In Rwanda, you're never alone...

I should step back just a little to fill in some gaps. While it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows (I got sick for the first time on Monday; I went through about 24 hours in total swearing I made a mistake and there was no way I could live here for a year.), it already has been a better growing experience than I could have imagined. Here’s just a little of the two weeks.

In total, getting to Kigali took 24 hours. After an hour and half line to check in at Dulles, it took us nine hours to fly from Washington DC to Rome. We then stopped in Rome to change flight crew (we arrived at 1 AM), we flew 6 hours from Rome to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Our stay in Addis was short – we literally disembarked the plane only to walk up a long hall, go through security again, and re-board the same plane that had taken us from DC. Needless to say, the flight from Addis to Kigali was a little sparser than the one across the Atlantic. I sat next to a wonderful woman who reassured me that I had chosen the best place on earth to work. (I since actually saw her in a coffee shop near our rooms.) After a three-hour flight, we landed in Kigali, walking down the stairs and across the tarmac of Kigali International.

After throwing in 32 bags of luggage (not including the carry-ons) and 19 people into a minibus to our accommodations in a Catholic mission, what has happened since has been a bit of a blur. Our daily activities make it feel as though we’ve been here for ages and the nights run together despite the fact that we’ve had less than two weeks worth. Our training will last until January 17th, at which point our Headmasters and Headmistresses will be driving us to our schools. Despite my fears about being the only volunteer at my school, though, I was told by my plane friend that “in Rwanda, you’re never alone.”

Kigali is a beautiful, sprawling city that I have yet to really understand how it’s structured. The city is in several sections, or neighborhoods, and I’ve had a good chance to explore it’s many parts in the number of various ways my compatriots in public transport choose to take me home each night. We are very close to the city center, however, and whatever we need we generally look for first in Nakumatt, a 24-hour superstore I have the same aversion to as Wal-Mart.

While walking up the hill to Nakumatt or standing in line for a “moto” or motorcycle taxi, everyone stares. Admittedly, I do too when I see another “muzungu,” the Kinyarwanda word for “white person.” It’s what’s done, and it’s ok. Knowing it’s ok to stare from afar, however, doesn’t stop small children from wanting to walk with us as we go about town. Just yesterday, I met a new friend named Ben. He was probably about 6 or 7, barefoot and smiling, and caught up with our group when we left the American Embassy after our security briefing. He didn’t ask for money or for food, he just wanted to walk. I know very little Kinyarwanda, and in other cases my French usually suffices, but we could just barely make out our names. After about 5 minutes or so, I started to sing “Happy Birthday,” so he could sing it back to me. It turns out he knew the tune, so for the next half a mile or so, we sang “Happy Birthday dear Ben” about 15 times. It was glorious.

Singing is so common in Rwanda. At first I thought it was because we were staying in a Catholic mission, but the more I get out, the more I hear. When I think about it, for a country with such a tumultuous recent past, the singing is a way of connecting all together. It calms me when I agitated. It comforts me when I miss home.

The more I adjust, the better I feel. I know I’ll go through this again when I move, and again after my first few weeks of teaching. Understandably, it’s taken a few days, though. There are the things you must have with you at all times: toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and bug spray; the things you’re used to, but could live without: internet, ipod, and regular showers; the things you must not do: walk barefoot, drink the water, eat in public when not sitting at a restaurant; and the things you must do: push your way onto the minibuses, speak slowly and clearly, and always remember to individually say goodbye to each person you met before you leave. It’s all a part of the rhythm – the dos and don’ts, the singing, the staring, the adapting – of the life I’m building in Rwanda. And while it sure isn’t easy, it’s already totally worth it.

Can’t wait to write again. Take care and, as I’m told to tell my students, have courage :)
Jen