Week 6 - Back to the Old Routine

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.