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.

*     *     *

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.