The week began with my return to my host family. I had been
in Nygatare for site visit all week. Last Sunday I walked through the door and
was greeting with screams of “Caitie”, and great big hugs. It is nice to feel
loved, and my host family does an amazing job of making me feel loved.
Unfortunately when I got back Edwardi was there. Edwardi is my host Mom’s
brother. He showed up week two, and it is unclear whether my host family knew
he was coming or not (it is very common to show up unexpected in Rwanda
culture). He stayed for about ten days.
Generally speaking I like guests and meeting new people, but
this guy had a giant cellphone (about the size of a brick) that also had cable
television, movies, and music on it. Wherever he went, the cell phone went,
even when he was using the latrine. Also, the giant cellphone was always on,
full volume, blaring at all times. You can always find Edwardi, because his
giant cell phone was always blaring Celine Dion or some television program.
Edwardi is obsessed with Celine Dion, and asked me to translate many of her
songs for him. So one night in week three when Edwardi never came home, and I
realized his bags were gone I was overjoyed. Last week he came back, and the thrill
of seeing my host family’s familiar faces soon diminished by the realization
that Edwardi had comeback.
Also, I do not understand why he would blast Celine Dion at
eleven at night (I realize this my sound early to some readers, but I get up at
five thirty every morning, and am usually passed out by ten pm). I would say something,
but the house is small and my host parents could definitely hear him. So why
don’t they say anything? I can’t imagine that they could sleep through all of
that. When Edwardi is visiting I know I am not going to sleep well. So there he
was on Sunday, but on Friday he said “Murebaho” to me. Murebaho is only used
when you are leaving for a very long time/might never see that person again. So
there is hope that I may never have to see him again.
This week was typical, as I got back into my old routine. On
Monday we gathered at the Hub (Peace Corps training center) to debrief about
our site visits. Tuesday through Thursday I had six hours of language each day.
Friday was another Hub day where we learned how to make gardens in the morning.
The Friday afternoon session a man came to speak to us about the Genocide. As
far as hub days are concerned this week was the best informational week thus
far.
The week had additional stress, because there was an LPI
test on Saturday. LPI is when we sit
down with one of the language coordinators, and are expected to converse with
them in Kinyarwanda. We are graded on the amount of time we can hold a
conversation, as well as how many different subjects we can talk about, and how
grammatically correct we are when speaking. It can go between five minutes and
twenty minutes. I put a lot of pressure on myself to do well, and speaking
languages is not really my forte. I took Latin in high school, and am generally
very good at reading and writing other languages. When it comes to speaking, I
suck. Still to this very day I cannot role my r’s. Several teachers and friends have relentlessly
tried, but I just can’t. So this LPI test freaked me out, and I pretty much
spent all week in my room studying away.
I was the second to last person in our group to have my LPI.
I hate waiting around for things, and hearing about how everyone else did. I’d
rather go in there, first thing Saturday morning, and get it over with. But
they posted a schedule and I was second to last, so I had to hear about how
everyone else did, and wait my turn. I held a conversation for sixteen minutes
before running out of things to talk about. Some of the questions Stella
(language coordinator) asked me where very confusing, but I think I got the
general idea of most things. I get the results on either Monday or Tuesday, and
am very curious to know how I did. I think I did pretty well. Of course there
are some language experts in our group. But I am not a language expert nor will
I ever be, and overall I am pretty happy with how I performed.
Learning the language is one of my biggest challenges here, yet
is something I am very passionate about. I want to do something amazing with my
two year Peace Corps service, but how will I do that if I can’t speak the local
language? We are taught in training to integrate into a community before we
start to implement our own ideas. Integration is a key factor. Our first
priority is to gain an understanding of the community and what it needs before
we start fixing things. And how can we figure out what the community needs or
wants if we can’t speak the language? Therefore I am really trying with
Kinyarwanda, even though half the time it completely goes over my head.
So this week has been filled with stress and anxiety, but
overall turned out pretty good. After the LPI all the PCT’s got together and
cooked for each other. I have never seen so much color and such great smells
since moving here. We had scrambled eggs, guacamole with banana chips, pineapple
fried rice, curry, and fruit salad. Forgive me PCT’s if I am forgetting
something. My taste buds totally exploded. I usually eat boiled plantains,
beans, and rice every night. It was also great having everyone cooking and
being together.
Saturday is market day. There are no grocery stores here so
if you want to get your food for the week you have to go to the Isoko (market)
on Saturday. After eating and digesting I made the hour and twenty minute walk
back to my village, and to the Isoko with Justin. Justin has become one of my
closest friends here. He lives in my village, so we see each other every day.
He also lived about five blocks way from my apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn so
we have a lot to talk about (it is a small world after all). He has been
rapidly losing weight here, so we went to the market to get his pants taken in.
(The market is also the place where you get dresses and clothes made or fixed).
Last Saturday I explored the market and while happening upon
the clothes fixing section I couldn’t help but notice the amount of scrap
material being thrown out. Igitenge is the cloth that Rwandan (and most African)
women wrap themselves with. You can have dresses, pants, and shirts made of it
too. It is absolutely beautiful. So all these women were getting skirts and
dresses made, and the extra’s were going into the garbage! I couldn’t believe
it! I decided to collect the scraps for various art projects I have going on.
So Justin and me were at the market getting his pants fixed.
I ask some women if it is okay if I take all the pieces. These pieces were
mostly all over the ground everywhere. They had no problem with it, and I got
down on my hands and knees and started collecting every bit of material I could
find. These women were astonished and confused as to why I wanted a bunch of
little pieces of fabric. After all they consider this garbage. To make matters
worse, Justin kept pointing to me and saying “umusazi” (the spelling on that is
probably incorrect). Umusazi is the Kinyarwanda word for crazy person. They all
were hysterically laughing at this white girl who was picking up their
‘garbage’, and yes they probably think I am a crazy person.
So that was my week. But before I go I want to end with a
bible quotation (for those who know me well, I am aware of the shock I am
causing right now). Mid week Tamika, one of my language classmates and fellow
PCT’s, walked into class and said “Caitie, I was reading the bible last night,
and saw this passage, and thought of you.” While I usually don’t partake in
religious activities I thought it was absolutely sweet that she thought of me.
Likewise it went along with a conversation we were having the previous day. The
quotation of this will probably be way off.
First Corinthians 12:28
4. Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same spirit; 5.
And there are varieties of service but the same Lord; 6. And there are
varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in
everyone. 7. To each is given the manifestation of the spirit for the common
good.
