Time Flies

It is funny how time gets away from you. Every time I sit to write I forget or assume I will do it later. Now I turn around and I have been here a month. I guess when the newness and excitement wheres down and it becomes the normal. Routine makes life simple. The funny thing is that things still occur almost daily and I am still working diligently; however it does not seem nearly as thrilling as it did when I first arrived. Now that this much time has passed it is difficult to know where to even begin.

Things are normalizing. Although I feel I am at a stand still with my Kinyarwanda speaking. We have been filled with so many things occurring the "Lessons" seemed to have gone to a stand still. I went from learning 50 words in a few short days to learning nothing recently. However, I seem to know more and more of what is being said around me without realizing. It is as if I know the basics of conversation without detail.

Everyone treats me with care and greatness. I do often feel like a small child the way the fuss over me and take care of things. When I was sick though there were moments this was nice and others I missed the sanctuary of home. I often worry about offending someone or doing the wrong thing. The pressure is exhausting. It is not that I cannot be myself; however, often there are just many things that are not accepted culturally here. Sometimes it feels as if I am often a house guest continually.

They all consider me family and would do anything for me. It is nice to have this feeling after such a short of time. It is surprising because I expected that like the US you would be friends during work and outside of work we would go our separate ways. Every weekend they visit, call, and ensure I do not spend the entire weekend alone. However, sometimes it becomes overwhelming. I am used to more independence.  Not everyone makes me feel this way it just a sensation I am unaccustomed to. I am not used to people watching when and what I eat. Or when I shop, where I go, who I speak to. These are strange sensations as a 23 year old  who has lived alone for over 2 years and away from home for 5 now.

I remember when I was in Greece by the 20 day end we were all ready to return to the US and have normal foods. I think that now that I have been here a month I am hitting that slump; however I feel like I have barely seen anything. I feel that there is still so much. For being here a month I feel as if I barely know what is happening or am allowed to do very little work. If it were not for my American Supervisor I would spend many days doing nothing at all. This sometimes is frustrating. The one thing is for certain I do want to study this and transferring to Tulane is the correct choice. Nor am I ready to end my experience. I am just at a point of needing to do more than what I am. I need to see more, do more, and get a break of the consistency I have fallen into. I however, feel like I have been here forever and a short time in the same instant. I hope more is to come over the next several months.

Surreal Sensation

I am not even sure where to begin to explain the emotions and feelings of today. This was the first day of my internship here in Rwanda. It was more than I could have imagined.

I rose early to be able to take a shower before people started arriving to the office for work. I was nervous and excited. Overall, I was utterly unaware of what to expect.  As people began to arrive I became more and more nervous. How was I going to communicate? What am I supposed to be doing? How am I going to learn all of this?

Our Program Director came in from Kigali today for two specific reasons. 1) To meet me. 2) To be involved in our quarterly meeting. Today was the first day everyone was back from Christmas Holiday and the start of a new quarter. That meant we had to discuss the previous quarter and plan for this coming quarter.

During my individual meeting with the program director I learned how much I am truly going to go be involved in with this project. I am to go to the field every time we are in the field; write all the reports in English; attend all meetings related to health (this is not only on a local level but including national level and meetings with the Ministry of Health).  Carmen is to take me with her to every meeting. They want to ensure I learn as much as I am helping them. Overall, they are all excited to have me; in particular because they have never been able to have an intern for longer than 3 months. They truly believe by being here for 5 months I am going to truly help with the project. (Now get the Visa situation settled to ensure I can stay in the country would be nice).

Everyone was beyond welcoming. They all attempted to communicate with me in their broken English. They joked with me by asking me to lead prayer and read the Kinyarwandan Bible. This started to put me at ease. Furthermore, during the meeting they sat me next to Claire, a Nutrition Officer, who translated the meeting so I could feel involved with what was happening. If she forgot to translate one of the other staff members would remind her. It helped ease the overwhelming sensation of being lost. However, even with translation much of the meeting was lost. I did my best to pay attention to the eternally long meeting in another language.

During morning tea and biscuit everyone told me about my need to drink Rwandan Coffee and we talked about weather difference compared to the US. Although there were many of my co-workers that were occupied catching up with each other and I often did not know what was happening. This all changed by lunch.  During the second half of the meeting I was able to understand enough of the conversation to make a few suggestions to help with decrease program costs; this made me a member of the team.

Lunch was an assortment of different foods prepared by the a young women whom, cleans the building, does the dishes, washes our clothing, prepares food, and even grocery shops when needed for a mere $25USD a month. She along with other local women prepares our hot lunch daily. Today contained some familiar foods with other strange items. It is entertaining portions in Rwanda compared to US. During buffets in the US we take what we will eat and once we are full it is over. However, because I am new they continue to try and keep feeding me. I had tried everything but they wanted me to keep eating. I had to tell them I could not eat anymore; furthermore, then they prepared containers for me to keep for dinner. At first they gave me a large container until I took the smaller one. Several things occurred during this meal that made me think.

The first was the amount of food we had. There were at least 10 dishes and soda for everyone.  First we are provided tea snacks and a huge meal without costs to us. However, I wonder what many of my co-workers home lives are like. I know at least two of the gentlemen have families far away and work here because it is a better job. Do they have the hot water I am allotted? Is this their only meals? All the regular staff including the drivers are given food first and their seconds. Once we have eaten our fill then the security guard and cooks were allowed to eat the food. At lunch the hierarchy became apparent.  The World Relief employees did not really communicate to the cooks unless it pertained to the food; we paid for the food and got the hot food. It seemed as if we were far better off than those cooking and cleaning. The perception is difficult. I would never ask people salary; however, it does make me curious about the living situations about all the different people. I am eager to learn more about each of my co-workers. I am eager to better understand the culture.

After lunch it was hard to tell what was supposed to be happening. It seemed to take everyone a while to get back to work mode. I did not know what I was supposed to be doing. I pulled out my iPad to read documents sent to my school email because my computer would no load them. This however, led to everyone playing games on it instead. Then I pulled out my Kinyarwanda Translation book. Everyone feel in love with the book. They decided they would come to visit me on the weekends so we could work together. They all are eager to learn more English and I am eager to learn their language. They laughed at me attempting their difficult words and the work atmosphere was very playful. It was great to feel like I belonged. In a matter of a day I felt more like I belonged in a place that I can not speak the language than I had the entire time I lived in Boston.

While we joked and worked on my language they asked me to help with formatting documents and graphs in their workbooks. They did not have the computer software or understanding. It was nice to feel incredibly helpful for a simple task.  By 4:00 the workday was done; except for me. Carmen asked me to read, format, and fix the December monthly report. It needed to be submitted by tomorrow. After everyone left for the evening (after a while of working on my Kinyarwandan with them) I began work on my project. This task was not simple. I was to decipher the meaning behind the broken language and analyze how the document was supposed to be formatted. This would have been challenging under any circumstance; however, since I barely understand the projects this was even more challenging than I had imagined.  Some sections were repeated and the previous 2 monthly reports were has each been formatted differently. It was difficult to decide what data went where.  However, it was fantastic to have such a task after mere hours on my first day at work.

Tomorrow I will begin the quarterly report and Thursday will be my first Field Project. I can only imagine what will be occurring with my time here. Today only made me more excited and happy. Carmen asked the security guard “if he was taking care of her daughter” and I am making fast friends with the co-workers near my age. I hope this all continues. Together I know we have an abundance to learn from each other. 

Pictures of Nyamagabe

Pictures from t

Far from a Day of Rest

I spent the morning unpacking and preparing my room for my 5-month stay. However I finished this before 9AM and knew I had a full day ahead of me.  The security guard greeted me through my open windows and asked if I was going to church. His broken English however made the conversation difficult and I could no clue where the nearest church was or what time service began. However, this was a sign that it was time to see the village and examine my surroundings. Besides I needed to see if bottled water was available since we have jugged drinking water, which most likely is not suitable without treatment since I am a foreigner.

I began the long walk down the mountain into the village. I was struck by the sensation I was walking in the wrong direction, as everyone else appeared to walk in my opposite direction. They of course stared or the children ran to shake my hand and smile at me. All of there were dressed in their “Sunday Best” and did not seem troubled by the tiresome journey to church.

I stopped and took photos taking in the scenery. As I got to an intersection unsure if I were to go right or left the bicycle taxi’s stopped and ask if the “White Girl” needed a ride to town. I politely attempted to decline and continued my walk in what I hoped was the correct direction. As I continued downhill an older woman attempted to make conversation with me. First it seemed polite. However, it quickly turned to confusion and what appeared to be her asking me for money. She got frustrated and walked away.

This was a difficult moment. I was enjoying trying to speak with the locals. However she kept holding a 50-piece Franc and pointing to my bag and camera. I am still unsure of what she kept saying to me. The more I shook my head no the angrier she got until she stormed off. It was disappointing and frustrating. If I had known what she was asking I may have been able to answer better.  At this point I was still only halfway to the village. I continued to smile as the locals stared and greeted them with a Bonjour, Good Morning, or wave depending on how they initiated the conversation. The closer I grew to the village the larger the crowds wanting to say hello.

I was unsure of what the village would look like on a Sunday. It was similar to the United States. Some places were closed down due to it being “the day of rest” while others ran business as usual. This was similar to the behavior of the people. Some hurried to walk the kilometers needed to Church while others leisurely spent time together. One woman sat outside a shop getting a pedicure. I could not help smiling thinking women in any culture still enjoy the luxury of pedicures; even if the amenities are far different.

I wondered what many of the shops were to my left; it was difficult to decide how to enter them. Furthermore, it was apparent window-shopping for a “white girl” was not really an option. If I enter a store I am expected to purchase something. I simply kept walking until I found the “goods shop” from yesterday. I purchased 2 spicy empanadas, 1 bottle of coke, and a large bottle of water for 1100 Franc or $1.71. This was exactly what I needed. I sat on a small bench drinking the refreshing Coke from the long walk and eating my empanada lunch. Of course sitting there enjoy such luxury left the opportunity for more questions.

A young gentleman informed me he would like me to buy him a bottle of coke and the security guard next to him a bottle of water. The coke question I awkwardly smiled off and said no; however, it was difficult to not consider purchasing water for the guard. However, they both laughed when I said no and could tell I did not know how to respond. They continued to ask but could tell they were not going to get what they asked for. I told them the water was to take home. They laughed more and seemed to understand. I bid them goodbye and decided I should continue on my journey. I suddenly realized I did not know where that journey was too. Furthermore, I did not know how to get rid of my empty bottle of coke. Most likely I should return it to the shop. I however, simply was carrying my trash and cold bottle of water. I could not carry these around town. It was time to head home.

I turned around and began the hike back up the mountain. Once again it seemed as if I was walking in the incorrect direction as crowds of people came pouring down the mountain. A large group of children dressed in uniform singing and clapping to my left and families to my right. I am unsure if they were leaving church or heading to church.  The one thing I could be certain of was even though they were walking far distances in their nice clothing on a hot day they were happy. They were not begging for money. The small children would run up to me stick their hand out and say “Good Morning” when I would shake their had they would run away giggling. The older women welcomed me and greeted me with smiles. It was entirely different that my previous experiences. They did not want anything from me only to say hello.

As I turned down the final uphill road to home a 16-year-old girl was walking in my same direction. She greeted me and attempted to make conversation. A mother with her toddler daughter stopped to say hello to me. The small girl stuck out her hand to shake mine her mother laughed and overjoyed by here daughters wonder of me. The 16-year-old girl and I separated from the mother and child and continued the walk up the mountain.  She told me she was going to the Catholic Church to sing. We tried to make difficult conversation up the mountain. I became aware of how warm and tiring this walk was getting.  I grew in awe to think these citizens do this on a daily basis. How much we as American’s take for granted transportation.

I looked behind me to see an older woman sweating and tiredly walking up the mountain to church. Guilt over filled me as I looked at my unopened bottle of cold water. This woman was out of breath and asking for nothing. I offered her some water. She was grateful. As she drank a mother carrying a baby and 2 young girls caught up to us. The mother shielded her baby from the sun with an umbrella and happily said hello to me asking, “Where are you coming?” As this was happening the older woman was returning my water. How could I not also offer this mother carrying a child up a mountain on a hot day water.  I then offered it to here 2 year old that was walking and the 16 year old and back to the older woman. The older woman seemed surprised by my willingness to share. How could I not?

I told the mother I was working for World Relief. She smiled and told me she would see me tomorrow. She too worked at my office.  They all thanked me for my water and she told the older woman I was part of World Relief. It seemed to explain everything. It is irony that the people I offered water to were a co-workers family and a lone 16-year-old girl.  I look forward to see her again tomorrow.

I learned even if Sunday is a day of rest these people would travel a distance to share their beliefs together. They do not care about the effort it takes to get to church. That is true faith. How many times have I opted to sleep in one day versus making the effort to dress up and go to service?  Furthermore, it is apparent they work hard and make more efforts in everything they do compared to many people I know. It is gratifying. It makes me realize how much life I often take for granted.

 A gentleman who is also a student in Public Health whom I will be working directly with came to the office to meet me. He is Rafiki's roommate. He told me of the Health Centers we will visit which are nearly 50 kilometers away. I learned we will be in the field an abundance which will require leaving for the villages very early. To hear more about the project was exciting but I am more struck by his and Rafiki's situation. They are both married with multiple children however their families live hours away. They work where the jobs are available. I knew this was common from studies but it hard to hear. To be forced to continually away from your family is disheartening. Forced to not be able to watch your children grow up in order to put food on the table with meager salaries. Yet this is the normal in the culture. The way one must live. These are the instances that take minutes to comprehend. The realization again how although is occasionally occurs in the US it is the uncommon versus the normal. 

It is not a wonder that when they locals see a "White Girl" they are persuaded to ask for money or items. We truly do have far more than we realize. I am aware of those that live in poverty in the US but to witness it first hand changes everything.  I am eager to learn and accept more of their culture, to understand what truly matters rather than the pettiness of life. 

  

The First of Many Days Ahead

I cleaned up bits of the mess I had made the night before and wandered out of my room to breakfast. It was immaculate. There was far more than I could have expected. The hotel has put out so much…and as far as I knew I was the only guest (I did discover there were two other guests as well). The woman caring for use was vastly intrigued by me and incredibly worried I did not like my options. 

Although who would not like fresh papaya, passion fruit, and pineapple. Or who would not want homemade omelet with topping.  First she did not see me eat pineapple and thought I disliked it. I had to reassure her I ate it. Then I left to find my camera and she was concerned I did not finish my coffee. Once finishing that she was bothered by the fact I did not touch the bread or cornflakes. Even after insisting that it was only that I was full I still had to eat a piece of toast. It was all intriguing. I knew that what you were served you should eat all of. I therefore, had carefully only taken an amount I knew I could finish; however, it was still not enough. That being said it was one of the best pieces of toast I have tasted.

The hotel quickly made me aware of cultural difference. The innkeeper was in my room talking to me and became fixated on my mismatched flip-flops. She quickly popped off her sandal and put mine on to see if they fit.  It was mildly amusing how much she like my $2.50 Old Navy Flip-Flops. If had remembered to bring 2 complete pairs versus my mismatched set I would have kindly given her a pair.

After enjoying my coffee on the porch and taking in the scenery Rafiki came to collect me and bring me on the final trek of my journey. For a city only 3 hours away thing journey was long.  We had a list of things to do and it was beyond overwhelming. First we had to exchange my money. This happen so quickly I had trouble processing was even happened. He asked me what it exchanged for and I could not even tell him. In a matter of seconds my $400 had turned in to over $250,000 Rwandan Francs. Was that a lot? What were the costs of things?  How much, is too much Francs to carry? These things rushed through my head as I hopped back into the car.

Next we picked up a woman and several supplies that would be make the journey to Nyamagabe with us.  Before we could leave the city we needed to stop at the supermarket because some times would not be available for me to buy in Nyamagabe. While we had stopped to pick up the woman; however, I had split my money up believe 6000Franc was more than plenty carry with me. I mean that sounded like a lot, although in reality it is only $9.40. In the supermarket it was hard to process something costing  2,500 or anything. It all seemed expensive. I walked out with 3 tomatoes, 1 green pepper, a bag of pasta, 1 onion, 2 potatoes, a small thing of milk, and a box of CornFlakes. It was 4,190. In my mind I could not believe I had just spent that much. Then I realized it was only $6.50.  I was still unsure of what I could purchase in Nyamagabe. Somethings I picked up Rafiki said to wait and purchase because it would be cheaper. Had I gotten what I needed? Would this surfice? It was too overwhelming to try and figure this all out while people waited in the car for us.

The long car ride began. We were filled to brim with supplies and what seemed like an overwhelming amount of luggage. The tried to communicate with me and laughed as I attempted to learn their language. Conversation was limited due to the language barrier but still filled with kindness. They stopped and purchased “Meatballs” for lunch, we picked up more supplied, and finally my boss. There kindness was incredible and put my nerves to rest. Although it quickly became accepted that Raghela was far too challenging of a name and I would be “Rachelle” instead, since I told them my name is Italian for Rachel. They have decided they are going to come up with a native name for me since I will be here for so long.

We arrived home finally. We pulled in to a gate building that is surrounded by barbed wire and a 24-hour security guard. The building seems far nicer than many of the huts we drove past on the journey. I have a lovely bed, partial fridge, running water, and propane stove. Home sweet home. I am given a set of keys and we are off again. Since I did not purchase much at the supermarket we must head to the village market. I have been warned that the vendors try and raise prices for the “White Man” since we are rich in comparison. This however, will not occur when I go with a native.

I laugh as they have asked me what I like to eat on the way to Nyamagabe so these items have made the list of things to purchase: eggs, avocados, and pineapple.  Carmen, my boss, and I climb out of the truck into a crowded area. She leads me through brick and dirt paths. I look behind me to discover I have a number of children following behind me staring. I am by far the only “White Girl” in the community. As I pass by they yell “White Girl” in their native tongue and more turn to look. I am eternally grateful to Carmen as the barters with the vendors and knows where to go to purchase food. She picks it out and I had over more money.  Small children who realize I do not understand them know enough English to tell me “Give Me Money”, while the other children continue to stare and smile at me. We pay a young boy to carry our bags as we wander through the market. I quickly learn I do not get to pick the amount I purchase. There is a minimum. I must purchase even if that is beyond the amount I want. I buy fresh green beans, green onions, cucumbers, papaya, mangos, passion fruit, and pineapple. Carmen then learns that I did not purchase oil in the city and we must trek to find this and eggs. The first shop requires 5,000 for oil that seems slightly off. However, I am able to purchase fresh bread and Carmen decides I must try some their food there. I am introduced to the “Meatballs” that my car friends had eaten earlier, and what seems like a spicy meat empanada, and spicy pita bread.  I was required to try one of each.  When I pick my favorite she purchases me another to eat. She had said they normally have a welcome gift for visitors but since I came as holiday was ending they had not had a chance. I told her it was far better that she had just helped me shop. We went our separate ways and Rafiki helped me with the oil and a cell phone.  

I was ready to be done shopping. I was fearful that I had spent an insane amount of money in a short period of time. How am I to survive this trip if I am just spending money like I did today? I laugh at myself now as I did the math when I arrived home I realized that although I had spent 28,000 Rwandan Franc in a day I had actually spent $44.00 including a sim card, cell phone, 1000 minutes, and food for the week or longer.  This is when I realized how much poverty really means. To them te 7.80 for Olive Oil seems expensive and too costly; however, and bottle that size would be more here and lasts for an extended period of time.  Furthermore, a “cheap phone” of 10,000 Francs to them is still pricey while to me it is merely a phone for under $20.00.  The disparity in living is ever present. It makes it even harder to not spare 100 Francs to the armless child, toothless woman, or crippled man that came to my truck window. I have to remind myself I maybe a millionaire to these people; however, in reality I am far from it and I can help them with my work rather than my money.  

Rafiki then dropped me off at the office and I was told I would see everyone Monday. The village was a short walk from the office. However, since I am unable to communicate with many of the locals and am bombarded by crowds a journey to the village alone at the moment seems overwhelming. Furthermore, the “Rainy Season” has struck and it now downpours outside. The light outside quickly turned to pitch black and the power continues to flicker. A trip to the village will have to wait for another day.

I look forward to time passing over the next five months were I am not the unique Americano in their village; but rather a “Rwanda” like my coworkers swear I will become since I am staying for so long.  As I sit here I am eager for the work and a way to pass the time. I am eager to explore and make friends in the community. Although these past few days have been overwhelming I am sure there are many more challenges that lie ahead. 

A Journey to Arrive at a Destination

Well the stories and intrigue have already begun. To think my travels began on January 3 and I am only now beginning an experience in Rwanda is strange. The journey here was slightly smoother than I anticipated but only by the slightest.

As I ate breakfast at the hotel on the 3^rd preparing for my flight over I received a phone call informing my first flight had been cancelled. Which of course is the only flight that was not booked all together in my travel. Therefore missing this flight was going to cause slight problems. Luckily I made arrangements with the airport and only had to make slight changes to the journey.  For the inconvenience they decided my bags would not be deemed overweight and would not have to pay the additional $90 in overage fees.

By the time I landed in Newark I had come to realize that I brought a camera but no camera battery charger. Therefore, would be doomed to have little pictures of my 5 month journey. The airport electronics store of course happened to sell out of my type of charger before my arrival and forced me into buying a new camera.  And the expenses begin.

I originally believed that my flights would be great sleeping times; however, I was incredibly wrong. My 5-hour flight to Brussels began at 6pm. We landed around 1am US time. I therefore, never slept, which of course was a huge mistake. My next 8-hour flight was a daytime flight that would land my in Rwanda 8pm local time. The challenge would be staying awake for the rest of t he 36 hour experience.  I of course failed miserably. The only bright side was that the small children on the plane for some reason were fascinated by me and continued to come running up to me and touching me. Therefore, although I napped on the plane ride I never experienced a deep sleep. 

My flights brought me to the reality this was happening. I was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean utterly alone. There was no turning back now. Whatever was happening was going ahead. Nerves filled me and the realization I had no one to talk about them with because I had no ability to contact anyone I knew. My worst fears continued as I stepped off the plane in Rwanda. I looked around totally exhausted unable to find someone holding a sign with my name on it.

I stood awkwardly outside Kigali International Airport unsure of what to do next. I had been promised all my arrangements had been made and I was to do nothing. Nevertheless, that moment outside felt like an eternity. Taxi drivers bombarded me asking me for a ride. If I even knew where I was supposed to be going I would have taken them up on my offer. My money was spilt throughout my luggage and trying to pull it out and exchange it seemed impossible. Who was I to trust? Where was I to go? I had not money, phone, or way to communicate my problem.

As I was on the verge of finding a phone when a slight man came out of the airport with a paper sign in his hand. I barely could read the typing, as it was fold-up. Thankfully, my unique name makes it easy to spot.  The man grabbed my bags and loaded them into a World Relief Range Rover. I was one my way with a gentleman I did not know.

Solomon was kind. He attempted to show me places on the car ride with his broken English. He dropped me off at a hotel in the US Embassy compound where the Kigali World Relief office is located. A kind woman gave me towels, Internet, and offered me supper. I filled out forms unsure of what I was doing. I was utterly exhausted and still more traveling awaited me.

I attempted to contact my mother to inform her I was alive and try and take a shower to feel alive again. Of course I open my bags to find my toothpaste has exploded in one pocket, my face-wash in another, and my shampoo in a third. What a mess I had created. This wasn’t my home I couldn’t unpack and clean it up. It would have to wait. I was far to exhaust to manage this situation. I showered and climbed into bed. I drifted into a strange sleep, unsure of my surroundings or what was happening.