A Note on Personal Relationships – Struggles and Successes of Maintaining and Forging Relationships in the U.S. and Rwanda

I would argue that maintaining relationships in the U.S. and forging new ones in Rwanda has been one of the greatest challenges I’ve faced in Rwanda. I had heard that maintaining a connection with home was difficult and that making true friends in a very reserved society like Rwanda is no easier and I can say that both have proven true. After being in Rwanda for nearly eight months (can you believe it’s been that long cause I can’t!), I have found communicating with friends and family at home has been a struggle. It is so hard to maintain a connection when our lives are so different; all of my friends are doing their thing in cities up and down the East Coast, while I’m off living in an African village. It’s not easy for them to understand what my life is like here and I have a hard time hearing about their seemingly exciting urban lives which I often find myself envying. Even when I look on Facebook and see they are off to a concert or the theater or out on the town for a night, I can’t help but think about how our lives have diverged. A crazy night here in Ruhuha is going out until 7, baking cookies with the girls on a charcoal stove, watching movies, and laughing a lot – far different from the lives twenty-something year olds are living in Boston, D.C., or NYC.

Then you fall to the problem of talking and communicating. I often find myself calling home only to be told to call back another time or being told that they will call me soon now that they have my number or send me a letter or package and then I go months without hearing from them. I have yet to get a piece of mail from a friend – Facebook posts and messages are nice, but there is something special about getting a letter ($1 to send) or a small package ($15). My family has done well and I’m always so happy to hear from them, but I always get jealous when I hear from a fellow PCV how they got an awesome letter, newspaper articles, or a flash drive full of music and movies from their friends. After talking with some other PCV friends, my concerns over and frustrations with maintaining friendships in the U.S. seem to be pretty common and a big stressor for a lot of volunteers during their service; for the first couple of months people are super supportive but then interest just dies down and it’s really easy to drift apart. So, if I could enter a plea to those of you in the U.S. – please try to stay in touch. I miss you all dearly and try to communicate as best I can, but would like it to be more of a two-way street. I don’t want to come back in two years and be strangers.

Now on to making friends – real friends – in Rwanda; it’s not easy. There are three people (one English speaker, one French speaker, and one Kinyarwanda only speaker) who I totally trust and know I can go to with any problems or just to hang out. One of them, I spend hours laughing with every week. Unfortunately, they are all Mamas, so despite the fact that I am very close with them, we have very little in common because our lives are so different. I am desperately in need of young single girlfriends, but that is also a struggle because most of the girls my age are still in Secondary School, at university, or have finished their secondary studies and still live at home and are treated very much like children. Even for me, people call me a girl and it is difficult for me to get people to take me seriously despite the fact that I am capable of taking care of myself and have finished university. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve given up and I’m starting to make some progress. Last week I was visiting a family in the village and a single nurse was there and turns out she lives in Ruhuha, so I am determined to befriend her. As mentioned in my previous post, last night I had a meeting with a group of girls and I shamelessly made it known that I need some single friends and if they ever want to do anything, to let me know. Please don’t think I’m lonely cause by no means is that the case, I just miss the sort of friendships I had in the U.S. with all my girlfriends and would very much like to find one or two close girlfriends here. Mamas are great, but they have kids, a lot of housework, and other obligations that prevent them from filling the void completely. Last week two female volunteers from Bugesera came to visit for the night and reminded me how fun it was to have a girls’ night with friends who are my age. I know I’ll have to tread carefully because I am still the outsider and people have many different reasons – good and bad - for wanting to get close to me, but at this point not having young friends seems to be the only thing lacking here.

One really exciting development has been the changes in the relationship between me and my host family. Mama and Papa Robert are very private people and despite our cordial relationship, we never really talked much unless there was a problem. A couple weeks ago I had a bad cold and Mama Robert brought me food and tea multiple times a day. I’ve started bringing them food that I bake or American food that is sent to me. I had never been invited to visit them or do anything very personal…until this weekend. Last night I was invited to have dinner with Mama, Papa, and Providence (their truck driver who lives here too) at their house. It was really nice; we talked a little and watched t.v. for a bit after. Then, this morning Mama invited me to have tea and bread for breakfast. This may not seem like much, but I’m excited about these baby steps and really hope that we will become a lot closer over the coming weeks and months.

Sorry if this blog seemed like I was complaining a lot; that wasn’t the intent. I really just want people at home to know how difficult it is for me to go without hearing from them and how I really miss the friendships I have in the U.S. – they are so very important to me and I am trying to recreate them here because of how happy they make me. Anyways, I am off to relax for a bit before Mama Luange and her 3 year old daughter, Luange, come to visit this afternoon. I miss you all and really hope to hear from some of you soon!!

Settling Into a Very Busy Rhythm

As many of you know, I am not one to keep much free time for myself; I like to stay busy and get involved in many different things. For the last five months I’ve been becoming more and more stir crazy; teaching sixteen hours a week was not enough and I was struggling to get other projects up and running. Well, I can now say that has changed for the better. I now have my hands in many different pots and there are some exciting prospects for secondary projects. So all and all, things are looking up and I’m more motivated and excited about the coming weeks and months.

                All in all, teaching is going well and I am starting to have fun with it. I teach listening and speaking to S1 and S2, which means that no one really cares what I am teaching; students take the national exam in S3 and the exam doesn’t test on listening or speaking, so in the eyes of the administration at school, what I am teaching is relatively inconsequential. So, I might as well have fun. I have my S2s working on making a newspaper in groups, which has been a huge challenge because it involves so many new skills and creative thinking on their part. The whole concept of anything being OK and correct in terms of titles, sections, subjects of cartoons, etc. is very difficult for these students who are often taught in a way that suggests that there is only one correct answer. My S1s are slowly improving; there has been an increase in participation from the students and marks on homework have increased all around – we’ll see how the first quiz of the term goes next week. Because I teach two, two hour, lessons four times each every week, I get pretty bored and sometimes feel bad for the students who are stuck with me at the end of the week because by that point I’m sick of answering the same questions a million times. So I’ve started to make myself laugh in class. A fellow volunteer told me how she makes her kids do jumping jacks as a punishment – the kids are embarrassed and the teacher gets a good laugh – so I’ve started to do something similar. I had a problem with kids doing work for other classes during English, so to nip that in the butt I now make students do push-ups if I catch them looking at their Biology book or copying Entrepreneurship notes. It is absolutely hilarious to watch and the kids are so embarrassed that they stay pretty focused on me for the rest of class. I have also gotten more strict, kicking students out if I have to tell them to stop talking multiple time or if there is any physical contact of any kind (hitting, punching, and stealing notebooks/pens was on the rise), but at the same time I feel the kids appreciate it. I put question buckets in classes at the beginning of the term and on a regular basis I get notes from students telling me how they love the class and if I’m out sick I get notes about them missing me. In a couple of classes I have finished the lesson to a round of applause which definitely feels good when you are tired of teaching for the day.

                So that’s about it for teaching students. I really wish I had my own class so I could really get to know the students and see them more than once a week, but I’ll definitely ask for a change next year. I teach Monday through Friday from 7:20 to 11, which is enough to leave me wanting a grande sugar-free vanilla americano, but now I’ve found myself working 10-12 hours Monday-Thursday, which leaves me wanting a triple shot americano. After teaching I usually do some marking for an hour before lunch and then eat with the teachers. After lunch I try to visit some people in the village or go to meetings with people to try to start secondary projects. Then, starting at 4 pm, I have to be back at school Monday-Wednesday. Monday afternoons is English club for students. On Tuesdays I teach English to the Secondary teachers. And on Wednesday, I teach the Primary teachers.

                Since I’ve arrived I’ve really wanted to get involved in projects outside of teaching; community development is something I really love and working with the community that I live with seemed like a great way to get to know people. That has taken longer than I had hoped, but now project ideas are starting to fall into place. At school I’m starting to work on a school feeding program for Tuesdays and Thursdays. A couple of years ago Bugesera District suffered from a horrible draught and many families couldn’t feed their children, so the World Food Program stepped up and started a school feeding program at all the schools in the District. Unfortunately, this was just a program of handouts and when the WFP decided to cut the handouts to three days a week, they didn’t give any help to the schools to figure out how to supply food to their kids on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Though my headmaster has known about the cuts since January, a search for a solution did not start until last week when the cutback started. So, the kids now go all day with no food twice a week and the teachers complain more than any grown adults I’ve known. They like to say that with no food there is no life, which I suppose is true, but not eating lunch twice a week until 3 pm is not the end of the world. They and the students had become so accustomed to these handouts, that when it was cut they started to blame the school and said it had to feed the kids, but with the cuts, the schools did not get an increase in their operating budgets, so they don’t have money to buy food for nearly 700 people. So, along with some teachers and hopefully some parents, we are going to start working on a budget and figure out a contribution scheme for parents, teachers, and the school so that all parties are invested in the system and the sole responsibility does not fall on the parents or the school. I’m looking to put a Plan of Action together this week and begin discussing with the teachers and the headmaster to get a budget together. From there we can have a discussion with parents and teachers to determine who can contribute what. From what I’ve heard, the maximum needed to feed students twice a week for a month is about $1.20 US, so hopefully if the cost is divided amongst three groups, we can make this happen.

                Last week I had the opportunity to meet with the Social Affairs officer at the Sector Office and he helped to highlight some of the problems that I could help with in the community. Of course, the first thing he mentioned was teaching English, but I’m kind of trying to avoid expanding my English teaching; I know that I have a lot more to offer than just teaching people English and I’m getting pretty tired of my days being taken up with teaching English to students and teachers. He also discussed job creation for youth and women, HIV/AIDS, family planning, alcohol and drug awareness, all of which I would be very interested in working on. We decided that we would have a joint meeting with the Youth Council and the Women’s Council this Wednesday and discuss with them what they would be interested in working on. Stay tuned for more info on that later this week.

                Last night I had a meeting with a small group of girls who are my age. My reason for meeting with them was two-fold: I want more single girlfriends and I feel like this big push for girls’ education and gender balance serves girls who are going to school and for university educated women who are competing for jobs in bigger towns or the city. There seems to be a gap for girls who have finished secondary school and don’t continue on to university. There is no sort of support system or public campaign for low-level jobs for secondary school educated girls, one reason is because so many children finish secondary school and don’t continue to university leaving a huge difference between the number of available low-level jobs and the huge number of young adults looking for work in the villages and small towns. So I asked a shopkeeper who I have become very close with to help me put together a group of girls to see what they had to say. For the most part their ideas required a lot of money (starting a jewelry and women’s clothing shop), but one idea really stuck out – creating a cultural center where people can learn traditional dances, music, and crafts. These are skills that the girls are able to teach and it would provide them with a job and the community as a whole could benefit from it. I told them that I want to focus on ideas that will help give them a job or experience, but also be something that more than just this small group of girls would benefit from. Whether it is starting a public campaign to help the many prostitutes in Ruhuha or starting some sort of cooperative that could be used as a model for others, I want them to think of more than what they want and think of things that they could support and others will learn from. I don’t know if this will turn into anything, but we are meeting again on Thursday to see what else they were able to think of.

                Between teaching students and teachers, starting projects at school, and holding discussions in the communities, I am really busy and loving every minute of it. It is really nice to hear people’s ideas and see how our skills and ideas can work together to benefit people within a specific group or community. Usually when I come home at 6 every night, I function for maybe another hour/hour and a half and then I enter a semi-vegetative state and pass out by 8:30. By Friday, technically my day off, I try to sleep in to 8 or 9, but then I always find myself running to school to work on something or appeasing the many mamas who call during the week asking me to visit and I have to politely tell them I’m really busy. Peace Corps really is turning into a 24/7 job; even if I’m not doing any formal teaching or working on projects, I still have to be “on” – talking to people in the community in Kinyarwanda and visiting people. In the U.S. if I go to visit a friend or family I can relax and joke around, but here I’m still the foreigner and the differences in culture and language can often make visits exhausting and stressful. Going for a walk or running errands is also a challenge; people are yelling “muzungu”, or “Salah Salah” (that r in the middle is a struggle for Rwandans), talking to me in fast Kinyarwanda (cause a few too many people have spread the rumor that I’m fluent in the language). The smile has to always be there; anonymity is never an option when you are the only foreigner in a community. Though I might be singing a different tune in a month or so, for right now, I wouldn’t have things any other way.

The Perfect Beach Day in a Land-Locked Country

Today I found myself sitting in the teacher’s room at school staring outside and thinking “Today is the perfect beach day.” The sky was blue with huge fluffy white clouds rolling through and there was a light breeze – you know, to cool you down while working on your tan and to keep the greenheads away. I then sadly remembered that I live in Rwanda, a beautiful country, but still a country without an ocean. As the school years come to an end at home and the summer tourist season begins on the Cape, I can’t help but think about the beaches, longer daylight hours, band concerts in Chatham (and penny candy of course!), the 4^th of July parade, my birthday with family, late night ice cream runs in our pajamas, grilled food, and all of the other wonderful things about summer on Cape Cod.

                This wonderful land-locked beach day has become a common occurrence. The wet season is coming to an end and the wrath of the dry season will soon be upon us. We are working our way through the “spring” (an 80 degree spring) in Bugesera district where we still have a little rain, but soon the dusty roads will begin to coat my clothes, water will become scarce (so I’ve been told), and middle-of-the-day outings around the widest road I’ve ever seen (the market used to be in the middle of the shops, next to the road, but it moved and now the space it occupied has made room for an abnormally wide road). I’m sure this will all have a lovely effect on my students. The classrooms are like ovens and even on a warm day it can be unbearable, so I can’t wait for a hot day to really slow us down.

                On a different, but similar note, I have been thinking about my life muri Amerika and my life mu Rwanda and found another funny parallel between the two – bridges. Growing up on Cape Cod, it was always a huge deal when we made a trip over the bridge to go shopping or to visit family or to spend a day in Boston. Well, much like the good ‘ole Sagamore and Bourne Bridges, whenever I want to leave my site to go to Nyamata, my district capital, or Kigali, my trip is highlighted by the trip over two bridges. Now these bridges are certainly not like the mammoth bridges we are used to; there are no tug boats, yachts, or ships going through the channel. Over the Cape Cod bridges, I always held my breath worried that I would go too far left on the narrow bridge and side-swipe another car. Here, I hold my breath in fear that the bridge will collapse at any second. The bridge from Nyamata to Kigali is nice and I often see small wood dinghies transporting wood up the river, but the bridge over the marsh from site to Nyamata is made of cracking, crumbling, and rattling wood beams that lay across metal supports. The bus goes over the cement hump on one side then rattles across these boards – many of which have broken in the last few months – then back up over the cement hump on the other side. For those of you who know Chatham, it is not like going over the draw-bridge; a solid sturdy wooden bridge. Imagine going over that bridge with all the boards loose and some sagging lower than others, making it difficult for the bus to pass over.

 Despite the fear associated with this bridge, passing over it at sunset or just after dark is an amazing site; the marsh is full of fireflies, crickets and peepers so not only does it look like there are tiny lanterns throughout the reeds, but it sounds like a late summer night sitting on the back porch at home. Just like the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges marked our departure into the real world; these bridges mark my journey from village life to a slightly more modern life (Nyamata) and to an overwhelming, modern, loud and chaotic life (Kigali).

                I’m sure I’ll be drawing parallels between my life here and my life in America for the rest of my time here, but I thought I’d share these two with you all. The ocean, the beach, and the Cape (and the bridges) have been such huge parts of my and my family’s lives, so sitting in the teacher’s room today and realizing that this will be my first summer without even the shortest visit was a little sad. I won’t miss sitting in traffic on the bridge or suicide alley; I won’t miss New Yorkers driving the wrong way around the rotary; and I won’t miss battling tourists on the sidewalk or in the Squire. But, I will miss going to the beach on my day off with sandwiches from the local shops; I will miss the battle over who is driving to get ice cream and who’s paying; I will miss attempting to grill some new fruit or vegetable; and as the dry season approaches, I will surely miss having central AC J

Pictures

I am continually adding pictures to my Picasa web album, so keep checking back for new additions!

www.picasaweb.google.com/sarahdoyle14

I'm working on getting more shots of my community, but because Rwandans are so private they tend to get nervous when you go to take pictures. The plan is to wake up very early at some point and run out into the street and start snapping away, but that's easier said than done at 6 AM when my bed is a lot more appealing then looking like the crazy American running around with a camera.

Reflections on a Week of National Mourning - Icyunamo

So icyunamo, the week of mourning to commemorate the Rwandan Genocide against the Tutsis, has come and gone and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the chance to comment on it sooner. Starting on April 7^th, the day after that the President’s plane was shot down in 1994, which many say was the signal for the start of the genocide, until the 13^th, every city, town, and village in Rwanda spent at least a couple hours every afternoon discussing issues surrounding the genocide and development in Rwanda since ’94. As I’m sure you all know, in 1994 800,000 Tutsis were killed by Hutus over a period of 100 days. Thousands of people were massacred by the machete-wielding hands of their neighbors, husbands, family, and other members of their community. Hutu husbands who had married Tutsi wives murdered the women and their children. Priests harbored Tutsis in churches throughout the country and then directed the interhamwe and Hutu militias to the churches to kill them all. French soldiers were supposed to be here as a humanitarian force, but instead checked the Rwandans’ identity cards and directed Tutsis towards their Hutu killers. It’s a tragic history, which I cannot begin to recount in this blog post, but if you have any questions, I’d be happy to direct you towards some excellent sources.

In Ruhuha, the town where I live, the genocide had a profound effect on the community, so there were many events that were unique to the community throughout the week. On the 7^th, all of the villages lined up at the top of the hill in town and marched to the Catholic Church where mass was said to remember the 700 Tutsis that were massacred in the church. The lone survivor (I was told she was the only survivor, but do not know how true that is) then stood and bravely told her story about militias searching the classrooms for people hiding in the ceiling and how they surrounded the church and killed everyone inside. The woman I was with pointed out the wife of the man who took charge of killing all the Tutsi children in the area, another woman who spent 12 years in prison for killing but was released when she started to tell authorities where they buried and threw bodies, a woman who was Tutsi and wasn’t killed because the militiamen thought she was beautiful and instead gang raped her every day-she now has full-blown AIDS, and an older man whose entire family was massacred. All of these people were coexisting together. Hutus sitting with Tutsis. Perpetrators sitting with survivors.

 It is difficult as an outsider to understand the reconciliation process, but somehow, at least publicly, ethnicity has been cast aside and everyone is Rwandan. Despite what is said, ethnicity is still present under the surface and Hutus and Tutsis still have strong opinions against one another. I have only been here for six months and do not want to comment on it too much, but as I acquire a better understanding of the continuing presence and dynamic of ethnicity in Rwanda, I will post about it.

From the church we all walked to the Genocide Memorial at the Ruhuha Sector office. I had been there the week before for umuganda when we worked to cut the grass, weed, and clean the memorial to prepare for the ceremonies. On umuganda Saturday, the memorial was open and I looked inside to see rows and rows of skulls. On the 7^th, I tried to get a figure for the number of people buried there and got estimates of 10-20 thousand. At the memorial, we listened to the President’s address to the nation. Then survivors along with all the religious leaders, the Mayor of Bugesera, and all local leaders placed flowers on the memorial and the day was over.

That was Thursday. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we had afternoon meetings in the village to discuss different issues like the history of the genocide and its definition, economic development since ’94, education and health care, and many other things. One thing that was missing was a discussion of ethnicity- the cause of the genocide and a continuing underlying problem in Rwanda. I understand why the government doesn’t want to continue discussing this issue – everyone is Rwandan – but based on side discussions, it appears that there is still deep resentment and many parents are passing their ethnic identities and ideas on to their children. Furthermore, ethnicity and the genocide cannot be discussed at schools, except for between a headmaster and a student. So nowhere in Rwanda has there been a continued discussion on ethnicity and the damage it can cause. While understanding why, I found this very frustrating along with the fact that in general there were no discussions about any of the issues. In every village, the government provided a text to be presented to the members of the village, so every day in every village in Rwanda, the same text was presented to the communities, but unfortunately in mine, the people accepted all of the information and no discussion took place. Granted, most of the info was pretty basic, but there was no deep interest in the issues or how it applied to Ruhuha. Critical thinking is a challenge for adults and children alike in Rwanda, but that is neither here nor there and I’m sure I’ll talk about it more in the future.

                On Sunday, I found out that on Monday there would be a burial of remains that had recently been recovered. Because of that, all night on Sunday, there was a traditional mourning period where everyone came together at the Sector offices at 8 PM and stayed until morning to remember those who had died. We watched videos of victims; people sang songs; and survivors told their stories as a bonfire blazed and people huddled together for warmth and comfort. One woman discussed how she was the only survivor from her family and had gone out into the streets after a couple of days to find food and no one would give her any food or water because she was Tutsi. Another talked about fleeing her family’s killers. The hardest part of the night was when one woman broke down while another woman told her story. The woman was young and had a baby in her lap, but something sparked a flashback to the traumatic events that she had experienced and she went crashing to the grown, sending the baby to the dirt. She howled blood-curdling screams – screams like I had never heard before and hope to never hear again. She was paralyzed by trauma. A woman took her baby and some men came and picked her up off the grown and helped her to a building. She couldn’t stand and her feet dragged behind her as she continued to scream. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I sat there shaking, not quite sure how to react. This breakdown sparked small outbursts from other people sitting around me. But together, everyone supported one another and the woman whose story sparked the flashback continued with her story. The woman’s screams could be heard from the building until an ambulance came to get her about an hour later. I eventually went home and digested everything I had heard and seen in preparation for what would come at the burial the following morning.

                Monday morning I went to the memorial where the burial ceremony would take place. In true Rwandan form, the ceremony that was supposed to start at 9 didn’t start until 11. It started with twelve men carrying out two coffins filled with the remains of twenty people. Tutsis were not simply murdered, many were butchered and the different pieces were often scattered so only small parts are usually recovered. The presentation of the coffins sparked a very strong and sobering emotional response from the thousands of people that had gathered. The families of those who were to be buried presented flowers and then the leaders of every religious denomination said a prayer. The pastor of ADEPR, the church where I used to leave, stood and told his story – I had no idea he was a survivor. He talked about fleeing Kigali before the massacres started and sleeping in banana fields and the murder of his father. He talked about running through the rain because that was the time when militias sought cover and the killings stopped for a bit. He talked about laying on the ground under the leaves and palm fronds and the killers stepping right over him. Finally, he talked about running through the valleys at night until he finally reached Burundi, where he stayed for many years. His wife, a teacher at my school, is also a survivor and she and her family were there to bury a member. The Catholic priest said their final rights and blessed the coffins with holy water before they were brought to the memorial and laid to rest. The choir sang a beautiful burial song in Kinyarwanda – I was told the lyrics, but I don’t remember. After the burial, many speeches were given and then we were all sent home. Again, the ceremony was marked by many breakdowns and the ambulance came about four or five times to take those who were traumatized to the health center. Many towns did not have burials – they did not recover any new bodies over the last year – but I feel lucky to have been able to experience not just the burial, but the mourning rituals the night before. After spending my senior year at Hopkins writing a thesis about France’s role in the Rwandan genocide, I am thankful to have been given the opportunity to experience icyunamo with my community in a very positive and peaceful manner – peace is not something that has been guaranteed in past years.

                I could tell more stories I heard about survivors and how some are still being psychologically tortured by their families’ killers (receiving notes saying it will soon be their turn to die, or people pounding on their walls at night to scare them), but I’d rather end this post with my thanks to my community. During a very difficult week of mourning and personal struggles, many people opened up to tell me their stories or to translate or just try their best in simple Kinyarwanda to explain what was going on. I feel very lucky to have a new community that really wants to include me as best they can and help me navigate not just icyunamo, but Rwandan life in general. If I have dirt on my clothes they try to wash it off immediately (it’s no good to have dirty clothes, no matter how poor you are). If I have peanuts in my teeth, they don’t hesitate to tell me (personal appearance is so important). If they know I like limes or green beans, they go to the farm and bring me some back. If they know I want a certain style outfit, they find me fabric and take me to the seamstress (I’ll have a new pants and tunic outfit next Friday). If they know I like sports, they ask me to go to the women’s community aerobics class to meet more women (first class is tomorrow so I’ll let you know how it goes). I am so happy in Ruhuha and thoroughly enjoy being considered an umunyarwanda kazi (Rwandan woman) by other community members and experiencing all of the happy and sad moments that come with that title.

Life as a Teacher - The Joys of Vacation

Who knew that teachers looked forward to vacation more than the students? Well, after twelve weeks of teaching, reviewing, testing, and grading, I am extremely happy to be on vacation for three weeks. I teach English to all of S1 and all of S2, which is the equivalent of teaching every student in grades 7 and 8, but with bigger classes. My S1 classes average about 65 students and S2 averages around 50, so in total I have nearly 500 students. Not only is grading homework compositions a pain, but grading a comprehensive term exam is the farthest thing from a cake-walk. Don’t get me wrong, I love teaching, but I have found it very difficult to get to know the students and form a positive relationship with them since I just pop in and out of their class 2 hours every week. Anyways, after a week of proctoring exams (and catching 3 students cheating) and grading, there was a week to fill out report cards and then we were free to relax. On the last day of the term, there was a ceremony with the parents where all the teachers introduced themselves and we announced the top 5 students in each class. From there, the administration took us to a restaurant and we celebrated the end of the term and had a constructive conversation about challenges and possible solutions in both the primary and secondary school.

                So now, the first week of vacation has just come to a close, during which I did a lot of nothing. I’ve really gotten sucked into The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo series, so after a week, I’m on the third book. I had a sleepover with the other girls from my group who live in Bugesera District, which was a nice break, but on Thursday, April 7^th, Genocide Memorial Week, or icyunamo in Kinyarwanda, started and every day since then has been occupied by various events and discussions. I do not want to devote too much time to Memorial week because I plan to write a whole blog post on it when it ends Wednesday, but for now I’ll say that I have been very impressed by how Rwanda has chosen to celebrate such a horrific event and rather than looking at what happened, they focus on all the progress that has been made since ’94. Expect a full post Tuesday or Wednesday about my thoughts on Memorial Week.

                Once Memorial Week ends, I will be venturing eastward for a couple of days to visit Akagera Park and go on a safari before heading all the way west to Kibuye, for one week of training with all the other PCVs from my group. I’m really looking forward to IST (in-service training) since I’ve only seen a handful of people since arriving at site. It’s also a time when we can all relax among Americans and just spend some time being “American” outside the microscopes that we live under at site. Though I love site and I’m slowly getting to know people in my new community, I am expected to abide by Rwandan cultural norms, which can sometimes pose a challenge for a young American girl. Unlike the guys, by 6:30 PM, when it gets dark, I have to be in my house for the night. I can’t be seen drinking alcohol. I’m a single girl living alone, which always leads to the “why don’t you take a Rwandan husband?” questions. So, after three months of being as Rwandan as I can, a week of training with 60-ish other Americans sounds like a good break. 

An Overdue Thank You

After much complaining and a few harassing emails from Mom, I have sat down this morning to fill you all in on what has been going on. But first, I must rectify an issue that has been raised: my not thanking my mother publicly for all of her help during my mini life crises a couple of months ago. Despite the fact that her solving my problems while abroad or traveling is nothing new, it was a minor miracle that she was able to replace all of my things as quickly as she did and ship them to my Country Director, who was home on vacation and was kind enough to bring as many things back as she could. The Director joked when I met her in Kigali that she’s having my mom pack for her next time because of the number of things that she was able to squeeze into every crevice of every package. This is nothing new for Mom. In high school I went off to Colorado with two left sneakers (they looked the same when I was packing!) and when I realized this it was the day before we were going white-water rafting, so sure enough Mom had to overnight me a right sneaker. Then there was the time in England when I threw my wallet away at a soccer field and she had to send me money. Then of course, let’s not forget the time when I went backpacking in Europe and went to make copies of my credit cards before we left and realized at the airport that I had left them on the copier at home. You guessed it, another overnight package was sent to my hostel in Paris. So as you all can see, I am not an easy daughter to send off on trips around the world, but luckily my mother just sighs when I say I’m off to a new destination and prepares for the worst. Well, the closest thing to the worst happened here in Rwanda and rather than dwelling on the crises at hand, the credit card was taken out and everything was replaced. So in summary, thanks Mom for all your help, but remember, it’s only been about 6 months…I have 21 more to go, so get excited J