Start of Something New

They say God sleeps in Rwanda, and I say it’s true. I’ve had a rough start to my time here in Kigali. It’s a new surrounding, I’m living with a family who speaks limited English (and I speak ZERO Kinyarwanda- the native language here) and it is nothing at all like last year. NOTHING. I think there’s something to be said for the comfort you find in being surrounded by 13 of your peers while abroad in a new country, you aren’t forced to abandon your American ways, you always have a friend around to back you up or keep you sane- someone who you can miss home with, someone you can talk to about the way you’re feeling and –more importantly, someone who can relate. It’s hard… I won’t lie, I won’t say I didn’t regret my decision my first night here, but with strength from my family and reassurance from friends, It’s getting easier.

This first weekend here was a steady combination of relaxing and over stimulating. Saturday morning I slept in until 8- woke up, unpacked my clothes and put them into my closets, then I went out to the kitchen to eat breakfast with my sisters and afterwards we sat around the family room on our lap tops, (Paula on her dad’s IBM and Sesera on her laptop from school- from the One Lap Top a Child program) and watched prison break in French. (By the way, I don’t speak French either) After an episode or two I got up, showered, and got dressed. By that time my host mom’s brother had shown up as well as another friend of my ‘parents’ for lunch. So we all ate, enjoyed our food and then resided back to our rooms to rest. Once it started getting dark out and I was feeling rested I got up to see what my sister Paula was doing. She was in her room and had just gotten back from hanging out with some friends, we started talking about our friends and then she asked if I had any pictures. So I got out my laptop, pulled up some photos and videos and shared them with her. It was funny because she kept saying my friends and I are, “Very Sexy!” I’m sure she means something along the lines of well dressed or done up (seeing as most of my pictures are from nights out) but translated for her it came out, “Very Sexy!” She was shocked to know that my best friend, Neha, was Indian- not white and could not believe that she was American. Paula told me, “But whites don’t like color, so how are you two best friends?” I told her that whoever told her that was speaking for them self. I explained to her that I don’t see color, I don’t see a person outside and claim to know them inside. I told her when I sit around with my best friends I don’t see three whites, and one Indian. I see four best friends…I talked with her about my friends and I sitting around explaining our religions to each other, Neha explaining how her Indian brothers wedding will take place and the different traditions he must withhold. I told her about Indian Holidays I’ve learned from her and questions she’s come to me about in return. I think Paula felt a sense of comfort in getting to know me better through my pictures of friends and family, and I hope to have erased some stereotypes of whites in her eyes. It also made me proud of my amazing Indian best friend and our wonderful friendship. (I love you Neha!) Following my show and tell I asked to see pictures of hers. She brought me out three big family photo albums. They were mainly family pictures, and a couple here and there of her friends. It was nice to see pictures of Jotham and Esperance (my host parents) as college students, my host siblings as babies and the house I live in now- years ago. Just as we were starting to relax and get to know each other and laugh together- I turned the page. I saw Paula’s face drop and I knew there was a story about these pictures I was now seeing. Pictures of the same twin baby boys, the same 2 women and the same man…I kept my mouth shut and continued flipping the pages, I wasn’t really looking at the photos anymore, more so just trying to get past all the pictures that were making my sister so uncomfortable. As I turned page after page and continued to see the same four people and still not a flinch from Paula I looked up at her and we both shared a moment of silence. I don’t know how I knew. But I just did. It was like God was preparing me for what she was going to say. “They’re dead…” she muttered, and I was frozen. I’ve learned all about the genocide in Rwanda, I’ve seen movies, I’ve seen pictures, and I’ve seen Rwandans with missing limbs, scars and holes in their heads. But her words affected me more than any of that. To see family members, family members of the people who are now MY family, who have had their lives taken 16 years ago in the genocide was a feeling I’d never felt before. The two of us talked for a while about the genocide- I told her what I knew and she told me about her twin baby cousins who were just months old when they were murdered. She told me of her aunts whose lives were taken and uncles too, almost her entire fathers side of the family is gone… I think this is the night we became more than strangers to each other. This is the night that God brought us together. I admire Paula’s strength, and I appreciate her sharing with me…I hope she knows how strong she is, and if she doesn’t, I hope one day I can tell her. After the pictures we went out for dinner, neither one of us talked very much. I think I already had enough on my plate.

Sunday morning was more of the same, sleep in until 8, wake up, eat breakfast, lounge around, shower, and then. GUESTS! They started arriving every 5 minutes. I didn’t even know we were having company over that day but I was soon made aware. Every time someone knew came in you could cut the tension with a knife. The tension that comes when an African spots a white person in their family’s house. Nobody knows how to approach me; do I know how to greet the Rwandan way? What language do I speak? Etc. We quickly all greeted one another, but most of the day’s conversations were carried out in Kinyarwanda. I can’t be mad that I sit in a room full of people and don’t understand a word they say, I am in there country, they shouldn’t have to speak English just for me. So after we ate I went to my room to rest some more while the adults had a “meeting” Paula said they just talk about each other’s lives but they call them meetings. I think Paula is very clever. After a while of resting my host brother Bruce asked me to watch a movie with him, he put in the movie 2012, in ENGLISH! And we began to watch. He asked me if this was true, if the world was really ending. It’s funny how in Rwanda, everyone asks me questions that no one even knows the answer to, thinking that because I’m white- and from America, I know. It’s fun to laugh and them and quickly remind them I’m only human…only God can answer questions like those. They ask me how they can better their schools, their towns, their markets…I continue to remind them, I’m no master of Rwanda- I came to your country because I like it as is. I can give you examples of ways we use in America, but I certainly hold no answers to best suiting your own country, I’d have to of had much more experience than three or four weeks to know answers such as these. After the movie Paula wanted to go on a walk around town, so we left in search of an adventure. As we climbed up the hill just outside their home I quickly sought comfort in the glorious Chez Lando! (Our hotel where we stayed last summer) It was nice to see the familiar area and lovely to remember my stay there 12 months ago. We began walking down the street, facing whispers of “Mazungu!” and people trying to sell us things and talk to us. Paula showed me the stadium, different super markets, some schools and her family’s church. After about an hour or so of walking we headed home, went to our rooms and lights out!

I’m going to summarize the rest of this first full week all together, I have just gotten connected to the internet in my host family’s house and so my blogging is far behind and If I try to write about each day extensively, now- I will burn out, so bare with me.

This was my first week at ESCAF, the private primary school where I am to complete my internship. On Monday I had another meeting with the headmaster and after explaining to him that I’m not a teacher nor am I a doctor (for some reason everyone here seems to think I’m one or the other) we decided what was best for me was to spend most of my time teaching in the top class of the nursery (Rwanda’s version of kindergarten/first grade) and working on developing the website. In addition I can sit in on each of the upper level classes to gain a better sense of awareness, but my main task here is to teach the young ones.

I couldn’t have asked for a better position at ESCAF, my class was so welcoming my first day and my fellow teachers, Mary and Monique, welcomed me with open arms and it felt as if we’d been teaching together for years. The first day I mainly sat and observed how things ran, after school was out Mary and Monique picked my brain- Mary speaks wonderful English but Monique speaks only French and Kinyarwanda, so I mainly talk with Mary- and she translates for Monique, or vice versa. They asked me how their class compares to America’s classes, they asked about my travels to Rwanda, I explained to them my experience last summer and it touching me so much I had to return. They asked about my future interests and I told them bout my love for the Gisimba Orphanage, Mary explained to me that I could start up and orphanage of my own, I just had to find orphans, sponsors for them and a roof to put over all of our heads and then present it to the ministry. Mary’s my angel, I feel so comfortable with her and for the first time when I’m with her I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to me. Mary told me after school that I’m the real deal, she told me that my spirit shines through and she can see my caring and helpful heart. She said people come to Rwanda all the time to “help” but they get so defeated with what they see that they leave having done nothing but fear Rwandans and our country. She made me cry, I think God gave me Mary and God gave me Mary’s kind words. Thank you for encouraging me today God, and thank you for bringing me Mary. The next day Monique was sick so it was just Mary and I. I quickly settled in as teacher and disciplined the kids as Mary taught and taught as Mary disciplined. The children are learning counting to 50, the alphabet, different objects, body parts as well as songs and rhymes. However, the children are learning both in English AND French! These little babies are wonderful. We do a lot of learning out loud, we do workbooks and we write letters on our wooden desks in Chalk. The school is very needy; don’t let the words PRIVATE primary school fool you. There isn’t much money in ESCAF, no electricity, no running water, two children to a desk, workbooks made of recycled paper and chalkboards that look as if they’re struggling to stay on the walls. But these children aren’t fazed, they’re eager to learn and ambitious to grow. I admire theses 5 and 6 year olds more than I admire most adults. They don’t allow themselves to feel defeated or weak because of their lack of resources. They all come in skipping with a smile on their face and plenty of hugs to dish out. Day three my class told me, “Mazungu, you can stay and be our teacher forever if you want!” I felt honored at their long-term offer after only three days of knowing me. I think I’ll miss these children when I’m gone. I’m learning names and faces slowly; it’s fun to try to learn everyone and their personalities. Isaac, Jeyeden, Rashid, Nova, Arno, Sharma, Chusey and Zaidu are the rebellious boys, Kevena is the rebellious girl. They’re the ones who get disciplined each day. (Rwanda has an old school style of teaching; they still smack children with sticks, pull their ears and make them stand with their nose touching the blackboard or their head between their legs) Back home in Iowa I was taught at school to use words, never punishment, that spanking was bad and that children aren’t to be touched. Well, this isn’t so much my belief in raising and teaching children. I don’t think that children need to be “beaten” the stick isn’t for viscous beatings of little ones, it’s to alert them, to provide a consequence to their negative pre-warned actions and to teach them right from wrong. I believe that children run the world in America and they don’t have any respect for elders, I got spanked (only a handful of times) when I was little and I’m not emotionally disturbed, I have a healthy sense of respect for my parents and their authority…I knew I couldn’t misbehave without consequence growing up and I think I’m better because of the respect I was taught growing up. However, anymore when I go into these classrooms for labs in America I see children with no respect, running around with heir heads cut off, ruling these classrooms and disturbing everyone- and as a teacher, there’s really not a thing you can do about it. So to be in a classroom in Rwanda, doing it the way I believe in, where the children respect the teacher- listen to authority and behave with manners- was refreshing. It was nice to see that children can still get spanked and be happy. These children don’t fear their teacher they still hug her every morning and every night, they still fight to stand next to her in line…She still allows them to be children. She’s realistic about her actions and doesn’t hit the little ones for giggling or talking out of turn. She lets them be children, but if they fight physically with one another or disrespect her multiple times or dishonor her wishes repeatedly- she provides a consequence. Regardless, I’m in agreement. Arriet, Joyezze, Nicole, Roxanne, Novally, Greta, Nice, Shaila, Kessy, Gady and Kahn are the sweet children. Kahn is Native American (the only non-African in the class) She is the sweetest little girl you will ever know and BEAUTIFUL, the children call us “alike” because to them, we are both mazungus. Kahn doesn’t talk much but she smiles a lot. Her parents live here for business; however, She’s lived here her entire life. Mary told me her own personally story after school today. We were talking about children, and I asked her if she had any. She told me she had a 10-year-old boy and how very hard it is for her to keep both of their heads above water. She told me that she was married once, but her husband joined the military and when they were sent to another country to fight he disappeared. She told me they sent her a letter their first week there and said that the second they touched ground, he was gone. Mary told me that with such confidence and zero weakness, I couldn’t even imagine how she must feel. That was years ago she said, and she’s been raising their son on her own ever since. She makes VERY little money at ESCAF and can hardly afford to raise her son. She lives in a hostel to cut down on housing costs and sends her son to boarding school to bundle in food and shelter for him. She talks about dreams of finding a sponsor, but she said most people want to sponsor orphans- they think if you have a parent or if you’re a parent with a job you’re without need, and she understands that way of thinking. She says most people are of greater need then her, it’s just hard…Well, I think God brought Mary into my life for a reason and I would LOVE to someday sponsor her. Mary is a teacher by day and student by night; she wants to get a better job at a bank or something to make more money. So each morning she goes to school by 7 a.m. and doesn’t get home until after her own classes are over around 11:30 P.M. She’s my hero.

This weekend I got very sick. I’ve been in bed most of the time and feeling very hot, achy, sore throat, cough and chills. My host parents feared for Malaria or African sleeping sickness so my host dad, Jotham, took me to the clinic on Monday. They drew blood and tested me, no malaria, Whew! I’m still sick but doing much better. They gave me cough syrup with codine and some other mystery pill. At the clinic the doctor asked for my nearest relative in Rwanda, my host dad chimed in, “Why that’d be me, I am her Rwandan father!” so he wrote down his own name. He’s a sweet man, with good intentions. I think sometimes the language barrier frustrates me with my host family- but I have to be patient. I ‘m no better for not knowing Kinyarwanda, so I can’t complain. Jotham likes to ask about my parents a lot; I think he fears he will let them down. My first night here he asked to see pictures of mom and dad. He says he dreams up what they look like and can tell from my dad’s emails that he’s not young but not too old. He says he has a way with his words and he can tell that I’m the last born by the way he cares. Jotham says he has a lot of respect for my family for letting me travel to Rwanda alone and he cannot wait to meet my mom. He talks about her arrival all the time, just when I thought I couldn’t appreciate my parents anymore…God found a way to remind me how wonderful you are Mom & Dad. I love you, and I cannot wait for you to join me in Rwanda, Mom, and to see you at the airport in Des Moines, Dad. J



My sick body is asking to go back to bed now. Thanks for reading and thanks for the patience!