A Rwandan Wedding

***THIS POST IS CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION*** 

Last Saturday a coworker of mine, Agnes, got married. I attended the ceremony, and it was the first wedding I’ve been to in this country.  

Typically a Rwandan Wedding has three ceremonies. All of which are very long, sometimes split between two days. The majority of this depends on the families wealth.

The first ceremony is the dowry. The family of the bride and groom gather at the house of the bride. The family of the groom must ask for the bride in a series of back and forth dialouges until the two families reach an agreement. The dowry is usually cows, cows are one of the best gifts to give people. They symbolize wealth and stability.

Unfortunately I did not witness this first hand. I wanted to, but my PCV budget did not allow it. It happened in a far away village, which cost 5,000 Frws to travel too. This is too much money. So I skipped the first ceremony and went to the church ceremony in Nygatare.

Warning: get ready for a bunch of photographs. 

At the church, I sat amongst my coworkers for about an hour, waiting for the bride to arrive. The churches here look like bomb shelters, as described by my good friend Justin.

During Pre Service Training we were walking around the village and we happened upon the church my family went to. I pointed it out to him. He said, “Caitie, that is not a church, that looks like a bomb shelter.” I insisted that that was our church we’ve been going to every Sunday, I swear. His host parents were Muslim, so I don't think he realized churches here do indeed look like bomb shelters. 

A typical church is a cement building, dirt floor, tin roof, and sometimes has windows. Sometimes the windows are boarded up with mud bricks so people cannot get in, other times there are glass windows with bars. There is no alter, they are Christian here but there are no religious symbols hanging around. They are dull and bland large spaces where many people can gather and pray.

So we sat awaiting the brides arrival. Suddenly, there was a lot of commotion and people were rushing to the door. The bride and groom arrived together (typical for Rwanda, unusual for America). And as they emerged out of the car people sing and chant for them. There is also a lot of photo taking, this goes on for about twenty minutes before they go inside and everyone proceeds to follow them.

The picture on the left shows the guests and my coworker, Kaytesi, singing and clapping for the Bride and Grooms arrival.

They arrive! Notice the bride has here head down (picture to the right). This is typical of a Rwandan wedding, and means Agnes was a perfect Rwandan bride. I’ve heard many reasons why women are not supposed to look happy on their wedding day. This is one of the many reasons: Rwandan women don’t separate from their families till they are married. Therefore it is rude and disrespectful too look happy because you are leaving your family behind. I know Agnes, she was very happy to get married, but played the part of a perfect Rwandan bride.

Here is the inside of the church. It is decorated with orange
and yellow fabric for the ceremony.

The ceremony was loooooooong. Everything in Rwanda is long. There was an hour of singing, then the priest gave a sermon. There was vows being said, and rings being placed, but no kiss. Also, they did all the legal paperwork in front of everyone. I thought that was funny and cute.

The whole thing was roughly four hours. Afterward we walked to a near by hotel for the reception. As I entered into the hotel I was horrified to see the reception space was set up the same as the church. No tables, just chairs facing the stage. 

But where is the food?!? I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and really thought I’d be getting some traditional Rwandan plates of food. Silly me. There was no food to be served. Only Fanta.

Fanta soda is extremely popular here. It is the cultural sign for friendship. Every time you visit someone they are supposed to present you with a Fanta as a sign of friendship and respect. I've drank more soda here than I have in my entire life. At the wedding there were many toasts with Fanta. 

The reception is basically another wedding ceremony with a twist. They introduced the couple as man and wife. They proceed down the isle, Agnes looking somber with her head down. There were looooooong speeches made both by the groom’s father, and the brides father. And a lot a lot a lot of traditional Rwanda dancing.

Entering into the reception space first time as man and wife.

This I didn’t mind so much. I’ve never seen it in a full ceremony like that, and despite my grumbling tummy it was great to witness. 

Traditional Rwandan dance. Behind me there were four or five large drums, and at least ten people singing. 

The bridal party must stand and watch the ceremonially dancing.

The Quest for the Iposita

A couple notes:

            Sorry for the inconsistency with the blog posts. I am now going to try and post weekly,
         every Saturday. Stay tuned!

 I have this crazy idea of making a world map mural in my backyard. Being on a Peace Corps Volunteer budget I can’t really afford to do this on my own, therefore I want to apply for a grant. Unfortunately I am not able to research this thoroughly. If you have any information on this topic, and could send it my way that’d be greatly appreciated. Thanks! cgibbons00@gmail.com

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The Quest for the Iposita

Note: This is not the Iposita we were in search of. The Iposita I go to looks NOTHING like this. This is the Iposita in Kigali. 

Iposita = Post office (ee-po-sita)

A few weeks ago it was my birthday, and had heard from some friends and family that I had packages waiting for me at my new address. Also, I had heard from my Godparents that a video was made and put on a USB for me. This is probably the thing I am most excited about.

So Saturday, the 4^th  (two days before my bday), Rachel, Beth (other PCV’s) and I decided to take an adventure to the Iposita. Rachel lives north of me, Beth lives somewhere around me (not sure, direction is unclear, about an hour moto ride though.)  

Rwamagana is the nearest town with a post office, it is also where our bank is.

The trip is a two-hour bus ride from Nygatare, Nygatare is about a thirty minute Moto ride from my site. It is very similar to the distance between my house and Grand Central in New York. It is quite the trek, and far less comfortable than Metro North Train Station.

I arrived in Nygatare, and found out the next bus was leaving at 9:30. It was now 8 am. Rachel met me in Nygatare, and we chilled and ate a Rwandan breakfast. Tea and Chapatti (cha-pah-tee). This Chapatti was particularly terrible, but Chaptti is usually very good. It is dough they put in a frying pan with oil, and fry till it’s fluffy. Yum.

The bus we were on was going to Kigali, but the bus driver had told us Rwamagana was on the way and it was no problem to drop us off there for us. So when we arrived in Rwamagana the bus driver, and the majority of the passengers turned around, looked at us, and said:  “Abazungus!” This is the plural from of Muzungus, which is the term they use for white people. It was a cute and endearing moment, and I was grateful the entire bus let us know when to get off.

We got off, thanked the bus driver, and headed in a direction that felt right. Turns out that direction was right! Our first priority was the bank, we can’t do much without money after all. We started walking down one street, and within five minutes we spotted the BCR. Our bank. Found the ATM and got money. The whole process took about five minutes.

I want to break from the Quest of the Iposita to tell you how incredible this is. This is extremely unusual. Nothing in Rwanda ever goes this smoothly. It was almost like we were in America. Furthermore, the first time Peace Corps gave us our smart cards (ATM cards), there wasn’t enough money in my account. Someone made a mistake somewhere and left out a zero. Minor panic attack, as I realized that I would not be able to get the stuff I needed for site. Long story short, everything got fixed. It took an entire day, but hey, that’s how it goes in Rwanda.

So when everything went perfectly I was a little stunned. A whole new type of culture shock set in. Everything was going so well. How could this be?

After doing a bit a shopping and eating it was time to find the Iposita. The only thing I knew about this Iposita was that it looks like you are walking out of town. We headed the opposite direction of the bank. Things slowly changed. There were less buildings, more trees. Sidewalks became non-existent. It did indeed look like we were walking out of town. We continued on this path for about ten minutes.

There are two very frustrating things that get on my last nerve, and have completely tested my limits here. 

1.     The inability to find anything.

I consider myself good with directions. I’ve navigated through New York and London by myself countless times. Sure I get lost here and there, but I usually figure it out. There is a slight difference between New York, London, and Rwanda. Both New York and London have street signs, and they both offer maps. I can read maps, I am good at reading maps. But, I have yet to find a map that is not just a map of Rwanda. The entire country. This is zero help when trying to navigate in the town of Rwamagana. The people who live here have lived here their entire lives, so maps don’t exist. No one needs them. I have a hard time with this, I want maps, or street signs, or something that lets me know where I am!  

2.     Mail is non-existent.

 While I’ve tried to explain this to my Mom a couple times, I think it’s a hard concept for someone whose never visited a third world country. They don’t have mail here. There are no mailboxes, they don’t write letters or receive them, and there are very few places with the equivalent t to P.O. boxes. “But what about their bills?” my Mom would say. Those don’t exist either. I don’t know anyone who has running water, and very few have electricity. The electricity works like the phone system, pay as you go. You fill a meter with money credit and then you are good till it runs out. They don’t need bills. There are no advertisements to be sent out either. Very few can afford to advertise in that way, and no one can afford to buy things that aren’t necessary anyway. And there are no letters because everyone you know lives in walking distance. My host family’s family all lived on the same street.

So when I would ask: “Iposita ni hehe?” (where is the Iposita). They don’t know what I am talking about because they don’t use the Iposita or need one. There are not even words for mail in the Kinyarwanda language. Again, these are the most frustrating things I have encountered.

I am fine with asking for directions, I have had positive experiences in the past asking for directions, they even taught us in language class how to properly ask for directions. But let me tell you, asking directions for the Iposita will get you nowhere in Rwanda. Two things happen: A. They have no idea what you are talking about. B. They lie to you because they want to be seen talking to the Abazungus and give you incorrect directions.

I gave in, called Markey (site mate) and asked her for directions. She had been very busy and I was trying to be an independent (not annoying) site mate. From what I gathered we needed to turn around.

So turn around we did, and we kept going until we found the liquor store. In Rwanda it is not culturally appropriate for women to drink. This is debatable, but while I am new to my community, I am erring on the side of caution, and feeling out the whole woman-who-drinks thing. I am already weird enough to my neighbors and coworkers. Likewise, there is alcohol in Nygatare, but many of my coworkers live in Nygatare and I don’t want to risk being seen buying alcohol. So we buy it in far away places and sneak it into our houses.

While stocking up, an almost absurd thing happened. Three other abazungus walked into the liquor store. Whenever I see other white people (outside of Kigali) that are not PCV’s I find myself thinking in my head “what are you doing here?” and I get very awkward about interacting with them. Yes, there are other white people in Rwanda besides PCV’s.

Beth quickly pointed out that they were clearly not from Peace Corps. “They didn’t even try to speak Kinyarwanda,” she remarked. Keen and wise observation Beth.

I approached them. Asked them if they knew of a post office in the area, and if they could give us directions.

Brown haired girl responds: “Um, I’ve been living in Kigali for three months now. There are no post offices in Rwanda besides Kigali.”

She should have added “duh” at the end. It sounded like she wanted to.

“Um, well my site mate, from Peace Corps, has been living in Rwanda for a year and nine months now, and has been using this post office the ENTIRE time.” Which is what I wanted to say, but was overwhelmed by her witchy-ness (the word I want to use rhymes with a b but I am leaving it out for younger readers). And so I said, “Thanks anyway.”

I now understand why most countries do not like Americans. I was overwhelmed by their rudeness, towards me, and the shop owner, and disgusted by it.    

We continued in the other direction. Again things got scarce, it looked like we were going out of town, and I just wanted to know if this direction was the right direction. Suddenly, we happened on many official looking buildings. Government buildings. Could this be it?! They were on a side street cascading down a large hill. We started our descend. Rachel said something along the effect of “before we descend this massive hill lets stop and think about this before we have to climb our way back up.” Well played, Rachel, well played.

We pondered, then Rachel said again: “does that sign say Iposita over there?” Sure enough, a little ways up the hill and to the left was a well-hidden blue and yellow sign saying Iposita. I screamed, clapped and jumped in excitement. Beth definitely thought in her head “who is this girl!?” And we made our way towards the Iposita.

Mission accomplished (almost).

The Iposita is in a large marble white building with tinted black windows. It looks like a Rwandan strip mall, that’s how Markey described it, but I don’t know any buildings in America that I’d compare it too. If it weren’t for the maintenance man cleaning the building I don’t know if we would have found it after all that.

The Iposita is in the back of the building, it is very small, and you have to go down two flights of outdoor stairs to get to it.

Of course, when we got there it was closed. How American of me to think a Rwandan post office would be open on Saturday. Silly American girl, tricks are for kids. So I did not get my package, but hey at least I know where it is now, and can b line it there next time. 

On the Campaign Trail

Lately I feel like the Politian I never wanted to be. I’ve been smiling so much my face hurts, and I wish I knew the amount of people I shook hands with on a daily basis, I’m sure it’d break some sort of record.

My Supervisor thought it’d be a good idea for me to go into the villages, and evaluate the needs of each area. Great idea, seriously.  It will take a lot more work then going to each village, one afternoon, meeting the officials, and walking around for an hour, but I was happy and excited about this plan nonetheless. It’s a good start, and I want to integrate and explore.

So Tuesday me and the Head of the Community Health Workers, ventured into Cyabayaga Center to meet the Community Health Worker (see below on description of a C.H.W.)*. The C.H.W. (community health worker) of the village was great. She wants me to teach proper water sanitation (good, this is a good project), and do something about the bathrooms. Then she proceeded to show me around so I could see first hand how bad the bathroom situation is.

I was not shocked by the bathroom situation whatsoever. I think Esperance (head of the Community Health Workers) and the C.H.W. were more shocked about my lack of shock. Cyabayaga is very poor, but what I saw resembled my old village in training. So my reaction was: Um, hello? I lived in that environment for ten weeks. I have explained this many times to many people, but I don’t think they believe me. For example: just today, I was sitting with my coworkers, and we ordered two avocados with our lunch. I started to cut one up with a knife, then GASPS! They were shocked that I could cut an avocado correctly, and with the weird Aztec looking knives they have here (they know those don’t exist in America). This happens all the time, in several different circumstances. I constantly question whether it is because I am American, or because I am blonde. Thoughts? I know it’s not because I am a woman, because the women here are bad asses and do (almost) everything.  

So twice a week I visit a new community, introduce myself, explain what Peace Corps is, and why I am here. Esperance carts me around from place to place, and I “campaign” (that what I’ve decided to call this), or try to get people to trust me, open up to me, and like me. This is an essential factor if I want to make some sort of change here.

So what are you doing?

Well, in terms of saving the world, I am not there yet. In three months, October 15^th, I have I.S.T. In Service Training. The twenty-one new volunteers meet up with Peace Corps, and present our Community Health Assessment, and what we’ve been doing for the past three months.

So right now I am not doing much of anything. True, and false. This is my daily schedule:

5:30 am – Wake up, pour coffee, watch something on the computer, or listen to This American Life, or read a bit, etc, etc. Get ready for work.

7:00 am – Arrive at Health Center (not even five minute walk). Sit in on morning meeting. Everyone morning the Health Center reports on what happened the day before, (and mainly) the night before. Health Center’s are twenty-four hours and operate like hospitals. Then we pray a half hour.

8:00 am – Sometimes H.C. has a plan for me (this was only once). Walk around aimlessly. See what looks exciting. Ask people what they were doing today.  Decide on something to do.

For example: I have never worked with the social worker, Fatuma, so I decided that’d be a good place to start today. I am also confused about what a social worker does in Rwanda. So I shadowed her all day. Turns out today she was counseling HIV and AIDs patients, checking on their progress, and distributing their medication. It was a fascinating day for me.

12:00/1:00 pm – Go to lunch with coworkers at boutique across the street. Or, cook for myself.

1:00/2:00 pm – Decide if I want to stay in the same area I’ve been working in all morning, or jump ship and go somewhere else.

* Two days a week in the afternoons I visit a new community with Esperance.

4:00 – Go to office, take notes, and recollect on what I’ve seen.

5:00 – Walk home, get water, do dishes, bathe, start cooking.

6:30/7:00 – Eat.

8:00 – Watch a movie, read a book, draw/work on various art projects, go online.

9:00/10:00 – Bed.

Currently I am observing my H.C. and figuring out what everyone does and why. I am also visiting communities with Esperance to “campaign.”

Why?

Because I need this for the C.H.A. (community health assessment), and for myself. 

So what is this C.H.A. thing that I have to do?

The C.H.A. helps volunteers understand their community, and how the community works. More importantly, it identifies the needs of the community.

For example:

Right now (I think) I want to start a Soy Cooperative. This is not an original thought, I heard about other volunteers doing similar things, and being a fan of soy products I liked the idea. Supposedly there is a lot of malnutrition in my community. From the H.C. reports that I’ve read, this is not the case. But when I go to into various communities this is very much the case. Soy is extremely good for you, you can make many different things from soy, and it’s easy to grow here.

Everything sounds great right?

Well, if I don’t do C.H.A., or have any understanding of my community I could be doing more harm than good. Maybe the people here don’t like soy, and therefore won’t eat it, maybe the reports are true and malnutrition is not a problem here. I’ve just wasted time, material, resources, space, and possibly done more damage.

Example number two, my “original” idea:

There is a compound for people living with HIV and AIDS here. This is very uncommon in Rwanda, and it is great that this exists. Except it looks more like a scary warehouse than a place people live. People in the community treat it like the black spot of the village. Though the people’s decision to move there might be voluntary, there is so much negativity focused around this compound, people don’t talk about, go near it, or act like it exists.

I want to change that. During AIDS day in PST, the Ministry of Health spoke about the stigma’s of HIV and AIDS and how it is hard for a person living with the disease to get a job because of the misunderstandings. They are trying hard to change that. I want to try hard to change that as well. Not sure how to go about doing that. Also, the people living in this compound might like living there. I don’t really know. I need to do my research and understand it, before I start to put my own beliefs on it, and go around changing things.

These two examples are the base of the C.H.A. report; it’s a report on the community and the needs. As the ultimate outsider, who wants to help, I not only need to become part of the community, I also need to understand it. That’s my job right now. I’ve started with my H.C., following the staff around, and observing how they work, move, coexist. And, of course, the campaigning in the community helps to gain trust and an understanding that I am not just a visitor. In a post genocide country it is not the easiest task. But I try everyday, and have leads thanks to my site mate Markey. So let the campaigning begin, and hopefully I will make my way into their hearts.

*Community Health Worker: So there are these things called Health Centers in Rwanda that I explained in my previous post. Some are an hour or more walking distance from the villages. Therefore each village has at least one C.H.W. (there are usually more) to provide health support. If you think you have malaria, or other diseases, if you need help on family planning, or good hygiene, you see your C.H.W. and they help you out. My host Mom was a C.H.W. and she administered malaria tests in our home regularly. To be a C.H.W. all you have to do is sign up. And go to the H.C. occasionally. This week at my H.C. they are having classes for the C.H.W. on how to teach family planning in the villages. It’s pretty cool.