Conferences, Camps, and the Congo

The past three weeks have been incredibly busy for me and only now am I finding time to sit down, take a deep breath, and reflect on everything that has happened. A few weekends ago I invited my friend Sara over to help me with my patio design. While the district office finally came and took away their stuff, the walls were still filthy. I spent a few days scrubbing them as best as I could and then made the trek to my nearest strip of shops, about 3 kilometers away, and bought a few kilos of paint. Sara and I woke up early Sunday morning (quite an accomplishment, considering how many beers we had the day before) and began sketching out the design. Once we began painting we had a small audience, which seemed to grow by the hour. By the time we were finished many of my coworkers were coming over to do photo shoots in front of the wall. One of the walls we painted was plain white so I cut up a stencil in the shape of Africa and painted it in black. That was a big hit and I’ve received quite a few requests to borrow my stencil.

As soon as we finished the painting and Sara left, I came down with a pretty nasty cold. I couldn’t find any Kleenexes in the village, so I resorted to blowing my nose with sandpaper what passes for toilet paper around here and, needless to say, I had a pretty red nose for a while. Had it been any other week I could’ve just laid around in bed but no sooner had I put down the paintbrush I was on a bus bound for Kigali to attend the 8^th Annual Pediatric Conference at the Serena Hotel. This year’s conference theme was Community Engagement in the Fight Against Children Infected and Affected by HIV/AIDS. These kinds of events can go one of two ways here in Rwanda: either they are incredibly effective or a total bust. Usually though, you get some kind of goodies, and seeing as it was held at the Serena Rwanda’s only 5 star hotel, where lunch would be provided, I jumped on the chance to attend.

The first day was opening ceremonies, which were long and boring and full of a lot of speeches. We were told to report the next morning at 8:30 to officially begin the conference. Knowing Rwandan culture we arrived around 9:00, and at about 10:00 the presentations actually got underway. The event was kind of a good place to rub shoulders with some of the who’s who of the Rwandan Healthcare System. The Minister of Health was there, along with the Director of Partners in Health in Rwanda. Several specialists from all over East Africa, Europe, and America were also in attendance, many presenting on their abstracts related to the HIV/AIDS situation within the country. The conference proved to be an interesting forum for doctors, NGO workers, local politicians, and even a few Peace Corps volunteers to share ideas, disseminate information presented, and make recommendations for the future. Of course, with any conference of this nature, there was a fair share of controversies. Some of the presentations touched on the underground homosexual community Kigali, prevalence of oral sex amongst young people, and the growing influence of pornography. While many of the suggestions given by politicians were unsurprising (“I think a simple solution is to outlaw homosexual acts,” “I call on all internet providers to block any webpage carrying pornography!”), it was also very refreshing to hear some of the more cosmopolitan members of Rwandan society refute these ideas and seek practical solutions to the problem.

One discussion that went on for quite some time dealt with the complete absence of sexual lubricant in the country. Intercourse that isn’t properly lubricated (either the women isn’t aroused, or a couple is engaging in anal sex) greatly increases the risk of transmission because of the risk of genital tearing. One doctor mentioned how many in the gay community have begun using car and vegetable oil as a substitute, but this isn’t safe by any means. Couple this lack of available lubricant with an extremely low rate of condom usage, and you have a true problem on your hands. A small debate broke out with many people offering different ideas when finally the head of the Rwanda Biomedical Center stood and mentioned that the center has ordered a whole shipment of lube to be distributed to Health Centers across the countries. Talk about fast acting!

The conference wasn’t always so engaging, and many of the recommendations made at the end are sure to be ignored, but I found it to be a rewarding experience overall. I also was able to meet and talk with people working in the healthcare system at a much higher level and pick their brains about concerns that I’ve seen within system. For example, one administrator questioned the audience about the low rate of condom usage among young males. ‘What is the reason for this?’ he asked. Many of the answers were a rehash of the same old same old. After the session ended I rushed over to him to offer my view, that the complete lack of privacy within Health Centers plays a role in curbing boys from going there for condoms (as well as young girls seeking birth control).

I feel that in addition to all of the positive things I’ve said about the conference, I should also point out the best part of all was the free lunch. They certainly didn’t skimp out on quality and though I may have embarrassed myself a little bit by practically running to the buffet line to be the first one, I have no regrets and I was able to have a very delicious Thanksgiving dinner.

As soon as the conference ended I was on another bus headed for Rwamagana to attend the BE Camp that our group of volunteers in the Eastern Province was putting on. BE stands for Boys Excelling, and it’s an opportunity for Secondary School boys to attend a five-day camp focused on leadership, life skills education, and just plain fun! Many of the boys applied to attend the camp and then about 3-4 were selected from each school.

Without a doubt, the camp was one of the best things I’ve done yet in Rwanda. Being a Health Volunteer can often be a bit depressing seeing as you are constantly working with issues such as HIV and malnutrition, so it was nice to have a small break and work with an incredibly intelligent group of young boys. I took on a few roles; one was as the head of Monitoring and Evaluation, which basically means I was the asshole who got to test the boys over and over again to determine the effectiveness of the camp. I also taught a lesson on Goals and Good Decision Making which wasn’t nearly as exciting as teaching Myths about HIV/AIDS I’m sure, but I think it made for a good lesson overall. Many young boys you talk to will tell you about how they want to eventually go to university, and then when they are finished they want to become doctors and teachers. My lesson was a chance for them to identify a goal and create a Plan of Action on how they are going to feasibly achieve what they’ve set their mind on.

Much of the free time was spent just having fun. We played volleyball and soccer, some of my colleagues even taught the boys how to bake bread on a charcoal stove (I’m not embarrassed to admit that I was among the crowd eager to learn the recipe). Each night we hosted an array of different activities; one night we had a small-scale carnival, another night was the talent show, and we also managed to have a bonfire complete with s’mores! Before the bonfire started we asked each of the boys to write down a barrier that they’ve come across in their lives, then once we gathered around the fire the boys were invited to share their story and throw the ‘barrier’ into the fire. Hearing the boys, many of them living in poverty or orphans from the genocide, tell their stories was one of the most powerful moments of the camp.

BE Camp ended on Saturday with a low-key ceremony that was held in the school’s Great Hall. Each of the boys’ groups was invited to do their ‘cheer’ which they had come up with the first day, and then we stood in a large circle for the candle lighting ceremony. The ceremony begins when one candle is lit and then the flame is passed from person to person until everyone is holding an illuminated candle. The idea behind it is that just one person has the ability to share information with a huge group, and we are hoping that many of the boys will be leaders in their communities when they head home. As we began lighting each candle one by one, one of the visually impaired students in attendance picked up his guitar and began singing Silent Night. Glancing around at the Americans in the room, I could see many of us were getting teary eyed. As soon as the ceremony ended, we handed out t-shirts and certificates, took a fair amount of pictures, harassed many of the campers to finish packing and then sent them on their way.

The rest of Saturday was spent cleaning up and once we had finally finished, a few of us headed to the bar to decompress after an incredibly successful week. After a brief snafu with the ATM in Rwamagana, I was able to withdraw my December stipend money and head back to Rusumo after two weeks away!

The past two weeks haven’t been all fun though. Right before we left we had received word that the M23 rebel group (believed by many everyone to be partly supported and financed by Rwanda) had invaded and taken control of the Congolese city Goma. Goma lies just across the border from Rubavu, one of the larger cities in the north of Rwanda. Within days bombs were flying across both sides of the border and we quickly received word that we were forbidden from traveling to that region. Several of the volunteers living there were moved to Kigali and have recently found out they won’t be able to return back to their sites. For many volunteers, these two weeks have been tense as we are constantly checking BBC news to hear the latest updates. Personally, I feel safe. Which is good for me. But the stories coming from the border are devastating. Over 200,000 people have been displaced. Many are fleeing into Rwanda with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They are sleeping on the road, bare, during the rainy season. The rebels have left Goma but are returning in civilian clothes, still maintaining unofficial control of the region. The Volcanoes National Park (Rwanda’s main source of tourism) has been deemed unsafe for American tourists by the United States Embassy. Just this week one of the gorilla trekkers, who guides around tourists, was killed.

The Congolese Wars, combined with the Rwandan genocide, are some of the greatest tragedies of this century. The loss of life is second only to World War II. These are people just like you and me who were born into one of the poorest and most conflicted places on the planet. It’s not fair and it’s not right.

So there are a lot of emotions all around. Being in Peace Corps is an incredibly bipolar experience. There are days where you are so happy you have to call up your friend to tell them about the amazing thing that happened to you. And then there are days, weeks even, when you are feeling down and useless and you realize no matter how idealistic you are, the answer to fighting poverty and conflict is way above your pay grade.

But for the time being, I’m happy, and looking forward to tomorrow…

After IST

The two weeks I’ve been back at site since our In-Service training have been uneventful and rather depressing. With my roommate gone at trainings, my counterpart teaching Community Health Workers, and the secondary school students heading back home after finishing their term, it’s been rather dead around here. Because of this my focus has been mostly on preparing for the future and tending to Operation Home Beautification. Because, simply put, I have a really ugly house which is why you haven’t seen any pictures of it on the internet…yet.

During our training in Musanze we invited some of our coworkers to join us for the last few days. These sessions were dedicated to project design and management, and I found the whole experience to be extremely gratifying. My coworkers and I seemed to be all on the same page and we actually came up with some great, albeit very ambitious, project plans. My one coworker is just awesome. She’s incredibly feisty and not afraid to tell it like it is, and possibly a little crazy. Which I fully admit I am too, so we seem to work together quite well. During the training one of my friends ran up to me during a coffee break and told me my coworker was in the hotel courtyard digging up plants. Baffled as to why, I ran into her as she was hauling away the booty and asked what she was doing with all of the hotel’s plants. ‘Taking them back to our house, duh.’ I watched her walked out the friend door, right in front of the hotel staff, with a stack of exotic plants in tow. Seeing as we live next to each and these new plants would undoubtedly make my home look a little better, I really had no problem with her plan. I was just amazed at how ballsy it was. The day after we got back we planted some of the plants she stole borrowed, and I took advantage of the colorful new flower pots I bought in Kigali.

Plants from the hotel courtyard.

My next order of business was to turn my entire front yard into a garden. We are currently in the rainy season and the soil is nice and fertile and just waiting for some cultivating. One morning I woke up early, grabbed my hoe, and began tilling the yard to get it ready for a garden. I quickly caught sight of the umucecuru peering at me through the window and I knew there was no way in hell she was going to let the skinny American boy work in the front yard without a comment. Before long she was heading out, hoe in hand, and began helping me. After a few grueling minutes we both stopped, ready to pass out. She told me this is some of the toughest land she’s ever worked (she’s a farmer, and pretty old so I guess that means something) but for one thousand Rwandan Francs (roughly $1.50) I could pay someone to do it all for me. I told her to make the call and I’m currently interviewing applicants.

See the small patch of dirt in the corner?
That's as far as I got...

My other big project has been turning the abandoned storage space across from my house into a patio area where I can entertain guests. The space, which I didn’t pay much mind to originally, has become the de facto dumping ground for the Health Center and Sector office. Amid agriculture equipment and broken chairs, one can also find unburned boxes of used syringes and bottles of expired pills. My goal to turn junky haven into Ian’s Heaven hasn’t been easy. It took no less than two weeks of prodding for the Sector office to come get their stuff, and I am still waiting on someone from the District Hospital to come and dispose of the medical stuff. I’ve already purchased some buckets of paint and I’m hoping to paint a mural on the back wall with a Rwandan imigongo design.

My future patio, complete with used needles and expired pills!

So despite the relative boringness of these past few weeks, the rest of 2012 is panning out to be quite busy for me. I’m leaving tomorrow for Kigali where I will attend a pediatric conference on working with children who suffer from HIV/AIDS. After the conference I’m heading to Rwamagana (a town about an hour outside of the capitol) to work at a boys camp for the weeks. I’m going to be teaching lessons related to good decision making skills and am also in charge of the monitoring and evaluation of the camp. Which, basically means I’m the guy who is going to be constantly testing the kids and recording the results, I’m sure to be everyone’s best friend. After ten days away from site I’m going to return home, but just for a few days because then I’m heading to the South Province to attend the wedding of the host parents I lived with during training.

The good news about slow weeks is that so far they have few and far between. Time is flying and I’m sure that before I know, it’s going to be the New Year!

In Service Training

The second half of October was a busy time for me (finally!) as I was busy attending our In-Service Training in Musanze. Musanze is beautiful city located in the north of Rwanda. From the balcony of our hotel we could see the breathtaking Virunga Volcanoes, which form the border between Rwanda, the DRC, and Uganda. They are also the home to the famous Silverback Mountain Gorillas, which is the main tourism draw in Rwanda (although a permit is currently running at $750 which means I probably won’t be seeing gorillas anytime soon).

The weekend before our training started some of us met up in Kigali to do a little shopping, drink some cold beers, and just catch up. Unfortunately for us, a group of Education volunteers working on a TESOL project in the city we also planning on crashing at the Case de Pasage (fancy French name for the shitty Peace Corps Hostel in Kigali). By the time Darren and I arrived there were no beds left, which means we ended up spending the night on the floor. It was pretty uncomfortable and Darren managed to leave with 111 mosquito bites (he counted). I think I got 3 but I probably complained just as much. Early Sunday morning we decided to get out of Kigali and visit our friend Amanda, who lives about 30 minutes away from Musanze. The bus ride up north was both beautiful and terrible. The scenery truly is breathtaking. I realize I’ve already used that word in this post, but I really can’t think of any other way to describe it. The farther north you go, the greener everything becomes and the steeper it gets. Unfortunately for those with weak stomachs (me), the ride is horrible. The bus goes around and around and definitely does not do it slowly. Luckily, one of my comrades was packing some motion sickness medicine so I managed to survive the journey. Once we finally arrived in Musanze, it was late and we began looking for a moto driver to take all five of us to Amanda’s house.

On the road to Amanda's house.

Now, if I thought the bus ride was bad, the moto ride was 100 times worse. Because of the heavy rain in the northern part of the country the roads wash out very easily, and a short motorcycle ride can turn into a treacherous journey. One of our friends fell off; another one lost some of her belonging during the bumpy ride. Once we finally reach Amanda’s house my legs we shaking so hard I could barely stand. That night we cooked some soup and gathered around her small living room (she has a beautiful house!) telling stories and reminiscing over our past three months at site. The next morning we made a plan to go on a short hike to see a waterfall nearby. Amanda’s village could hardly handle the group of abazungu making their way around town and we managed to say mwaramutse {good morning} to hundreds of people. 

Trying to dodge the mud.

We began walking through some of the fields that lead to the waterfall and tried our best to avoid the muddy paths, but it was no use, by the end of our trip all of our shoes were caked in mud. We were getting a little lost but stumbled upon a small abatwa village where they were making pots out of clay and firing them in a giant bonfire. After some quick words and unclear directions, the women ended up ordering one of the young boys to accompany us to find the isumo {waterfall}. We soon had a parade of about twenty kids following us, and it seemed to grow larger and larger in each town that we passed through. We finally reached the elusive falls and were treated to beautiful views of the Virunga Volcanoes.

Making pots to sell at the market.

 After returning home to finish our breakfast we got back on some motos to make our way to the hotel. The moto ride was just as bad the second time around, the only difference is that I got to walk my shaken up body to my luxurious hotel room. Okay, it wasn’t that luxurious, but seeing as I’ve been living in the boons for the past six months it seemed like heaven on earth. Spring mattresses! Hot showers! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! No banana mash!

Although the hotel was nice, the training itself, unfortunately, wasn’t all that great. For weeks some of us Health 4 volunteers had been working with the staff to make our In-Service training more in tune with our needs and wants but it seems they didn’t take too much of our constructive criticism to heart and a lot of the training proved to be a wasted effort. Despite that, there were a few bright moments. We have a new Director of Programming and Training and he seems really optimistic about making Rwanda an ideal post (a fancy term to mean a good Peace Corps country to serve in). I have always believed that if Peace Corps invested a little bit more into the program here, Rwanda is set up to be one of the best posts in East Africa, so I was happy to hear him talk about this. At the end of our weeklong training, we had an additional three days to discuss Behavior Change and Project Design/Management. Our counterparts joined us for these last few days and I think this proved to be one of the most successful components of the training as it gave us an opportunity to get all of us on the same page about what we can do as volunteers in our community.

Virunga Volanoes.

 Once the training was over I took the long journey home, which basically involved driving from one end of Rwanda to the other. It was exhausting and what’s worse is that when we arrived home we could see that the road leading to my village was washed out due to three days of nonstop rain. Last night, after contemplating what to eat for dinner a lady showed up at our door selling fish from the river by our house. Considering she was selling them for about 75¢ a pop we quickly bought a bunch and I went about cleaning and preparing the fish for dinner. It was a nice alternative goat meat (the only real meat you can get to eat here) and as long as the rainy season continues I think we are going to be treating ourselves to many more fish dinners.

IST proved to be the reboot I was hoping for and that I desperately needed. The week before I left I was feeling a little depressed about everything and I think ten days away from site in a fun city was exactly what I needed. I feel reenergized about what I am here to do and am happy that the counterparts who joined me at the training are now excited about working with me on various projects. Time will tell about whether or not their enthusiasm persists, but for right now I’m going to be idealistic about it all. After all, isn’t that why you join Peace Corps?

Halloween Party. Seeing as I already have a scar on my head,
I was Harry Potter.

Rural Women's Day

Rwanda loves its holidays. This past Monday was Rural Women's Day, and I attended a celebration in the district capitol of Nyakarambi. When my roommate and I arrived the audience was...sparse. It seems somebody did a bad job of advertising and so at the last minute they sent out scouts out to recruit some rural women to...you know...go celebrate being rural women. Nonetheless, once the ceremony got started (one hour after if was scheduled to end) it was actually a lot of fun. There was even a traditional dance performance by some of the local High School kids, I got some video but seeing as the internet here is running only 10kb/second I wouldn't expect to see it on YouTube anytime soon.

For most of the ceremony there was nice weather, that is until the Mayor of Kirehe began his speech. Suddenly a black cloud began racing towards us and the tent we were sitting under began to lurch. One of the local soldiers began calling able men to help hold it up but everyone seemed more interested in saving themselves. I looked over at my roommate who screamed 'Let's get the f*ck out of here!' (he just learned about the 'f-word') and soon I was pushing him as fast as I could run to the car. The scene has descended into chaos and in the background I could hear the mayor begging everyone to just 'remain calm.'

Just then, the tent blew over.

Bon Appétit

I would have to estimate that I think about food about 70% of the day (I’m hungry a lot). Admittedly, I’m not imagining myself eating Rwanda food, because really, it’s nothing to write home about. Despite that…I’m writing home about it.

The food here is probably just as delicious as you can imagine it being. One of the things I’ve become accustomed to eating (AKA it’s what’s for supper everyday) is agatogo. Agatogo is a stew made from ibitoki, a kind of rock hard, unripe banana that’s sticky to the touch. After peeling with a knife you basically boil the bananas into a mush. It looks like [vomit]. Tastes like [vomit+bananas]. Also, it costs about as much as [vomit], that is to say, its costs almost nothing. One bowl of agatogo and you won’t need to eat for the rest of the day, it’s basically glue in the stomach. It also means you can expect to have a bowel movement about once every four days. When I first began eating it, it really made me gag, but I’ve seemed to develop a certain affinity for it. Now, I have to make a confession here, my roommate and I have a cook. She is an old lady and we refer to her as the umuceceru {old lady}. Now before you think that I’m heartless, please realize that she asked us to call her that. She cooks agatogo every night, and does my laundry because no matter what I will never be able to wash clothes in a bucket with one cup of water. Together we pay her about a dollar a day, which I’ve been told is overpaying.

Admittedly, eating agatogo all of the time can do some seriously crazy things to the digestive tract, so we also spice it up a bit. Sometimes we eat rice. If you are feeling real ambitious you can put beans on the rice. If you are crazy you can also crush peanuts and make a delicious peanut sauce. We were eating mushrooms for a while, but it turns out that the man who cultivates them decided he could make a lot more money being a moto taxi driver. Sometimes we buy macaroni and I make macaroni with tomato sauce, but whenever I decided to cook I have to put up with dirty looks from the umuceceru, so I usually cave and let her take over. One time, she caught me cooking for myself and threatened to not come back…so…I’ve stopped doing any household chores.

Now I have to admit, the food isn’t all bad, which brings me to the exciting part of this discussion…bar food! Bars in Rwanda aren’t like the kind back home. They are mostly large empty rooms filled with plastic furniture, lit by a single fluorescent bulb that is usually flickering on and off, and full of drunk abasaza {old men}. The beers are warm, the peanuts stale, but just like America they are great places to meet up with friends, have a few laughs, be harassed by host country nationals, and eat some food.

The typical bar food in Rwanda are brochettes and chips. Brochettes are very similar to the kebabs that you would eat back in America. They are essentially sticks of goat meat, rubbed up and down with spices and piri piri pepper (or as Rwandans say: pelee pelee), then thrown onto an open fire. Sometimes they are delicious and you can’t believe God could be so good to you, sometimes they come and the meat is a little overcooked but you eat them anyway because, hey, it’s not agatogo. But sometimes…sometimes you spend more time trying to discern what part of the goat they gave you than you do actually eating. Usually, if the meat looks this gross, it tastes even worse. When a bar does this I put them on my bar ‘shit list,’ and make sure to avoid them like the plague. Brochettes are usually accompanied very well with a plate of chips. For about $1.25 you get a giant plates of French fries, a salad of raw onions, and a huge slab of mayo. It’s so good you can cry.

Disclaimer: I feel like I should point out that, would I ever be served this type of food in a bar in America I would probably find it all very disgusting. But here…I’m just that hungry.

My new favorite type of bar food is akabenzi, you may know it better as pork, commonly understood to be the most delicious of all meats. One of my favorite bars serves a ‘pork platter.’ For roughly $3.00, you get a giant platter filled will deep fried potatoes and spices, topped with ONE KILO OF AKABENZI, and the icing on this cake: raw onions. It’s delicious and the perfect meal for a couple of people. Just don’t expect to get much work done the next day; it has the opposite effect of agatogo (see above).

Of course, all of these foods need a nice beverage to compliment their flavors. Primus is, in many ways, the national beer of Rwanda. It’s been around for a while and .75 liters only costs a dollar. Of course you can sometimes down three of these and then you stop to think that holy crap I just drank over two liters of beer! Yeah, the next morning is not a fun one. I also like Mützig, similar to Primus but a little sour tasting sometimes. And my favorite is Turbo King. The posters call it the Alcohol for Men, so ladies, ordering on of these puppies will bring about so discriminating looks. It’s a darker beer (a nice change change from Primus, which tastes like Bud Light with a rusty nail in the bottom), and has an alcohol content of about 7%. A few of these and you will be real goofy, but be aware before you order that the bartender is going to have a new one on the table and uncapped as soon as you finish the one in front of you.

The longer I’ve been here I realize each day is a new adventure and I still have so much more to learn about this amazing country. Except the food. I feel like I can pretty much say I’ve had it all and now I’m ready for a Big Mac.

Explosions!

Monday morning I work up (groggy as usual) and opened the windows to get some fresh air blowing through the house. Upon swinging open the window and breathing in a huge breathe of air I realized I was actually breathing in a bunch of smoke. In fact, the entire village was covered in a fog of it, all coming from the mountain overlooking Rusumo. Now, being in Rwanda, my first thought was that maybe that mountain is actually a volcano. If you’ve been reading the recent news out of Guatemala, that seemed like a pretty scary thing to be happening.

I walked to work for the morning meeting and I could see the rumor mill was already spinning. Everybody was trying to figure out just what was going on. Many of the people I work with live in my market town, Nyakarambi, which happens to be located on the mountain, and seeing as they weren’t there for the meeting I could only surmise that they had died fiery deaths in whatever was going on up there.

Later in the day I got my answer. It turns out an oil tanker coming from Tanzania crashed into another car. As everyone got out (I can only assume to argue about what happened. The truth is the truck drivers drive like idiots) the tanker, being filled with oil, exploded!

Yesterday I went to visit my friend Miranda (the other volunteer in my district) in Nyakarambi, and on the way there drove by the scene of the accident. What I saw was insane. A giant oil tanker, charred and black as night, was covered by about fifty people with machetes, slowly taking it apart. It seemed crazy to me at the time, but how else would they take it apart?! There’s obviously no tow trucks, and I’m sure somebody’s going to find good use for a bunch of burnt metal.

I know this stuff happens back home, probably more often that we know. The thing is when it happens here it seems all the more surreal.

Rusumo, My New Home

The other day I was taking a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood and snapped a few pictures of my new home.

Experiencing Rwandan Medical Care, Firsthand...

It began like any other night. The sun was setting over the mountains like a runny Spanish omelet on a cheap diner plate. I was alone. Well, as alone as one can be in Rwanda. I had just finished eating my supper, rice and wild mushrooms (delicious, but also a gamble every time you eat them…one of these days I’m probably going to ingest a poisonous one). After supper I decided to walk over to my Health Center to use the internet. Thanks to a grant from Partners in Health, we have WiFi all over the center. It’s not exactly high speed, but really I’ll take what I can get. The strongest signal can be found in the waiting room, which usually means you’ll have a small crowd gathered around you to see what you are doing. On this particular night I could see from out my window that the lobby and waiting room were empty, prime time to use the WiFi! I began locking my doors and heading down the hill.

Now, somewhere along the way, the power went out. Living here in Rwanda I’ve realized there’s a big difference between ‘having power’ and having power. For example, I ‘have power’ in the sense that there’s a light bulb in my bedroom as well as a [single] electrical outlet to charge my things. But, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have power, because really it’s out about 50% of the time. When the power goes out at night, it’s dark. Very dark. Because of this I’ve become accustomed to always carrying around a small flashlight in my pocket so that I can see where I’m going. As soon as I saw the lights die, I began fishing around in my pocket for my flashlight when...WHACK! I had tripped in one of the water drainage ditches that run around the health center (a necessity when living on the side of a mountain) and hit my head on a brick wall.

I was a little dizzy, and without my glasses (god knows where they flew) I couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but when I went to pick up my computer case I saw that it was a bloody mess. As were my pants and shirt. Not sure if the blood was coming from me I put my hand up to my forehead and…yup it was me alright. A little scared I then remembered that I’m at a freaking health center! I began walking down the corridor to the on call room hoping to maybe get a band aid and be on my way. As I began walking the blood was shooting out of me like old faithful and I came to the realization that I may be needing more than just a little gauze. Upon reaching the duty nurse’s office I saw that she was with a patient but nothing could stop me at the point, I busted open the door with all of my force and then realized I had no idea what to say; I simply pointed my tiny flashlight at whatever was going on up on my head and much to my dismay I got a ‘ya baba we!’ {oh my god!} from both the nurse and the patient! They quickly cleared off the stool that was stacked mile high with papers and began putting gauze on my forehead.

Now, maybe I suffered a mild concussion, or maybe I was just a little scared, but in that moment I couldn’t speak a word of Kinyarwanda. Or French. Or Swahili, or any of the languages swimming around in my head right now. Another nurse entered and they were checking out my head and then motioned for me to go lay on the bed, the next thing I know they were whispering to each other and I distinctly heard the word kudoda {verb:to sew}. I realized I needed stitches, but I could remember our Peace Corps doctor’s stern warning to never use the local Health Centers for medical care, and so I immediately pulled out my phone and called him. The nurse looked at me like I was crazy, making a social call at a time like this!

Hello, he said. Dr. Elite I’ve fallen and busted my head and now I’m here in the Health Center and I can’t speak Kinyarwanda and I think I need stitches and they showed me in the mirror and it looks bad and I’m scared and I think I want you to talk to them and maybe tell them what I should do I just don’t know, I say. Okay give her the phone, he says. [brief interlude where they talk in rapid Kinyarwanda, then, phone is handed back to me] Okay Ian, it looks like since you are so far away from me we’re just going to go ahead and let her give you the stitches, but I should warn you that these are really bad stitches and there’s a possibility you’re going to have a big scar. Good night, and good luck!

Not exactly comforted by his words they laid me down on the table and began cleaning out the wound. Keep in mind the power is still out and so she put the flashlight in her mouth, bit down on it, and began sewing me up. Now, without any kind of numbing or pain killers I’m not afraid to say that I began crying like a little baby. It HURT! But survived, and after washing all the blood of my face (head wounds bleed like crazy!) I realized it really doesn’t look all that bad at all. I also feel stupid for crying, because everyone here survived a genocide and I was scared about a few stitches. But it was a pretty horrible experience and I think I’m going to start following my roommate’s advice from this morning to watch where I’m going (what kind of advice is that?!) because I don’t want any more incidents.

and now for something completely different

I’ve been at site for just over a month now and so far (last night aside), everything has been going really well. Before we left training we were assigned with drawing up a plan for our initial three months, a blueprint for integrating at site. While glancing over the plan yesterday I realize that I’ve already accomplished a large portion of the things that I had wanted to. Since being here I’ve successfully gotten my home in order, gotten aquainted with everyone working at the Health Center, met and spoken with dozens of community health workers, introduced myself to local officials, and met with NGOs working in the area. Miranda, another volunteer in Kirehe district, and I have also arranged a meet and greet with hospital staff in the provincial capitol. We are looking forward to meeting with them and building a relationship over the next two years.

So things are looking up…but maybe from now on I should start looking down more often. You know, to see where I’m going.

Training

The past two weeks I've been busy helping with with Community Health Worker training at my site. Community Health Workers (or abajyanama b'ubuzima in Kinyarwanda, try saying that ten times fast!) are locally picked volunteers who work in their respective communities promoting health, passing out meds when needed, checking in on HIV+ patients, etc. The list is endless, and since the program began almost 7 years ago there has been a dramatic decline in the number of deaths reported.

This training was specific to the maternal specialists. They are responsible for checking in on pregnant women living in their umudugudu {village} and checking their progress, giving them advice, and encouraging them to visit the Health Center for prenatal care. It was an interesting few weeks and I too learned a lot. Some topics covered: breast feeding (I've seen lots of boobs here, all I'm saying), checking newborns' pulses and breathing for irregularities, weighing said newborns, and of course, the always important how to properly fill out le fiche {the mother's medical record}. Though the training was certainly interesting, it was also pretty boring most of the time, I was crammed into a tiny wooden bench along with a bunch of ladies, and the classroom we were using (the students are on summer break too) was so hot I could barely breathe. Not sure how any learning goes on there in the afternoon! The experience was good, but I'm ready to get back to work at the Health Center next week.

*     *     *

Liliose, my counterpart, teaching. She is the head of the community health workers.

Lots of babies at the training.

Role playing, some of these went on for over an hour! I think Rwanda needs a community theatre.

He never stopped smiling, he may have been the only one happy to be there!

Packed in like sardines!

At the end of the week we take the workers into the community to put them to the test!

Border Patrol

Rusumo Falls

Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman living in the Eastern Province of Rwanda. She had many friends and family, and was undoubtedly the most eligible bachelorette in the village. She had many offers (both sexual and matrimonial), and was promised dowries of amashongore {many female cows} as well as a life of eating nothing but avocadoes and donuts. Needless to say it was quite a shock for everyone when she finally accepted an offer of marriage, not from a Rwandan, but from someone living across the border. Not only that, but the man was very poor (and from what I hear, definitely lacking in the looks department). Nevertheless she was entranced and before her friends and family could figure out what was really going on, she had moved to Tanzania and was living a life of wedded bliss. Of course, everything was not perfect. Her husband was cruel and treated her badly. She was forbidden from visiting loved ones in Rwanda and forced to spend all day inside her small mud hut. It was almost as if she was entranced in a spell, and, fearing for her safety, some of her family snuck over to her house one evening to confront her. Upon seeing her kin come to rescue her, the spell was broken instantly. She realized the man had used black magic to seduce her and make her love him. She was angry and packed her few things and began to flee with her family. However, these things are never that easy and as soon as she begins to leave, her husband shows up, and, suffice to say he’s pissed. He threatens that if she leaves him he will place a curse on her and her entire family. The family manages to escape his grasps and returns the young woman back to the safety of her homeland. She is happy and content and wakes up the next morning and dies. She just…drops dead. Now, this same day people witnessed a rather strange phenomenon, crocodiles began walking across the border, and despite the pokes and kicks from villagers, they continued on their path. Apparently, one could walk up and touch the crocodile without anything happening, because, you see, these crocs were on a mission. They walked all the way down to the girl’s village and ate her family. Maybe some friends too.

So, this was my introduction to my new home. Apparently around these parts there’s a lot of witchcraft. So I’ve been warned not to piss anyone off. We’ve also been warned not to shake hands with anyone, especially old ladies. When you ask why you get a simple one-word response: poison. Now, I don’t really buy any of it, but my roommate informs me that he was also skeptical; having grown up in the city, and it wasn’t until he began living out East that he saw this black magic with his own two eyes. I’ve definitely heard some crazy stories over the past week and as much as I’d like to share them all on my blog, it’s probably not the best thing for me to do, this being available for pretty much anyone to read.

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I had my own interesting experience at the border this past weekend. After surviving our first week at site, some of us decided to celebrate by getting together on Saturday for some much needed R&R. My good friend Miranda was also celebrating a birthday, and so it was decided that we would be going to her house. Of course, after only living in the house for a week it was still relatively empty, and seeing as my living quarters are fully furnished, we decided to do the shindig at my place. Much of the weekend involved sharing good stories, cooking good meals, and drinking good pretty shitty wine. Now, wine here is way expensive, often ranging from $20-30 for just a bottle. I had mentioned to my roommate once that I really like wine. I had also mentioned that I would like to take my friends over to see the border. Now apparently, in Tanzania the wine is way cheaper than what is sold here in Rwanda, and so my roommate suggested paying a border hopper to go buy us some cheap wine in Tanzania and bring it back to us. Before long we were in his car heading towards Tanzania.

The ride out east is a beautiful one. The mountains here are more like hills, and from what I hear; they make for amazing picnic spots. Driving around with my roommate this past week has been an interesting experience because it has allowed me to see parts of Rwanda that the public buses don’t go and places Peace Corps certainly would never take me. Right behind my house, for example, is a long road that heads to the border, in America we would most likely refer to it as the ‘backroad’ route, but here it is also a very important road that connects several villages. The thing about it is that you can walk for almost a mile and not see another person. It seems I’ve found the one place in Rwanda without any people, and considering that I’m currently living in the most densely populated country in all of Africa, that’s quite a feat. Another place I wouldn’t normally get to: the border.

Sketchy border crossing.

Now, my notions of what the border would look like before moving to Rusumo were a lot different. I pictured a pretty, grassy plain with a large ‘Welcome to Tanzania!’ sign. Instead, you drive to a sketchy town that makes Tijuana look like Monaco. All around are dozens of semi trucks and truck drivers speaking different languages from all over Africa. Walking around the streets are women wearing short skirts and tons of makeup, and though I don’t want to assume (for all I know they are truck drivers too, or border guards), I’m pretty sure they are ladies of the night. If you catch my drift. There’s also a few hotels but I think they tend to pair up with said ladies of the night. The border between Tanzania and Rwanda is actually a river, and the bridge connecting the two countries travels over Rusumo Falls. The waterfall was actually very beautiful, though dirty of course (Rwanda is just so damn dusty!). Convincing the guard that we just wanted to see the waterfall and weren’t planning on actually crossing over was a little bit of a feat, but before we know it we were walking across the bridge. Of course, somewhere along the line we may or may not have slipped some money to a man who returned almost an hour later (I was getting worried there for a bit!) with a 5 liter box of incredibly delicious cheap white wine. To thank my roommate for bringing us to the waterfall we all wanted to take him to a bar and buy him a drink. After doing some convincing he said he knew of one close by that was wheelchair accessible. The bar had a nice back courtyard where we enjoyed some cold Primus and akabenzi {pork} skewers. Seeing as this was the first time that I have eaten pork in almost three months, well, I was incredibly happy. Being the always gracious host, my roommate had invited our borderhoppin’ friend. While we were ordering beers he ordered himself a bottle of cognac and then drank the entire bottle over the two hours we were there. So there was that.

Soon after we piled back into my roommate’s car and began racing through the Eastern Mountains. It was probably one of the scarier moments of my time here so far and the fact that my friend kept whispering to me from the backseat that ‘car accidents are the leading cause of death amongst Peace Corps Volunteers!’ really didn’t help. Turns out we had to take our borderhoppin’ friend back to my market town, about 15 minutes away from where I live. To make a long story short, we almost hit several people and were also involved in a minor fender bender. Luckily we made it back home safe and sound, just in time to make a delicious supper and enjoy each other’s company.

*     *     *

My backyard.

I’ve been at site for almost two weeks now and though I’m enjoying being here, it has also proved to be quite a challenge. Rusumo is an endemic area when it comes to malaria, and after a few nights of mosquito blitzes I’m able to see why. Even though I sleep with a net, they still find their way in and my body is completely covered in bites. In the morning they line the walls of my shower room and so I have to spend a minutes beating the walls with my towel to get them to buzz off…literally. Of course they usually come back rather quickly. Mosquitoes aside, my living situation is really good. I moved into a fully furnished apartment, thanks to my roommate. If anyone out there is thinking that I’m ‘roughing it’ in a hut somewhere then you’re mistaken, the fact is we even have a TV here (granted it nearly electrocuted me when I tried to turn it on once so I don’t really touch it now). Last week I had ordered some furniture from the local carpenter, well actually I had my roommate do it so that I could get a deal and not the muzungu price. The quoted 50,000Rwf and he managed to talk them down to 30,000Rwf (around $55). I got a desk, a chair, and a large wooden bookshelf to keep all my stuff on. When it came time to pick up the stuff I waited until my friends came so that they could help me to carry it over to my house. Due to all of our adventures at the border, we weren’t available to head over to the carpenter until late at night, after giving him a call around 9PM he said it wouldn’t be able a problem. After climbing up the hill and wading through a graveyard of furniture lit only by moonlight we stumbled upon three men sitting on a bench. Now, I’m not really sure if any of them actually worked there but they showed me the stuff and we argued prices for a bit and then we all realized that while my friends and I were slightly buzzed from a few Primus these men were trashed out of their minds. Insults were thrown in Kinyarwanda, and soon two of them men were fist-fighting while the other one screamed at them (the only thing I managed to understand was the one thing he was shouting over and over again: inzoga {alcohol!}. I handed the man the money and we made a dash for it. Now the furniture is safe and sound in my newly decorated bedroom, which gives the whole place a homier feel (which, trust me, was badly needed).

Living here has its other challenges. Despite scoring high on my Language Proficiency Interview, I still only understand 20% of what people are saying to me. Add to that the fact that people here are very shy, and half the time they’re speaking to me in either French or some kind of Swahili. Most days end with me popping a few Ibuprofen because I have such a bad headache. The sun here is killer, and a smart man would wear the sunscreen that Peace Corps provided. I usually abstain because it feels like rubbing castor oil on my skin and never really seems to dry. Also, we’re currently in the dry season, which means the sun is high in the sky, there are water shortages all across the Eastern Province, and the dust is everywhere. When I blow my nose it’s usually red, not from chronic bloody noses but simply because I spend the whole day breathing in dirt. Also, according to my teacher back in Kamonyi, the dry season often times makes people go mad, and tie that in with all the witchcraft going on around me, and I would say it’s quite the time to be here!

But the past weeks have had their ups as well. I can finally work on my own schedule, and after the grueling three months of training, this has definitely been a welcome change. Now that my room is looking more like a room, I enjoy spending time in there and it has proven to be a nice little sanctuary when I am feeling down. The community I am living in is great; the people here are incredibly friendly and eager to talk to me when I go for walks. The staff at the Health Center is also really great, and though I still feel like I have a long way to go in terms of integration, I’m taking it day by day. The view from my window of the sun setting is incredible. The cool night air is relaxing. The cell phone reception here is superb (believe me, it’s a big deal!) Peace Corps service is a series of ups and downs, and so far I’m riding the wave and enjoying the experience.

Now if I could just find some candy…

Last days of PST

Back when I was still applying for Peace Corps I remember thinking to myself that the most terrifying day would be the one where I get dropped off in the middle of Africa, alone, scared, possibly excited, and then watch the van drive off into the distance. That day finally came today and though it wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it might be, it was still stressful enough to freak me out. The morning started early, where for the first time Peace Corps seemed to have their act together; we were informed we would be leaving around 7:30; the vans were ready to go at 7:30. Of course, we still needed gas, phone minutes, and a quick checkup of the vehicle so in all reality we weren’t out of the city until about 9:00. There were three of us in the van, and being the farthest out I was the last one to get dropped off. It was interesting for me because I got a chance to see my colleagues’ different health centers and their new homes. The first PCV described her village as ‘out in the boonies’ several times to me; of course my response was that we’re all out in the boonies. In all reality her site made Rusumo look like Manhattan. We drove for almost an hour down a dirt road that has definitely seen better days and finally reached her health center, on top of a mountain overlooking the valley. It was beautiful, but remote, and her house was small and scary. I have to give her credit; I don’t think I could handle that. The next stop was a good friend of mine who actually lives not too far from me. Her house is also a haul from the main road, but it’s a cute three bedroom right in the heart of the village. As we pulled up about a hundred people gathered to welcome their new neighbor…it was all too sweet. My installation went a little less smoothly. For starters, they took me to the wrong country. Literally. We missed our turn on the way to my health center and before we know it we ended up at the Tanzanian border. Fridays at the health centers are uneventful usually, not to mention that most of the staff heads to Kigali for the weekend, so there weren’t too many people around to greet me. Nonetheless I moved all of my stuff into my room, and have also come to the executive decision that I’m way too cheap to buy a bed frame, so I will most likely suck it up and sleep on a hospital bed for a while. As I’m writing this I can hear a million mosquitoes buzzing around my net and I forget that where I’m living is basically the malaria capital of Rwanda, so…I’m better not forget my Mefloquin!

The last few weeks of PST were difficult in many ways. Towards the end we had all spent so much time together that, in many ways, we were becoming snippy with each other, or tiring of others’ company. A lot of the people I’ve met here have become close friends, which is crazy considering that I’ve only been here for a few months so far, and I think lately we were spending too much time together. Also, many of the girls in our group had commissioned my host dad to sew them traditional African dresses. He loved the work but unfortunately it meant that I didn’t see him very much toward the end. It also meant we didn’t eat supper until eleven most nights. On top of it all a plethora of ills made its way around our group and by week eight of training I was feeling really under the weather.

Exploring Africa with some students after a day of teaching.

I remember commenting to someone else that the last week of training reminded me a lot of those last weeks of elementary school. You know you’ll see your friends again soon, but most of the group you won’t see for three months, the classroom is pretty much taken down and you are just sitting through some filler classes, and most of your time at home is spent prepping for an exam. In Peace Corps the big exam is the LPI, a language proficiency interview that tests what level you fall at. There are three groups: novice, intermediate, and advanced. Within each group you can then score low, mid, or high. To be a Peace Corps volunteer you must score Intermediate Mid on your final LPI, which is a pretty big challenge seeing as Kinyarwanda is an incredibly difficult language to learn. On my mid-training LPI I was one level away from what I needed on the final test, so I wasn’t too nervous going into it. I figured that if I didn’t pass it meant I wasn’t graded right the first time. Good news, I passed! I scored Intermediate High, which made me pretty happy because it’s one of the higher scores. Only one person in our group scored in the advanced category, but seeing as I never studied {once} while being here, my own personal ambitions weren’t quite that high. The difficulty is that some in the group didn’t pass, for those who were close to the requisite level; they receive a language contract and simply have to reach Intermediate Mid sometime within the next three months. For the others, they have to stay behind in Kamonyi and if their skills don’t improve they may have to go back. To America. It’s a stressful situation to say the least and I feel like Peace Corps should put more emphasis on the difficulty of language learning as they interview and recruit volunteers. The fact of the matter is that some learn languages very easily and others don’t. Some people already speak one or two besides English and so learning another won’t be as big a challenge. Some like to speak a lot. Some prefer learning by blackboard. There is such a variety and the consequences of not doing well on the LPI can be very stressful.

What we didn’t realize about examinations was that we would also be tested on our knowledge of all of the tech sessions we’ve had throughout the past few months. Now, I don’t want to be one to complain, and I’m not quite sure who is actually reading this blog, so, suffice to say the technical aspect of training was very poor. When it came time to take the test we were told it would be open book, only to find out after a few minutes that no, we were actually supposed to have memorized everything?? The irony is that after training, should I forget something, I have a wealth of books and notes that I can consult. Well, my grade on my technical exam wasn’t so hot. But I’m still here.

Following all of the examinations was the farewell party that we had planned to honor our host families. The party invitations that were handed out informed all that the party would begin at 2:00. Now, in America this would mean everyone would arrive at 1:30 expecting the drinks and hors d oeuvres to be ready…which is annoying. In Rwanda it meant that everyone showed up around 3:30 expecting the drinks and hors d oeuvres to be ready…which is annoying. My family didn’t show up at all, and being the only family to neglect their trainee I was feeling a little down. I was the kid at the baseball game whose dad is always too busy to ever come to a game. As each of the trainees got up to introduce their family to the rest of the party someone must have noticed the frown on my face, someone made a phone call and about ten minutes before the party ended my host mom showed up. I was surprised because I feel really fortunate that I got the family that I got, they had been an excellent family for most of the training, but I was a little hurt that no one showed up, especially on a Sunday when there is no work! My host dad later explained to me that he had called a repairman to do some maintenance in the shop and basically couldn’t get rid of the guy (I’m still not sure if this is a real enough excuse but I like my host dad so much I’ll let it fly). The party also included some traditional African dancing from our very own group of trainees. I posted a video of it, give it a look if you can because I think it’s fun and the end is hilarious. Once the party was over, the tough part came: saying goodbye. It wasn’t easy and I’m going to miss my family very much. It’s still a little surreal how quickly you can bond despite living with someone for so short a time and when the language gap between you resembles the Grand Canyon. But I know this isn’t the last time that I will ever see them again, we’ve already planned a time for December when I can join them again, so the goodbye wasn’t totally awful. After packing up my things we were off to Kigali.

We taught the Hokey Pokey to some schoolchildren.

Being in Kigali always makes me sick. There’s something about it. After living in the countryside for a few months going to a densely packed city gives you a bit of culture shock. On top of it all there are a million people everywhere, motos driving like idiots all over the roads, the sun seems the be hotter and brighter in the sky, and you get dehydrated no matter how many liters of water you drink. The Peace Corps Rwanda has its own version of a hostel, called le Case, and it’s a place where you can stay for very cheaply when you have to come visit Kigali. It’s also pretty gross. The hot showers and flush toilets that are provided do seem like quite the luxury for the dirty, tired of squatting, Peace Corps trainees, and I may or may not have showered twice a day for the duration of my stay. Our swearing in ceremony was nice little affair held at the ambassador’s house and attended by more people than I was expecting. There were speeches given in English, French, and Kinyarwanda. I spoke in English and considering that most of it was written the night beforehand I think I did an okay job. The big news going around Kigali was that Bill Clinton was there for the day. In my head I was thinking of course he’s going to come to the ceremony. He didn’t, but then again, I’m not sure I would have wanted to give a speech in front of Bill Clinton.

The day after swearing in was a nice relaxed day. Most of the group left for site installations, but a few of us who are farther away from Kigali were moved in later. We hung out in our pajamas all morning, played tons of Trivial Pursuit, ate greasy delicious Chinese food, and drank a ton of beer. If that sounds like a perfect day to you I would be apt to agree.

Now I’m here at site. What am I going to do here? I have 720 days to figure that out. Right now I need to go to bed.

Site Visit

I’m sitting in a conference twiddling my thumbs. Right now the speaker is going on in rapid fire Kinyarwanda, and as much as I’d like to think I know what he is saying, the truth is I have no idea. Occasionally we switch to French. Every once in a blue moon an English word pops up. Next to me my supervisor is taking down some notes and raises his hand. He asks one of those questions that takes five minutes to ask but only two words to answer. I have no idea what he was inquiring about. I’ve only known him for about two hours at this point; he is the titulaire at the Centre de Sante to which I have been assigned to work at for the next two years. Our first conversation was a little awkward, switching back and forth between French and Kinyarwanda, but amazingly, we are able to communicate decent enough for me to wean some information. The problem sometimes in Rwanda is that a simple question, like ‘what is you name?’ {witwa nde?}, turns into quite an ordeal because the names here are usually pretty long and complicated. Soon, we’re back to the conference, jotting down pointless notes and sipping on bad coffee. By the time the session is over, my fellow trainees begin heading to the bus station to depart for their various sites. I however wait behind, my titulaire has informed me that a private car will be driving us to my site (swanky, it’s like I’m living in the Posh Corps). It is twelve o’clock. In typical African fashion the car arrives at 4:30. By five we are barreling down the road, leaving Kigali behind and heading east.

*     *     *

 The day our sites were announced was a tense one. Realistically, all of us had shown up at the hub for one reason: we wanted to know where we would be living for the duration of our service! Of course in Peace Corps nothing is that easy, someone decided it would be best if we spent most of the morning sitting through more classes. In the morning I was antsy, but by lunchtime I was going nuts…just tell us already! Finally the moment came, our Health Program coordinator entered the room with a large map of Rwanda that had 25 yellow pins situated all over the country. But before we can find out they need to explain how they chose the sites. They discuss how they couldn’t give us all what we asked for during our site interviews, then they discuss---from the back of the room someone groans loudly. ‘Just tell us already!!’ Sensing a possible mutiny, our coordinator pulls out the sheet with the sites. Now he is debating whether or not to tell us alphabetically or by the regions. At this point I fear for his safety, people are getting up, he best just spit it out. I think he gets the hint and begins announcing.

A week before the announcements we got to sit down one on one with the Program directors to discuss what are primary interests are (what sectors we would like to work in), as well as what some of our living preferences are (can you survive without electricity, what is the farthest you would walk for water, do you like hot/cold temperatures). In hindsight, I’m not sure anything we said was taken into consideration, but the thought counts, right? I say I’m interested mostly in working with nutrition, possibly doing some community agriculture projects, and oral health education. What kind of weather do I like? Cold. In fact, if you could place me in the coldest site available, well, that’d be great. Just don’t send me out east. I hear it’s hot, full of mosquitoes, and impossible to find water. Nope, definitely don’t want to go east.

I’m now staring at the map. I have to squint for a minute, is he pointing to Tanzania?! No, I’ve just been placed as far east as one can get in Rwanda. Basically, Tanzania. “I think you’ll like it here, Ian. They speak Swahili here.” Wait…what did he just say?! Judging by the panicked look on my face the other program coordinator steps in, “Well not really, don’t worry Ian. They speak Kinyarwanda and Swahili. And French!”

*     *     *

 I roll down the window and feel the cool night air. Outside the moon illuminates the mountains for as far as the eye can see. When anyone in Rwanda discusses the eastern province they point out how flat it is. Being from Wisconsin I guess I have a different definition of flat because what I see out the window is anything but. We descend the mountain and are driving over small bridges in the valley. ‘Rice fields’ I hear my titulaire say. He smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder, ‘We’re getting close.’

The car pulls up to the Health Center, but it’s too dark to see much. Inside my pocket I hear my phone buzzing. Welcome to Tanzania! it says. Hm… I’m waiting for the driver (who I’ve been informed is my roommate for the next two years) to exit the car, but there seems to be some kind of delay. Pretty soon one of the health center janitors runs up with wheelchair and opens the door for my roommate. It now dawns on me…there’s a reason the car’s brake and gas pedal were attached to the steering wheel! ‘This man is handicapped,’ my titulaire tells me. I try to resist thanking him for overstating the obvious and instead nod in agreement. Soon we are heading up a dark path to the left of the Health Center, where, on top of a small hill, I see a little house. I should point out that emanating from the house windows is a nice yellowish glow…I have electricity! We enter and I sigh in relief. Many of my fellow trainees are living in their own houses alone but my site has me living in a small house with one of my Rwandan coworkers. Needless to say I was a little nervous about the whole situation but seeing a fully furnished living room makes me smile. Peace Corps gives us a generous ‘move in’ allowance that is designed to help you furnish your house for two years, but seeing as everything is already done in the living room I think I’ll have a nice bit of vacation money. The janitor grabs my bags and leads me to my bedroom. This will be my one private place for the rest of my service, and expecting some kind of Harry Potter cupboard below a staircase I’m pleasantly surprised to see a rather large room. About the size of a dorm room, except just for myself! In the corner of the ceiling I see a long red wire that stretches across the room and leads to a single plug. I begin thinking how much I’m going to love having electricity when…there’s a loud boom and the power goes out. As I discovered over the next few days, that happens a lot.

Site visits are difficult because no one is quite sure what to do with you, and after only four weeks of Kinyarwanda training our language skills could best be described as sub par. I spent much of the time exploring my new community and sitting in on a training session for community health workers. As much as I wanted to scream from boredom, I think sitting in on these sessions was good because it gave me the opportunity to meet nearly 50 different community health workers, people with whom I’m hoping to work with in the near future. I blew through all of my airtime in one day after an obsessive amount of texting and calling my fellow trainees, then had to make a rather embarrassing purchase of way too many phone minutes at one of the local boutiques. Which really only reinforces the stereotype of what a rich muzungu I am.

After staying at site for a week I boarded a bus and headed back to Kigali to meet up with some others in my group. We took advantage of being in the big city to eat out, and after several liters of beer and several plates of food, we were all very satisfied. We boarded a bus bound for Remera-Rukoma, and by nightfall were back home, safe and sound, with our families.

After almost two months here I’m beginning to fall into a routine. Unfortunately, since site visit, training has been a difficult ordeal. At this point in time, many of us are tired and anxious to get started with our service. At the same time I’m not looking forward to having to say goodbye to my family (who have been amazing) and to all of the great people I’ve met in my training group. In a few weeks, though, training will come to an end and we will be sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers. I’m excited, nervous, anxious, and most all…ready.