I love Rwanda. Let me just say that. Africa is a wonderful place with lots to offer and wonderful people. But there are also things that get under my (already Africa-thickened) skin:
1. One cannot give compliments. It's very, VERY rare. They'd rather insult you as a joke and call it a good day. "Michele, why do you look like you just got out of bed? You look awful." "Go back to America, we don't want you here." Yes. Very Funny. Ha.
2. High power distance. People simply accept and unquestioningly yield to social status. The poor see themselves as less powerful, worthy, or influential. Not just accepting the rich as rich or the powerful as powerful. But also accepting yourself as powerless. Helpless. And insignificant. Unquestioningly. Just accepted.
3. A large measure of ignorance and a love of generalizations. "All white people have money, you can give me some, too." "You're intelligent because white people are rich and have no problems."
4. Girls, women, all females CANNOT whistle. Sometimes I do it any way, because its such a part of my family life (thanks, Dad) and I elicit looks and comments of horror and scandal!
5.The first thing asked of you is if you're married. Then, old men proceed to tell you if they weren't already married, they'd take you up! Young men say they're going to marry you. Its weird the first time. Funny the second. But just annoying thereafter.
6. Men and women can't be just friends. When ALL people adhere to this standard, keep this expectation, and act on it, there just aren't any men/women friendships. EVERY man and women only enter into a cross-gender relationship TO have sex. (Ok, not 100%, but the vast majority)
7. In everyone's claim to be super religious, pre-marital sex is harshly criticized. Young women that get pregnant without a husband are socially ostracized, gossiped about and can't really fit in to society as well as others.
8. Despite the above, an estimated 99% of teens and adults--married or not-- have sexual relations on a regular basis. They even tease, mock, and pressure those who don't. Young men will leave their girlfriends if they don't sleep with them. Girls are pressured by society, family, and friends to have a boyfriend and marry, so they feel trapped to sleep with a boyfriend or be left and consequently publicly disgraced.
9. Pretty much all married men also have a lover. Or 2. Or 3. on the side. Sometimes the wife knows who, sometimes not. But she pretty much takes it for granted that he's got someone else.
10.Rwandans--in general-- are very racist. The first thing they see is skin. Apparently, according to local belief, ALL people fit into two categories: Tutsi and Hutu (yes, 2 of the 3 ethnic groups terrorized by Genocide in 1994: Hutu majority slaughtered the Tutsi minority and any Hutu sympathizers). So, your average Rwandan will see a white person and categorize him as either a "White Tutsi" or a "White Hutu". Or about each other, "All Hutus lie!" or "All Tutsi are racist!" (I've heard BOTH in conversation)
11. Its normal, acceptable behavior to harass foreigners in the street. Not just begging, but mocking accents, pointing, staring, laughing at, and general rude (to a Western standard) behavior.
12. Rwandans don't like or trust foreigners. At first I wasn't sure. But I was told by 2 independent sources who are very trusted in my life, respected in the community, and honest people. Common Rwandans blame all white people for the Genocide. Other Africans are seen as leeches that have come to take from Rwanda.
13.When an outsider becomes very integrated into Rwandan culture and Rwandans recognize this, the FIRST quality is always the ability to lie. "Oh! That muzungu (white person) is soooo Rwandan: she knows how to lie!"
14. People do not help you out. Like if you're in trouble in the street, people would rather watch you get beaten, harassed, or abused than do anything about it.
15. People only seem to want you around as long as there is the hope of getting something from you: money. Marriage. Visa. Materials. Anything. Once they realize that you won't give, they're pretty much done with you. There are (thank God) some who are just nice people who are interested in your mind, heart, and thoughts, regardless of your giving or not giving.
16.People like to talk. They'll make a point. Then illustrate it. Then give an example. Then say it again in different words. Then give another example. Then explain what they mean. Then reiterate their point. And OMG its beating the danged dead horse over and over and over again. Meanwhile I can zone out and think about what I want to make for dinner and what I need to buy beforehand, contemplate my next steps in life, and remember pleasant family vacations from my youth. When I come to again, HE'S STILL MAKING HIS POINT.
Ok, my ranting is over. I promise to share all the things I love about this place, too. EVERY culture and country have good things and challenging things, and its beneficial to recognize both.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Wedding in Bungwe
Every place I've ever lived I've been so blessed to have a family there. As part of global humanity (yes, I'm quite idealistic), I've always been able to find people around me that accept me as their own and make me part of their family, and they become part of mine. That said, this is my big sister's wedding.
The Civil Ceremony
Around noon Innocent (the groom) came to pick us up at Dative's (my sister's), house to go to the Sector Office (local authorities). He came in a rented car (very typical) with a camera man (also totally normal) to get Dative, her Matron of Honor (someone like a godmother, a necessity in every Rwandan wedding), and two bridesmaids (me and another Rwandan girl, a longtime friend of Dative's).
We sat and listened for an hour to the local authorities discuss what marriage is and each person's role: mostly about togetherness, sharing, and respect. One thing stood out to me: it is legally WRONG for either person to deny sex to his/her partner. Of course he had to use examples to illustrate each point he made, so he said, "Well, Dative, you're a nurse. You can't come home one day and say, 'No, not tonight, I healed so many people at work today, I'm exhausted.' Work is work, you have to do yours." (Work being his "polite" way of saying sex)
After listening and learning, each had to hold a corner of the Rwandan flag, hold up the right hand (yes, holding it up that high is the local fashion) and read a short text saying that they accept________ (spouse's name) as husband/wife forever, etc. They both sign, we all clap and congratulate, then go outside for picture taking, as seen here.
The Cow Giving Ceremony
From there we all piled back into the cars--there were 5 in our parade (one was a 24-seater bus full of his family members)--to go from the office to Bungwe (home) for the dowry ceremony. There, we girls went inside to change into traditional Rwandan clothes and wait for our cue to exit.
Meanwhile, the bride's family, friends, representatives, etc. are all sitting under the tents, waiting to accept the groom's family, friends, delegation, etc. Each group sits on different sides of the compound, each with specific people with roles in the ceremony. The most vocal are: the MC (if available, usually only richer people seem to have one), an elder from the girl's side who directs, narrates, etc.; an "old man" who speaks on behalf of the girl, and an "old man" who speaks on behalf of the guy.
As the man's family presents their request for their son to marry the other's daughter, giving gifts and kind words, the two "old men" talk, banter, make jokes, and discuss, all in the traditional effort of measuring the humor, intelligence, and wit of the other family to see if they're worthy of their son/daughter. Though I've never seen it, I've been told that weddings have been canceled/postponed because one side or the other (usually the bride's side) doesn't accept the other's offer.
Once the groom's family has made their offer, giving a hoe or two for farming, a jerry can for beer, and other traditional symbolic items, we get the piece de resistance: the cow. The going rate for a well-educated girl is a cow plus about 400,000RWF (about $800.00). Or the equivalent in just cash. (Though if they opt to give only cash, the groom and a small delegation will likely come before hand, as Innocent had done the week before)
This man in a white robe with a stick and grass in his hand is the official Cow Inspector, or Singer of Cow Praises. He has (presumably) seen, inspected, and deemed the cow worthy of the dowry, and is now singing its praises into the microphone, so everyone knows its a good cow.
Let's say the old man from the groom's side is really witty and funny, and the old man from the bride's side gets along really well with him: the bride's family accepts the groom's offer. They ask for the name of the girl he wants to marry, he says it and they agree, they have a daughter by that name. So they bring out..... two little girls about 5 years old! Everyone laughs, the groom says, "No, not THAT Dative, the OTHER Dative!" its all a great joke (that happens at EVERY wedding) and everyone loves how cute the girls are.
More witty banter, more long winded speeches, and lots of happy people, THEN they call out the bride. She comes out with her attendants, each of them holding a symbolic traditional gift for a member of the groom's family: there's always a basket for the mom, a woven grass rug for an elder, a hat and cane for the dad, and a secret for the groom--I think its underwear.
The groom also has attendants with gifts for the bride's family and for the bride. The ceremony of giving gifts culminates in him giving her a bouquet of flowers with an engagement ring in a miniature basket tucked inside the flowers (Dative's is a gorgeous golden ring elegantly set with a giant diamond).
More speeches, witty banter, and long-winded African speeches about the families and togetherness (well, not too long: since all the work is done now everyone wants to get a move on!) and we eat a feast. The bride's family gives the groom's family some more drinks as gifts to take with them, and there's more jokes and laughter; here the old man said his girl the nurse (Dative) has provided some good medicine to heal any problem: wine, beers, and local equivalents to vodka.
Then the wedding is over, the bride and groom are officially married, and we all get to go home. But not before the two of them come inside with the elders in their family for a bottle of champagne and more drinks.
I loved being with my big sister to support and help her with such a big step in life. (I also loved feeling like a My-Size Barbie doll playing dress up. LOVED IT!)
The Civil Ceremony
Around noon Innocent (the groom) came to pick us up at Dative's (my sister's), house to go to the Sector Office (local authorities). He came in a rented car (very typical) with a camera man (also totally normal) to get Dative, her Matron of Honor (someone like a godmother, a necessity in every Rwandan wedding), and two bridesmaids (me and another Rwandan girl, a longtime friend of Dative's).
We sat and listened for an hour to the local authorities discuss what marriage is and each person's role: mostly about togetherness, sharing, and respect. One thing stood out to me: it is legally WRONG for either person to deny sex to his/her partner. Of course he had to use examples to illustrate each point he made, so he said, "Well, Dative, you're a nurse. You can't come home one day and say, 'No, not tonight, I healed so many people at work today, I'm exhausted.' Work is work, you have to do yours." (Work being his "polite" way of saying sex)
After listening and learning, each had to hold a corner of the Rwandan flag, hold up the right hand (yes, holding it up that high is the local fashion) and read a short text saying that they accept________ (spouse's name) as husband/wife forever, etc. They both sign, we all clap and congratulate, then go outside for picture taking, as seen here.
The Cow Giving Ceremony
From there we all piled back into the cars--there were 5 in our parade (one was a 24-seater bus full of his family members)--to go from the office to Bungwe (home) for the dowry ceremony. There, we girls went inside to change into traditional Rwandan clothes and wait for our cue to exit.
Meanwhile, the bride's family, friends, representatives, etc. are all sitting under the tents, waiting to accept the groom's family, friends, delegation, etc. Each group sits on different sides of the compound, each with specific people with roles in the ceremony. The most vocal are: the MC (if available, usually only richer people seem to have one), an elder from the girl's side who directs, narrates, etc.; an "old man" who speaks on behalf of the girl, and an "old man" who speaks on behalf of the guy.
As the man's family presents their request for their son to marry the other's daughter, giving gifts and kind words, the two "old men" talk, banter, make jokes, and discuss, all in the traditional effort of measuring the humor, intelligence, and wit of the other family to see if they're worthy of their son/daughter. Though I've never seen it, I've been told that weddings have been canceled/postponed because one side or the other (usually the bride's side) doesn't accept the other's offer.
Once the groom's family has made their offer, giving a hoe or two for farming, a jerry can for beer, and other traditional symbolic items, we get the piece de resistance: the cow. The going rate for a well-educated girl is a cow plus about 400,000RWF (about $800.00). Or the equivalent in just cash. (Though if they opt to give only cash, the groom and a small delegation will likely come before hand, as Innocent had done the week before)
This man in a white robe with a stick and grass in his hand is the official Cow Inspector, or Singer of Cow Praises. He has (presumably) seen, inspected, and deemed the cow worthy of the dowry, and is now singing its praises into the microphone, so everyone knows its a good cow.
Let's say the old man from the groom's side is really witty and funny, and the old man from the bride's side gets along really well with him: the bride's family accepts the groom's offer. They ask for the name of the girl he wants to marry, he says it and they agree, they have a daughter by that name. So they bring out..... two little girls about 5 years old! Everyone laughs, the groom says, "No, not THAT Dative, the OTHER Dative!" its all a great joke (that happens at EVERY wedding) and everyone loves how cute the girls are.
More witty banter, more long winded speeches, and lots of happy people, THEN they call out the bride. She comes out with her attendants, each of them holding a symbolic traditional gift for a member of the groom's family: there's always a basket for the mom, a woven grass rug for an elder, a hat and cane for the dad, and a secret for the groom--I think its underwear.
The groom also has attendants with gifts for the bride's family and for the bride. The ceremony of giving gifts culminates in him giving her a bouquet of flowers with an engagement ring in a miniature basket tucked inside the flowers (Dative's is a gorgeous golden ring elegantly set with a giant diamond).
More speeches, witty banter, and long-winded African speeches about the families and togetherness (well, not too long: since all the work is done now everyone wants to get a move on!) and we eat a feast. The bride's family gives the groom's family some more drinks as gifts to take with them, and there's more jokes and laughter; here the old man said his girl the nurse (Dative) has provided some good medicine to heal any problem: wine, beers, and local equivalents to vodka.
Then the wedding is over, the bride and groom are officially married, and we all get to go home. But not before the two of them come inside with the elders in their family for a bottle of champagne and more drinks.
I loved being with my big sister to support and help her with such a big step in life. (I also loved feeling like a My-Size Barbie doll playing dress up. LOVED IT!)
Monday, February 21, 2011
Kigali Life
Now that I've extended my service for a 3rd year as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I'm working in an actual western office in Kigali, the capital of Rwanda. I work 8am-5pm at CHF International, an NGO (non-government organization) in operation all over the world. In Rwanda, we're working on the Higa Ubeho program:
Over the life of the program, orphans and other vulnerable children (OVC) and people living with HIV and AIDS and their families will be encouraged to utilize the available community-based services to live a more productive life. This includes helping vulnerable youth to access life skills education, and peer mentoring activities that will enable them to go to school, to stay in school, and to perform well in school. USAID/Higa Ubeho plans to work with 240 schools in 10 districts to help vulnerable youth to set personal goals for their future, and to identify and reach out to trusted adults and peers for support to overcome key challenges.
I develop materials to send out to these OVC to inspire them: we're working on after school empowerment clubs for these youth, along with different "summer camps," newsletters, radio programs, and comic books to reach communities all over the country.
My typical day (such a change from the bush village in the middle of nowhere--where I lived for the past 2.5 years) includes the rush to get on a 21-seater van, with elbows flying and people in business suits slyly trying to squeeze you out of their way. After securing a butt cheek on a squished seat, I have to really pay attention to where we are or I may miss my stop. I have to look out the window, recognize my stop, knock on the window with a coin so they know I want to stop, they pull over, people have to get up out of their seats to let me by (think of those long car trips with kids in the back, back seat...), I pay the 120 francs (about $0.25 US dollars) then have a short walk on a dusty drive.
Our office is an actual, Western office where we dress well, have meetings, luncheons, email, post documents, update our partners, and negotiate the terms of things. All very official business.
My home--the Bungalow-- is a small, 3 bedroom, white-washed house on a family compound. I even have electricity, running water and....A SHOWER! Like I said, a real step up from the mud brick house I've been living in.
The coolest thing is using my past experiences in ways that even my colleagues can't share. Because I've lived and taught in rural African villages, I can share the challenges that local teachers, students, and community members face, making me capable of describing the viability of our proposed projects and materials. (you see how official office language is getting to me?!)Meanwhile, I keep in touch with my friends and family in the village, getting all the latest gossip and visiting with close friends.
Each step in my Peace Corps life has prepared me for the next, making me a more productive and informed team member. I look forward to what's next!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Love, From Bungwe
Some of the teachers I worked with this year sitting infront of our administration offices at school.
the kids are playing on what the adults use to move some of the heavier things around town or down the mountains.
Motos are the best way to get around all the huge hills of the "Highlands" in Rwanda. One America Day there happened to be 5 of us roving about the hills all together.
This is a really typical "Highlands" village tucked between hills, shrouded in trees, covered either in dust or mud depending on the season.
These are the fields (crops of corn, wheat, beans, peas, potatos, or tea) and valleys we have to go through in the "Highlands" (so called because we're the hightest elevations in Rwanda--Bungwe is one of the highest in the region at 3,000m)
Leaving Bungwe with all the love and good wishes from my villagers included thanking and regifting a few kilos of sweet potatoes, hurridly eating a gigantic bunch of bananas, and the moto being 30 minutes late.
Since I'm helping for 3 weeks with our newest group of trainees (they've been here 1 month!), I had to pack all I'd need for now, leaving the rest of my stuff locked in my house for my eventual move to Kigali (the capital). That means a backpacking backpack stuffed full of 3 weeks of professional clothes, work out stuff, and the most important things I own, strapped down to the back of my moto, and me leaning against it on our 1 hour motorcycle ride down, up, across, down, and up the mountains.
You'd think its pretty simple: sit on a moto and enjoy the scenery. No. Of course I'm all emotional because I just said good bye to my closest family and friends in Bungwe, and am leaving behind a year's worth of fun, laughter, hard work, and effort. So I start singing to myself ("Leaving on a Jet Plane") and my moto guy decides HE needs to sing too. In Kinyarwanda. Loudly. So, before I know it, we're singing the latest Rwandan pop songs as loud as we can, zooming down the mountain roads, dodging children in awe that there's a muzungu, and startling people as they hear and see a muzungu girl crazily coasting on by singing in their language at the top of her lungs. Phew!
Naturally we have to take breathers to think about the next song and maybe catch a bit of our sanity. In these breaks I hear the hysteric calls of children near the road, enticing their friends to come see the white girl: "Dore muzuuuuungu!!!" (There is a white person!!!). Or elderly people sharing their shock and calling to God that a white girl is on a moto: "Mana yanjye! Reba muzungu!" (Oh, my God! Look at the white person!)
Sometimes our singing was interrupted because of the holes and ditches in the roads. The entire hour ride down, up, across, down and back up the mountains is on a dirt road that may or may not be smooth and/or passable in less than perfect conditions. That's when the nifty little handle on the bottom of the seat is quite necessary so I don't fall of the moto.
Finally, after experiencing some amount of exasperation, joy, fear, sadness, excitement, and meloncholy on my last moto ride through the unbelievably steep and beautiful mountains of Northern Rwanda, we made it to the big city. Byumba has restaurants, internet, paved roads, buses, and lots of people. From here it was 1 rainy hour on a winding paved road to the capital and authentic Chinese food (they ran out of dumplings because their dumpling chef went to visit family in China. Good for him, bad for me).
Only 3 more weeks and I'll be visiting family, too. Bye, bye Bungwe.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Just another day in Paradise
The road infront of our house.
This is our walkway at the house: my house is on the right, my host parents Gaspard and Donatha live on the left.
The kids love to play on these bike-like things, but the men use them for transporting goods. One of the things I have to dodge on my way to school in the morning.
So for those of you who don't know what its like to live in an African bush village.... We have no electricity, so we have to maximize our sunlight usage, beginning at 5:00am! I'm up just before the sun, going around my little house in the dark to get ready for a run. I leave the house to find the roads surprisingly busy with early morning risers on their way to farm, walking and talking in groups in teh pre-morning sun glow. (They LOVE that I run, always greeting me; one guy even saw me later and thanked me for inspiring him to continue those tough mornings when he just doesn't feel like getting up. go figure!)
After that shockingly cold bucket bath in my living room and maybe some light cleaning around the house, I HAVE to have my morning cup of tea at Brandine's Bar. The 5 minute walk to the cafe usually takes me about 15-20 minutes as I stop to greet, chat, and shake people's hands.
By then i'm inevitable like 5 minutes late to school, which doesn't really matter because nothing starts on time here (except maybe the buses) so my coworkers are still in the staff lounge, kids are still outside of classrooms.
The teaching--if thats what you call laughing and having a good time with a group of teenagers--is awesome! My students are all like 16-22 years old, some older, maybe 1 or 2 younger, but all a blast to be with. They are very bright, curious, easy to laugh at/with, and we've all fallen into stride. They did really well on similes and metaphores looking at Paul Simon's "Bride Over Troubled Water." They caught on to using context for discovering vocabulary and meaning with "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." And they totally blew me away with their song creations about love and friendship.Usually lunch is at school, a crazy mad dash for the daily beans and potatoes.
Lately I've been having my after lunch cup of tea at Brandine's bar, giving me more time to greet people and bond with the village. Once school ends at 4:30pm, its more dillydallying, greeting, walking down our one street, talking to people, seeing students that have left campus for one reason or another, and slowly making my way home. Usually I'm home by like 6pm, just in time for the sun to set and for dinner to start cooking. I love spending my evenings either hanging out with some of the nurses who live down the street or chatting away with my host mom
(one of the most impressive women I've ever met in my life: farms in the am, school secretary all day, milks the cows, cooks, and cleans in the pm. Studies university on weekends, and has political meetings 2-3 times a month as the women's representative. 5 languages, local leader, yet takes time to talk and bond with me. Love her!)
After the local readio station broadcasts the news in English, and maybe some journaling or reading by candle light, its bed time by 9pm.
One year of this and I've only got a few weeks left. I'm going to miss it so much!
Some of my teacher friends relaxing on our bench outside. Good times and some crazy conversations.
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