Becoming Acclimated

It possible that I have become somewhat accustomed to some of the basic things I once found frustrating and unusual, the police officer on the back of a motto screaming out “you are smart”, running behind schedule by 7 hours, and just, well just sitting.

A few weeks ago I asked my host mother to go with me to the market to buy igitenge, fabric. She was so delighted, absolutely thrilled to take me. We set a date, went to the market, and then the umudozi, tailor. This was a two fold plan, she was proud to take me to the market, and I got to see which fabric stand and tailor she goes to rather than seeking one out on my own and experimenting with trial and error if they are a good seamstress. I decided to first wear my new head to toe blue and yellow patterned African fabric outfit to church when I picked it up the following week. When I first put it on it felt like a costume, but after 10 minutes in my home wearing it I adjusted and began to fell a little more comfortable. As soon as a step out of my alley the stares and long obvious glances begin, but this is normal since no matter what I do I will still be white, I think nothing of it until someone screams “you are smart,” as they wiz by on a motto, I look up to notice that this is a police officer. I know I stick out, but normally law enforcement respects boundaries and doesn’t stare or say muzungu to me. I continue my 30-minute walk to church, where almost every person that speaks even a smidgen of English tells me, “you are smart.” Now either I missed the memo and we say this in America, or it is a British thing, I also noticed they say it in the book Baking Cakes in Kigali.

Last week I was part of a holiday camp. The primary and secondary schools are on break for 3 weeks, they are in between terms, except for secondary3 and seconday6, they have a class and break at a different time. The OVCs (orphans and vulnerable children) I work with to help obtain school fees through CHF and USAID were invited to the camp. The camp itself was remarkable, a cross between school where it is based on education, and camp, where it is based solely on fun. We did all sorts of different activities based on the theme, “Higa Ubeho,” be determined and live. There were, discussions, debates, skits, songs, cartoons drawn, overall it was a great week, a hands on experience in an environment I was able to thrive in. The OVCs, all 800+ of them slept at the school in the dorms, I went home every night, around 10:30pm to leave my house again at 7am. It is not the long hours that bothered me in anyway, I like to work and the week went by quickly, it was the lack of organization and running behind schedule for no reason that frustrated me to an extent, but it is something I was prepared for, as it is a common encounter. There were times when information needed to be gathered from the OVCs and the counselors/teachers asked for it in the most unorganized impractical way. When I tried to ask why we didn’t do it another day they looked at me as if I were crazy. Eventually the information was gathered and this week it is all being entered in the computer database so we know the name of each child, where they live (the umudugudu-basically the block), if they are HIV+, if they have either parent, what school they are currently attending, the amount they need to cover school fees for the following 2 terms, all practical information, but the process to collect the information, backwards. On day 5 of camp, where we were supposed to be done at 10 am and the children were to go home, we finished at 5pm, where we then weren’t even completely done, we still had more to sort and paperwork to organize. I felt awful that the day took so long because I told my host mother that I would go to see her house girl, the one that cooks, baptism, and then I didn’t go. I felt terrible but explained to them that the camp went late, and of course they understood. Here baptisms are done when you are an adult, so you can make the conscious decision yourself, just like when my parents made me wait until almost the 5th grade to get my ears pierces! Ok well not at all the same, but the concept of making a decision for yourself is the same. With religion guiding and playing such a large part in almost all Rwandan’s lives many must make the choice to be baptized. Definitely disappointed I missed it, hopefully the next time 10 churches gather together for baptism ceremonies and house girls get to wear ‘smart’ (wambaye neza) clothes I will be able to attend.

Last umuganda was less eventful than others. I normally go with Ononline, just like online in English as she told me. But this week my host mother told me that she couldn’t go because she had to stay home and wash her clothes. Eric, my host mother’s brother is home form secondary school so he went to represent my mother’s household so I went with him. We went to a nearby primary school where he told me we were going to help with trees. For the record while we have many woods to describe the parts of a tree and product from a tree, branch, stick, skewer, wood, pencil etc they only have one, tree. So it was a little unclear as to what we would be doing, were we going to plant trees, water seedlings, help tomato plants grow upright…what we did was chop down trees from a nearby forest area and carry them to a local school to build a welcome archway. I still haven’t gotten the chance to carry anything on my head, it took about 4 of us to carry each tree on our shoulder, thankfully the school was only a short walk from the forest area. After this we helped remove desks from each classroom so they could be cleaned while the children were still on holiday. After this came the sitting. I SAT ON GRASS!!! For all that know me this is a HUGE HUGE deal! I didn’t like it but I did it anyway. I asked Eric what was next and he told me we had to wait to vote for positions in the umudugudu (the local community comprised of a few houses). I sat with the ladies of my umudugudu who were thoroughly amused by my attempt to talk in Kinyarwanda to them. We sat and waited and waited and waited, then representation from the health center came where we listened, and waited, then we talked about what we heard, and then we nominated people for positions in the umudugudu, they tried to nominate me but I told them I would respectfully have to decline as I am a volunteer in the country and not a native citizen and don’t speak the language. We talked about what we thought about the nominations, and then we sat, well you get the idea. There was a lot of sitting. This was on Saturday. On Monday there was more sitting. As a Peace Corps Volunteer I am strictly forbidden from getting involved in political matters. With the upcoming elections, August 9, I have been careful to follow the Peace Corps policy. My counterpart was also respectful of this when she asked me if I wanted to go to a speech given by President Paul Kagame in my district. She was told she had to go to supervise the OVCs because they were all given instructions to attend when they were at the camp the previous week. I told her it would be all right for me to go, I was going to listen to his speech as an observer not taking part in the elections. For the people of the Gicumbi the president’s presence was an honor and they were very excited, I know this because me, the girl who sleeps like a rock, woke up at 3:14 am the night before the speech to a parade of people banging on drums walking to the stadium where the speech was going to take place. I was fortunate enough to take a motto to the stadium that ADEPR, my work, paid for, the motto tide took over 45 minutes, so to walk that is quite a distance, im guessing approximately the distance of sea cliff to riverhead, to stand/sit in the hot sun, to walk home at the end of the following day. Dedication for people to travel by foot, as that is all they can afford and wanted to get the chance to be in the presidents company. When we arrived at the location we did not know where the OVCs were because we did not pick on meeting spot or a time so they are scattered throughout the crowd. Sophie, my counterpart, and I took a seat, on the grass again, and waited. There were performances by singers and guest speakers that addresses the crowd, Paul Kagame arrived by helicopter eventually and spoke, encouraging the people to vote, stating his campaign slogan “Tora Paul Kagame” Vote Paul Kagame, and “Imvugo Nivo Ngiro” what he says he puts in action. Terms are 7 years here, Kagame has already served 2 and you can serve up to 3, 21 years in office. After the sitting came the exit, mayhem!! Imagine the same amount of people as a Jones Beach concert, pushing and shoving to get to the front, the police and security held off a while before they allowed people to exit, I don’t have words to describe the sprinting full force the took place and the dust cloud the followed. Sophie had the right idea when she had me stand back and wait a short while before we tried to exit. I heard that there were deaths from people being trampled when exiting but I’m not positive.

Part of me is acclimated and accustomed to the daily life here, I drink my tea like a Rwandan, I am addicted to fresh milk, I have even picked my nose in public, completely culturally acceptable, however, I still think about cold iced tea, I use common and logical sense when solving problems and in my daily life, and I am absolutely disgusted with snot rockets, that will never be acceptable to me. Just like I will never understand all cultural norms Rwandans will never totally understand me, they are getting used to the idea that I want my bangs to be in my face and they do not bother me, I like to dunk my cornbread in my milk, and that just because I am white does not mean I am rich, alright, the last one I am still working really hard on, but a few understand. Buhoro buhoro, slowly by slow.