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.

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 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!”

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 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.