Stuck in the Middle...

Well, that was a little longer than intended! I'm sorry it's been three weeks since my last post, and particularly since that last post was rather whiney. I am very thankful for your well-wishes though, and, as predicted, I'm back to wondering how I'll ever be able to leave this place. 

And on that note, I think I'll write my blog this week. So much has happened in the last few weeks that having intermittent internet access was more of a blessing than it was an inconvenience. We are in our last week of classes, and all papers, midterm grades, and drafts of exams have come due the last few days. I haven't slept much, much less had time to think. But as we finish our first term and plan for our two week holiday, I've been thinking a lot about how strange it will be to allow myself to be a tourist. Without a stipend from the Ministry of Education since January, I've been careful with every penny, which, as many of you know, is not my forte. I've invested a lot of time and energy to convince people that, although I'll never fit in, I belong here. I'm here for the long haul. Most of my students think that for our holiday, I'll travel home to the States. Don't be silly, I keep saying, I'm going to stay here, I want to stay here! Oh, and no... I'm not that rich. 

Two weeks ago, though, I went into Kigali with Rachael to meet a friend of hers who's here with another non-governmental organization. There are lots of NGOs in Rwanda - the West has poured money into the country to keep it stable since 1994. But I was reminded suddenly of why my students think I can travel back to the States when I want when we met up with this crew. We went out for a delicious dinner, the first I had in a restaurant that was not owned by the Catholic church since I moved to Musanze. Then we went to the home of some of the other kids working for a different organization. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary... you know, couches, curtains, gas stove, refrigerator. Ok, nothing out of the ordinary except couches, curtains, a gas stove, and a refrigerator. I spent about a half hour looking at these things as if I had never seen them before. Rachael passed me an hour or so into the evening and asked me to accompany her to the bathroom. "What are we doing here?!" she said, as we awkwardly locked ourselves into the bathroom, complete with a bathtub and purified water. "I don't know. But we just spent thirty minutes looking at kitchen appliances." I said. "Did you see the walnuts in the bowl? I grabbed a handful and put them in my bag," she said. "Good thinking," I said, "I'll take toilet paper for the road."

Looking back on it, it's pretty hilarious. At the time, though, it was serious business. We must have spent most of our time that night commenting on how strange it was to be in the middle of so many white people, and how crazy it was that people were spending 10 dollars on dinner. On my way back to Musanze, though, I realized however difficult I thought it was to adjust to being here, I can't imagine how difficult it will be to adjust to coming back to a place where 10 dollars on dinner out is the norm, if not pretty cheap. 

It's not just the money, but expressing the feeling in monetary terms in about the most concrete way to describe it. On our first night in Kigali, all of the volunteers introduced themselves and why we came. More than a few of the volunteers said that they had served in a developing country and went home trying to find the same fulfillment. That's why they're here, they said. In coming here and staying here, I'm slowly realizing, we each committed our lives to service in way that we can't reverse. For better or for worse, this experience is affecting the way I live, the way I eat, the way I think. 

I know I'll adjust when I come home. That's the way life works. But I think even more than being here, the real adventure starts when I decide what I'm going to do with what I did here. In that bathroom in some stranger's house in Kigali, Rachael and I realized that our life here puts us in a strange position. We're never going to stop being "muzungus" - but we're never going to be the people we were before we boarded the plane in D.C.. I don't think we're alone in feeling this way... We're always, in one way or another, going to be slightly stuck in the middle. 

Although I'm not quite sure what that means yet-and maybe I never will- I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. It means that I feel like I have a responsibility to let people of both worlds to understand how the other people live, which some days can feel like a burden. But it's also a pretty big privilege.

So if you're even thinking about serving in any capacity, I say take into consideration that it's not only a responsibility for the week, month, or year you spend, but it's something that goes with you. But I'd make that choice again. Seriously. 

Just make sure you take some walnuts and toilet paper for the road...

Have courage and much love, 

Jen