retreats and recent thoughts

The entire IJM Rwanda field office recently went on retreat to Akagera National Park (well, really just the lodge). This part of Rwanda borders Tanzania by a series of lakes and Islands, and is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. We ended the retreat off with team building activities, which was as hilarious as you can imagine.

Favorite new French phrases:
Laissez le bon temps roulez! – “let the good times roll”

Je suis une etoille d’or- “I am a gold star”

C’est degoutant- “That’s disgusting”

J’ai besoin de caffé chaque matin- “I need coffee every morning”

Recent discoveries:
A restaurant that serves strawberry sorbet!

How to buy an entire crate of Fanta

That just because you ‘send’ a package doesn’t mean it actually leaves the floor of the post office

That when you are not a clubber in America, you’re probably not a clubber in Africa

Recent thoughts:

IJM Rwanda in its initial months of case work had several successes! I see these people’s heavy burdens. And my easy load, and remember why I wanted to come in the first place.

When I was in training in HQ the intern director had this to say about working for IJM:
“When I first heard about the work we did, I thought ‘I need to work harder.’ Then I thought about my hours, and realized ‘I need to work smarter.’ And finally I realized what I can do to actually help add more goodness and justice and mercy to world. I thought ‘I need to be a better person.’

sporatic communication

I recently emailed a friend who worked in Kenya with his wife. We discussed how hard it is to explain daily life in Africa to people in other parts of the world. I think this is why I have been so sporadic with this blog-it’s hard to capture the rhythm, ups and downs, colors, smells, and thoughts in writing.

I am drafting a blog about the work of IJM Rwanda, and it is in the process of being reviewed.

I think the best word for Rwanda is complex. People have heavy histories; their stories weave in and out of many countries. Their thoughts are measured and sharing is controlled. These are, of course, generalizations. It is impossible to categorize an entire nation. A good analogy to the Rwandan people is the Rwandan national dance. Unlike most perceptions of African dance, Rwandan dance is controlled and slow, in many ways reminiscent of ballet. It is graceful and ethereal.

My coworker, friend, and co-conspirator Chantal is teaching me the ways of Rwanda. She has this great way of weeding out potential suitors-she wears what looks to be an engagement ring on her finger. I asked her if that doesn’t dissuade people from asking her out. Her response is that if a man asks her if she’s engaged, she knows he has enough courage to ask anyway, knowing he might be rejected. This way, she knows something of his character.

Clever.

We asked our housekeeper to buy us a chicken to cook for Passover. I came home to an almost live chicken that had been slaughtered in our backyard and was being plucked in our sink. The appropriateness was almost too much.

At this point in the rainy season the daily walk to the office has turned into the twice daily portage through mountains of mud and deceptively deep pools of water.

we still are enjoying our house by sitting on the floor and dancing through our wide open rooms. for the more negative minded-we have no furniture

Chantal, who speaks Kinyarwanda, French, English and Swahili has this to say about writing in her non-native language: “when I am writing in English, I am like a woman giving birth.”

Receiving parcels and gifts is the absolute best when you are on a different continent.

Our house got a puppy- a small yellow lab named Tubby. A happy, uncomplicated bundle greets you every morning.

I used to be repulsed by cockroaches, then I was grossed out, and now I am just annoyed. Perhaps unfazement is in the future? Leah, Siri, and Krista-can you even believe this transition?

My favorite Chantal-ism: “You know Lord, sometimes we just believe you because you work.”

One month in Rwanda.

I have moved into a house with 4 other women. We have not a stick of furniture except for beds, but somehow we have 3 french presses. I feel comfortable with this ratio

It is officially rainy season in Kigali. The galoshes are out and ready for business. Realistically, classic rain protection is just to offer a small buffer while you run to shelter. Once you get caught in open water defeat is imminent.

In Kigali, you need to bring your own fun. And the fun most recently brought was a moustache competition involving a 22 lawyer from Scotland, a 24 development worker from Texas, and a Dutch Anglican pastor. Results are still TBD.

In Rwanda, the border between “developed” and “rural” is a thin transcendent boundary. On my way to the office I pass men carrying laptops and men carrying live chickens to the outdoor market where we buy our vegetables.

The water goes out once a day. The power goes out once a day. Everything slows when you are making dinner with a headlamp, and washing with a bucket of ice cold water, ice cold.

You can’t pretend you are not human. You get hungry, and it is necessary to eat, and it is necessary to eat a meal, since there are no snacks. The water is cold, cold for everyone. And everyone needs to wash.

Sometimes I get tired. But it feels like the tired you have after a long hike. Like you have actually used yourself and now your body says “sleep.”

Last weekend I traveled to Kibuye, a town on Lake Kivu, a large lake that borders the Congo and Rwanda. It was good for my soul to see and lake and hear the water.

Women carry everything on their heads-jars, fruit, baskets, extra large metal cans of powdered Nido, and backpacks. A woman pointed to my appropriately worn backpack last week and asked “where do you put your baby?”

It is still disconcerting to see people cutting the grass with machetes.

Favorite “This is Africa” moment:
At the Kigali airport, attempting to pick up a new intern whose plane was grounded in Johannesburg because of engine failure (!)

Dieter, to the booth labeled ‘Information’: “Excuse me, can you tell me when the flight for Joburg is landing?”

Info booth guy: “It’s not coming.”

Dieter: “why”

Info booth guy: “no, you can’t ask any questions.”

30 minutes later, slightly more helpful info booth woman: “The flight has taken off, but it is not confirmed.”
Not a good sign after the engine failure.

3.5 hours later- flight arrives, with a dishelved but perky intern.

work update coming soon...

Some have asked, “how is Africa?”

I’m not sure how the continent as a whole is holding up, but Rwanda:

- Has lots of live chickens being carried to the market by their feet,
- cars have emission standards that would make al gore cry
- has houses where water comes from the tap and houses were water comes from a man with plastic jugs tied precariously to the back of his bicycle
- People smell like children and babies and wood burning stoves and life
- Some people smell like perfume
- I smell like baby powder
- You can tell who has done laundry by the rawness of their knuckles
- Soda is better. I don’t care what you think-Coke and Fanta are the best in Africa
- Sometimes wakes me up with the call to prayer, sometimes wakes me up with dogs barking
- Has the best mangoes I have ever tasted
- Is making me think. A lot.
- Full of friends, some from Rwanda, some from elsewhere
- And mostly covered in dust, from feet to head to backpack and especially, most surprisingly, to underwear. Red dust everywhere.

When it is dusty, the rain is coming.

In the beginning...

One week in Africa

I have started this first blog entry many times, and each time it has felt inadequate. Please be patient with me while I improve my storytelling capabilities.

My African morning commute:
Walk down the road to the outdoor market
As the smell of yesterday's old fruit fills the air, watch many many people rush buses attempting to get a seat. (as my Scottish friend Ally says, no one has taught Africans the fine art of queuing).
There is an intrinsic rhythm to this that I certainly cannot find, so I stand awkwardly.

Eventually realize that there is no way I am going to be able to get on a bus, So I take a moto. (vespa like scooter that seats two).
Rough directions, broken English and French later, I have a ten minute, mostly pleasant slightly life threatening ride to the office.
A harrowing walk down a steep red mud road.

Accidentally go to the wrong gate. I am very confused when the guard doesn’t let me, and he patiently walks me to another gate, one where he has seen other mzungus enter. Of course it is the correct one.

And that begins the day.

things I have already done that I did not think I would do:
eat raw veggies (oops)
ride a moto (not oops, a great and cheap way to get around)
sleep without a mosquito net (oops)

What I brought that I already know I will never use:
My new tinkerbell travel alarm clock- broken!

What I wish I had brought:
Books. these are traded among the ex-pat community like gold.

What I never imagined I would ever experience:
Avocados the size of watermelons
Aerobics to a combination of African music and techno 80s american pop. I think we owe the world a collective apology for consistently exporting our bad taste in music.


I like this moving to places.