably only 5 or 6 years old, but old enough here to get the job done. So, my options for getting water are: 1) take the long route and actually go all the way to the "well" with my jerry can in hand and then lug it back up to my house, 2) pay one of the kids to fetch it for me, which is actually really cheap and I have had to do this on occasion, or 3) collect the rain water! Definitely my preference--let the rain and my tin roof do most of the work for me! I just have to shuttle buckets of water into the house and the empty ones back out again, get a little wet, and it gives me something to do when everything shuts down because of the rain. Not that there is much to shut down around here, there being only one small shop that is consistently open :-P Luckily, this isn't the dry season, so I have had plenty of water coming my way, but during the dry season I'll have to explore my other two options.

Other than collecting water, I spend my time planning lessons, occasionally teaching (haha, my full schedule doesn't start until next week), wandering around meeting people and botching, I mean practicing, my Kinyarwanda, cooking, washing things (dishes, clothes, the floors...), playing with the kids who swarm my house, and going for long walks or runs, also usually with the kids, who swarm me as soon as I leave my house :-p

This area is incredibly beautiful, and my house is about a km or so from the top of a hill that overlooks valleys, lakes, and one of Rwanda's national parks. Almost every day I walk or run out that way, climb up the rocks to the highest points, and sit with the kids, exchanging English and Kinyarwanda. Those are definitely some of the best times I've had in the past 3 weeks, as I try to settle in, get to know my community, work on my language, and adapt to my new home.

And all in all, things are going well. I'm getting to know some people in the community better, and my Kinyarwanda is (hopefully) improving bit by bit. My wanderings have resulted in shelling peas with old women, drinking near rancid milk and something called banana water (which I cannot adequately explain) eating roasted corn (which reminds me of summer cookouts), playing local games similar to mancala and tic tac toe, and lots of laughing over the lack of communication. Also, my neighbors on both sides have cows, and not only do I get to enjoy fresh milk almost every day, but I also get to fall asleep to the sounds of shuffling hooves and heavy breathing :-P

So, things are going :) My electricity is solar, and not wildly powerful, so that will be all for now. Let me know what's happening at home! Also, my address is now:

Julie Greene

Peace Corps Volunteer

BP 5657

Kigali, Rwanda

But this will change in another month or two, so stay tuned...And I added a wish list, so feel free to send anything my way :-P

Hope you are all well!