tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166Sun, 23 Nov 2014 22:34:19 +0000Building Bridges with RwandaThe purpose of the trip is to establish Western Washington University’s international service-learning activities in Gashora, Rwanda, creating a partnership to advance a rural community’s development goals while providing rich educational opportunities for Western students.http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)Blogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-4700981594110254077Mon, 23 Jul 2012 18:51:00 +00002012-07-23T11:51:12.819-07:00The Beginning of Goodbyes<div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:RelyOnVML/> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> 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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 31</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, we all trek to the primary school for English Club. When we reach the school, a few students are lingering in the courtyard, but the school is otherwise a ghost town. Most students are enjoying their break after exams last week, but 14 students still show up for English Club. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We wind them up with singing and Simon Says. Then, we break off into small groups and do a vocabulary contest. Each group has to list as many items as they can from a topic. When I write the topic “Animals” on the board, their eyes light up and they start to write furiously. Without an eraser, I’m forced to erase the board with my hand, which leaves my hands dusty and my pants smeared with white powder. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’re amazed with the students’ knowledge. When we do verbs, one group comes up with over thirty verbs in two minutes. We also work on forming questions, which is initially very difficult to explain until Teddy helps us by translating. Before finishing the class, we take a small break and head to the courtyard where Big Dog teaches us a dance.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In a circle on the dusty ground, we hop around following Bog Dog’s lead. As dust puffs into the air, we giggle and pressure Big Dog to continue so Teddy and Olivier can film the spectacle. Then we head inside and finish up the lesson. Before we leave, we thank the students for being dedicated, and we mingle around the room giving hugs. Their small fingers wrap around us like appreciation.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then the students sing us a song:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>We are the young women and men of Rwanda</i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>We are marching with this</i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The path to education is singing and dancing with joy</i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>we are uniting together for a better Rwanda</i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>WE HOPE FOR THE FUTURE!</i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At our final English Club lesson with the Health Center, we ask questions of the students to assess our English lessons. Then, they thank us for our time, presenting Tim with a love basket, and us students with woven sandals. Some of the students stand up to thank specific people. Hassan thanks Tim for visiting him at his home and teaching him English, Isa thanks Lauren for taking the time to know him, and Claude thanks Brooke and Filimon who he is Facebook friends with. It’s difficult to say goodbye, especially when our students tell us they wish we could stay.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">On a brighter note, we have the best dinner in the world! THE KENYAN CHEF, RONALD, MAKES US BROCHETTES FOR DINNER! Yes, brochettes! At first, we all get one, some of us none, and our faces are glum. But moments later, another mountain of brochettes appears. The crispy meat flakes and crunches in our mouths. Then, we wash it down with smooth pinkish fruit salad. We will never hear a goat’s cry the same way again.</span> </div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-beginning-of-goodbyes.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-2800065514175548281Sun, 22 Jul 2012 19:39:00 +00002012-07-24T03:17:41.668-07:00The Final Weekend<div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 28</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s an easy Saturday with a free morning for working on homework. At lunch time, some of students stay at La Palisse and enjoy pizza, samosas (fried pockets of awesomeness) and Fantas.</span><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">Afterward, we meet with journalists, Rogers, and Olivier, who work with our original Olivier and Teddy. They explain the use of media amongst young people to open up discussions, since it’s a good way to deal with things. They promote peace and try to resolve prejudice in the media. They participate in the Amani Great Lakes film festival, have a magazine called Heza and a radio show called Heza. Four days a week, Heza radio has a 30 minute clip on Voice of America (VOA). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">You can learn more about the youth media in Rwanda by visiting: http://www.urunganoyouthandmedia.org/?p__ and you might also see some videos of our group!</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 30</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some students head to the Pentecostal Church, and Carrie and I head to the Catholic Church.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Without a translator, or a sense of direction, Carrie and I realize that we have no idea where the Catholic Church is. We call Rogers, who is in Kigali, and he calls Yvonne’s husband, who sends her son, Morris to find us. Before Morris finds us, we run into Bob, one of the children we see often in town. He’s waiting in line with his friends and their yellow jugs to get water when he sees us. He gives us high-fives and we ask him where the church is but he doesn’t understand. Then we ask in Kinyarwanda and he grabs my hand and leads us in the right direction.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can feel my hand sweating in Bob’s as the Rwandan sun beats down on my back. As he leads us down a road, we see Morris ahead of us, waving his hands frantically. Morris speaks incredible English, approaches us and says, “I heard you were lost!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we walk up to the Catholic Church, a nice brick building with windows formed by absent bricks, we hear singing. When we enter, the congregation stares at us and we realize that the woman we were planning to meet is not present. We take a seat on a bench, which reminds us of the benches at Nyamata, and listen intently to the Kinyarwanda although we cannot understand it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, a young woman our age approaches us and tells us she will translate for us. She’s wearing silly bands on her left hand and whispers the translation quietly. We are so thankful for her help. She directs us to receive the body of Christ and lets us know when we need to stand. We clap along with the songs, but the best part is sending peace to our neighbors. AMOHORO! Toward the end of mass, the priest asks us to stand up and introduce ourselves and our purpose in Gashora. They wish we could join them every week to help them praise God. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we leave the church, I get to talk with one of the students from the English club at the primary school, Bacht, and he’s excited for tomorrow’s lesson.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Others may also do write-ups of their church experience this morning so keep looking!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After church and lunch, we head to La Palisse to work on homework until we have class. We reflect on what we’ll say when people ask us about Rwanda. We want to talk about the community, about the amazing Rwandan partners we’ve had (Lama, Cedric, Teddy, Olivier, Rogers, William), and we also feel that expressing this experience will be difficult. So, if you’re reading this, thanks for making things easier for us and staying informed while everything is going on!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The sun sets once more. We walk to our compound, swatting mosquitoes. We feel moths in the candlelight of our hearts. How will we say goodbye?</span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-final-weekend.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-6232047797256124339Sun, 22 Jul 2012 07:43:00 +00002012-07-24T03:13:52.698-07:00The Final Stretch<div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>I apologize for how long it took for this update to appear. It's been an exhausting week! 5 days left :( </i><b><i><u><br /></u></i></b></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 21</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we crawl out of our beds at 5am, it’s still dark outside. Judy points out Jupiter and Venus in the northern hemisphere, explaining that we can tell they are planets because they don’t twinkle. Breakfast is rough, since we’re not used to eating so early. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we load the bus, we get a burst of energy; Nicole dances in the aisle of the large van, her disco fingers pointing to the ceiling as we shove backpacks under seats and stack them in the back seat. We stop at the Nakumat in Kigali, use the restroom, and get snacks for the rest of the trip. Then, we all pass out in the van.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i2alpCPZ98Q/UAxIh9C7QRI/AAAAAAAAADU/b98TyUJETLk/s1600/Rwanda+142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i2alpCPZ98Q/UAxIh9C7QRI/AAAAAAAAADU/b98TyUJETLk/s320/Rwanda+142.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Steve sleeping on the bus and using his Kinyarwanda flash cards as a pillow</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In Butare, we visit the old palace of King Mutara Rudahigwa III. As we step up on to the cement, we look up at the intricate tiles bordering the palace. We remove our shoes before entering the bedroom of the King’s mother. In Rwanda, the king’s mother was always ruling by the side of the king. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately King Mutara’s mother was moved to a different house when Belgians felt that she was affecting their relationship with the King and their position of power. When the Germans gave King Mutara the gift of a Volkswagen Beatle, which he was almost too tall to fit in, the car disappeared. It’s suggested that the Belgians poisoned Mutara for resisting Christianity; they asked him to follow the “king of kings,” which he did not understand because he was a king. He died just before he could move into his new palace, a large modern building with brick red roofing that sits on a hill above the old palace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Inside the mother’s room, there is no furniture, because it was stolen during the genocide. This is also the case for the rest of the palace. In the King’s study, a chair the size of a futon sits to represent just how important the king was. Black and white photos of kings, sometimes standing with random muzungus, decorate the walls. We peer into a glass case filled with ivory presents which are also visible in an old picture of the original sitting room. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we enter the bathroom, our guide tells us that he’s curious about how the king fit in such a small bathtub since he was around 7ft tall. A cell phone is plugged into the wall, “Is that the king’s cell phone?” we ask, laughing. The king’s toilet is said to be the only place that he went without driving his car. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After touring the palace, we tour a replica of a traditional hut palace. At the entrance, the tour guide explains that two guards used to stand at the entrance with spears and would only let a person in if given the proper signal from the king. Some people would wait for days, weeks, months, just to speak with the king.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once the guests entered the yard of the king, they would stand in front of the hut where a clay barrier, painted white, separated them from the king. They had to walk around the barrier and bow in front of the king before speaking with him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Inside the hut, straw walls separate the meeting room where fires were built. On one side of the hut, women stayed, and in the front of the hut, men stayed. The king’s room consists of a king sized bed and woven baskets which act as armoires. The bed is the size of four modern king sized bed. The guide calls the room “the king’s playground.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then we tour the two huts behind the main hut. One hut, where a girl was selected to stay at a young age, was the milk hut. The girl was not allowed to have male visitors and had to remain a virgin for fear that someone might poison the king’s milk. The girl had to work for the king throughout his entire reign, which sounds like no big deal, except that one king ruled for 42 years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;The other hut, where a man was selected to stay, was the beer hut, where many men came to visit and taste-test the beer. Sounds like a great job! There were three types of beer: banana beer, honey beer, and a mixture of the two. The beer they’re talking about is so high in alcohol content that they taste more like wines. I imagine a crowd of young men sipping beer from gourd cups with hollow sticks and shouting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“How did the milk maid remain a virgin with all of these rowdy men getting drunk next door?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was said that if the milk went bad, it was proof that the milk maid had sex.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Afterward, we visit the traditional cows. When we reach the corral, we see the rusty brown cows with their long horns pulling their heads toward the grass. A man, we’ll call him the cow whisperer, whistles for one of the cows to come to the fence. He recites a poem in Kinyarwanda and dances for us, pinching the cow’s skin as the cow stands majestic. He calls the cow to step through a gate and we rub his long horns and his dusty fur. When we leave, the cow whisperer hitches a ride with us. On the bus, he performs something similar to slam poetry in Kinyarwanda. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We head to Butare for lunch, where we find a Chinese restaurant. We order brochettes and rice. In other words, we eat Rwandan food in a Chinese setting. During lunch, Judy asks our Rwandan tagalongs if they have girlfriends. Rogers, Teddy, and Olivier do not have girlfriends. Somehow we get into a conversation about the role of a mother in marriage. In Rwanda, the mother has always been a force behind a man, as within the monarchy. The opinion of the mother, for some, reigns over the man’s love of his girlfriend. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After eating, we go to the national museum which displays traditional Rwandan culture. In history, Rwandans have always been pastoral and agricultural people. One room shows the different agricultural and pastoral tools. There were few hunters and when the people hunted, they rarely ate the meat, but instead used the furs of animals. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another room shows several basket styles, their uses, and stories. One room shows an array of traditional clothing. The fur loin cloths are much different from the modern conservative culture in Rwanda. In one picture, a woman wears a calf full of iron anklets, and this shows traditional Rwandan jewelry which was eventually deemed to be unhealthy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another really interesting picture shows a woman holding her naked baby and putting a straw up to the baby’s butt. The title of the picture: “Washing.” Yeah. There is a lot to learn at the museum.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We don’t have time for a sit down dinner, so we head to Kigali and go to the mall which contains Nakumat. Some of us order pizza and burgers, though we realize that the pizza is the worst thing ever and there isn’t even sauce on it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At night, we check into our hotel, “One Love.” It’s a slightly shabby place but multiple kittens are running around the yard, climbing up trees, and hiding under banana leaves. The showers have decent water pressure and the beds are rock solid! Then, we head &nbsp;to a club in Kigali. Lindsey and I both get pick-pocketed and lose our wallets, our I.D.s our credit cards and money. Luckily, our passports are safe. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 22</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, we eat breakfast which consists of some scramble egg and a piece of dry bread that tastes like paper. However, we get to meet with Judy’s friend Ariel, who has been a Peace Corps volunteer in Rwanda for two and a half years and was part of the first group when Peace Corps returned to Rwanda. She tells us to think about the bigger picture, about how building relationships and surveying the Gashora community is useful for the future. It’s an inspiring talk.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We ask her questions about family planning, and she tells us about the ABC teaching plan: Abstinence, Be faithful, Condom. She explains that some organizations, including her own, occasionally only teach A and B. Ariel is knowledgeable about Rwanda and even draws us a map of places we can shop and visit in Kigali.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We head to Kigali, taste some milk shakes across from the Nakumat which are made without a blender and contain the freshest bananas ever. &nbsp;We say goodbye to Steve, grateful for all of the structure and support he provided for us in the first 3 weeks of the trip. Before heading to the hotel to settle in, we make a quick stop at co-ops, where we get a taste of bartering in Rwanda. Most of us decide to wait to purchase things until we have more Rwandans present to help us. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At the hotel, many of us nap because the previous night was rowdy, but Lauren and I swim in the pool, which is freezing cold. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I hate it; I hate it,” I say, as Lauren, who used to be on a swim team, swims across the pool like she’s floating in heaven. She even jumps off the diving board, and I’m surprised because the ratio of men to women in the pool is about 15:1, so it’s a little uncomfortable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We head to dinner and finally get a variety of food which we’ve been craving: Mexican! The restaurant, Meza Fresh, is owned by a man from Santa Barabra and attracts many westerners. The walls flash vibrant colors of green and blue, and a taco bar rests at the front. We stuff our faces with large burritos, tacos, and chips and salsa. In Rwanda, chicken is more expensive than beef, so many of us get steak. We take way to much food, but it’s so good.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After dinner we go out in Kigali again to a restaurant/club called the Sundowner. The atmosphere is classy with an outdoor seating area where umbrellas privatize discussions, a bar beneath an overhang, and a wood-fire stove for pizza. As the night goes on, people filter in from all over the world including: Brazilians who play on the Rwandan national soccer team, a Guatemalan and a Nigerian who are managers of Tigo, a phone company, and a Rwandan who works for Brussels Air. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everyone is dressed smart, which in Rwandan means to look professional or nice, and the lights outside set a glowing atmosphere that leads to great networking and dancing with many brilliant and interesting people.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 23</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning we return to the co-ops where we spend an hour and a half haggling with owners for local art. Each room at the co-op contains similar items, so we feel that we need to look around for the best prices. As we walk down the row of vendors, Rwandas call to us, “Sister, come see.”&nbsp; &nbsp;The shops are small and stacked with statues, baskets, pictures, and stone replicas. By the time we get in the van to leave, we’re exhausted from bartering.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We head to Meza Fresh for lunch because we know it’s a quick stop. SO GOOD. Then we head to a neighborhood in Kigali called Nyamirambo. The area hosts diverse range of people, sports a mosque, and colorful shops line the main street. It’s a quick tour, but it’s interesting to see another area of Kigali which is so vibrant. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then it’s on the van and back to La Palisse in Gashora!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we reach the hotel, most of us return to freshly made beds. Carrie however, calls a hotel worker to come and sweep her room, because bat poop speckles her floor. “Apparently they just had a little party while I was gone, a little fiesta,” she says, laughing. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 24</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, we have our usual schedule, except it’s Carmelle’s birthday! At Covaga, the women stand up in a circle and sing “Happy Birthday” to Carmelle in Kinyarwanda and in English. She blushes, but claps along and sways her body in her typical two-step way. Her 21<sup>st</sup>birthday starts out well. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we get to the Health Center we realize that we are replacing Steve. Those are big shoes to fill. We start the lesson by discussing our weekends and the students enjoy practicing their English. We review body parts by standing in a circle and taking turns saying one body part. One man says “goatee” and plays with the hair beneath his lip; Brooke rushes over to give him a high-five, because she taught him the word. Anyone who can‘t think of a body part has to sit down, but the only people that sit down are in our group!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We celebrate Caremelle’s birthday with a spongy cake after dinner smothered in frosting. Then we head to the Green Hotel, a local hotel that plays music, because Carmelle loves to dance. Unfortunately, the power is out and they can’t play music! This is the village. Despite the music disappointment, the stars are plenty.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 25</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, Carrie and Judy measure the temperature of the solar dehydrator at Covaga and start some new experiments. They put thinly sliced tomatoes, bananas and mushrooms in the front middle and back of a few trays. The temperature is not where it needs to be in the morning or by 2pm, but the food still manages to dry successfully.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">While some of us brainstorm marketing ideas at Covaga, a new nutritionist named Christophe from the Health Center takes Filimon and Carrie to three houses in Gashora, and shows them what the nutritionists teach the community about food and health.&nbsp; He interviews the first woman on her daily diet which, thankfully, includes protein-packed beans and veggies from her very own kitchen garden.&nbsp; Her children help with food preparation and eat with her as much as possible, which is great to hear, because that is not the cultural norm. The second woman struggles a bit more with getting a good diet, but with Christophe’s extensive knowledge, she will be helped.&nbsp; Then, we talk to three young mothers sitting in the shade with their children.&nbsp; Christophe asks the same questions and explains the importance of boiling water, especially for their children’s health.&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">All the hosts are very gracious in answering Filimon and Carrie’s many questions.&nbsp; It is inspiring to see a health-educated person working with the community in a hands-on fashion. We have a lot of hope for Gashora and the Health Center.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At Covaga, we brainstorm marketing ideas for Covaga which include: creating a catalog so that products can be sold internationally, product ideas, website ideas, and price ideas. Kristi leads the discussion and keeps track of ideas on a black board. Only some of the women are willing to participate, but all of them like the ideas we share. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We head to the Health Center where our students have prepared presentations about themselves for class. Hilarity ensues as each person presents and the rest of us ask questions. The Rwandan men ask us if we’re married, and when we say no, one man insists that he would like to marry us. When asked which one of us girls he likes best, he says he likes us all. We sit on the small benches, rocking them as we laugh and clap. It’s a riot! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the Health Center, Carmelle, Carrie and I head back to Covaga for a potential house visit with one of the women named Vistina. We are unable to find a translator so we walk with her to the market. A smile spreads across her face for the entire walk. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once at the market, we walk through the vendors and Vistina purchases pineapples, “inanasi,” she says, and we stumble over the word. Children start to close in on us, but a vendor shoos them away. Bright red tomatoes decorate a mat on the ground along with huge bunches of green bananas. Bees swarm around bags of white powder, which we think might contain corn-flour. One woman sells handfuls of tiny, silver slivers of dried fish. We leave the market with children trailing behind us and Vistina lugging three pineapples. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 26</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning we head to Big Dog’s house to build a kitchen garden. We follow a dirt trail up past some clay houses and stop, lost, at a crossroad. Then, through a forest of banana trees, Big Dog comes running, his small bright beneath the shade. When we reach his house, we meet his grandmother and see inside his house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we realize there aren’t enough sticks, a child, probably around age 10, climbs up into a tree and begins to machete the branches. I start taking pictures of him and am suddenly swarmed by children who want their pictures taken. Big Dog rushes to the rescue and pulls me to the back yard where we begin clearing a spot for the garden.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZopZB3SDef8/UAxKOo2g2eI/AAAAAAAAADc/HAVNnKlAb7s/s1600/Rwanda+159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZopZB3SDef8/UAxKOo2g2eI/AAAAAAAAADc/HAVNnKlAb7s/s320/Rwanda+159.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Harvesting local resources</span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rAqBqWvilwg/UAxLQAcxZqI/AAAAAAAAADk/n_c3RRsbvgk/s1600/Rwanda+161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rAqBqWvilwg/UAxLQAcxZqI/AAAAAAAAADk/n_c3RRsbvgk/s320/Rwanda+161.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;The Love of having your photo taken</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, five or six bicycle taxi men show up to help. They clear the space and dig up soil from the front yard in no time. We watch as their hoes reach toward the sky and then crash down to dig up mounds of soil. Soon they’re cutting and sharpening steaks at an incredible rate, and we’re sitting beneath a banana tree in awe of their speed.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rSrx9UdWmZY/UAxMg2o9efI/AAAAAAAAADw/I0de1sA59Lo/s1600/Rwanda+193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rSrx9UdWmZY/UAxMg2o9efI/AAAAAAAAADw/I0de1sA59Lo/s320/Rwanda+193.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Rwandans are so good at what they do!</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Children keep us busy, dancing with us and playing with us. I sit near the wood shavings that remain from when the men sharpened the steaks and I start to build a platform for a house. Children gather around me, curious about what I’m doing, and start to gather materials. I use a machete to sharpen small twigs, and we try to hammer them into the soil. The children gather large banana-tree leaves and we use them as a ceiling. When we take a picture of the kitchen garden, the children gather in with us.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QT546-OVo_0/UAxNynCHEKI/AAAAAAAAAD4/8_GIPrIdgtk/s1600/Rwanda+211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QT546-OVo_0/UAxNynCHEKI/AAAAAAAAAD4/8_GIPrIdgtk/s320/Rwanda+211.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Lauren being entertained and entertaining&nbsp;</span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Vk7JGPXbE/UAxOSlftjYI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Udukdl1Vz-E/s1600/Rwanda+214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Vk7JGPXbE/UAxOSlftjYI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Udukdl1Vz-E/s320/Rwanda+214.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Carrie and children</span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SmPYFEKObyI/UAxPjvIpMbI/AAAAAAAAAEY/B2W3uhooesY/s1600/Rwanda+230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SmPYFEKObyI/UAxPjvIpMbI/AAAAAAAAAEY/B2W3uhooesY/s320/Rwanda+230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;Twig-banana leaf house</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At lunch time, Cedric makes a short speech because it’s his last day with our group. He has to return to school to finish up exams. He gives each of us a bracelet with our name on it to remember him by.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Carrie and I go to Vistina’s house for a visit.&nbsp; Her husband, Hassan, treks behind us with his bike, their son Fils strapped on. When we enter the house we find a sitting area with a few chairs surrounding a small coffee table. The power has been out for a while, so we leave the door open so we can see. Children swarm the door, staring at us. Vistina tells them to go away and shuts the door. Moments later, children return saying, “Where are the Muzungus?” and Vistina says, “What Muzungus?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hassan shows us pictures from Vistina’s wedding. There are pictures of the swearing process, where the husband and wife swear to God and to Rwanda that they will not hurt each other and that they will love each other. In one picture, Hassan lifts Vistina from the ground, cradling her in his arms as she smiles, embarrassed, behind her hands.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iLa10Ldw5io/UAxPCMrwekI/AAAAAAAAAEI/9FwxN8WoNDA/s1600/Rwanda+224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iLa10Ldw5io/UAxPCMrwekI/AAAAAAAAAEI/9FwxN8WoNDA/s320/Rwanda+224.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Carrie, Me, and Fils</i></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hassan cuts us pineapple and we all grab a fork and dig in. Pineapple juice drips down our hands and on to the dirt floor. We ask questions about their youth and families as Fils plops down on a straw mat and shoves pineapple into his mouth. They give us each Rwandan names; Carries receives the name Mutoni, which means lovely and cared about, and I receive the name Keza, which means beautiful. Before we leave, we exchange information. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we walk outside, we hug and take a photo. We look like a family. Hassan walks with us to the main road where we say goodbye. The sun starts to set as we return home, bright orange and sinking like a giant fruit.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8qHyzs1HXVA/UAxRLFEjvUI/AAAAAAAAAEg/tTlDy8db2o8/s1600/Rwanda+228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8qHyzs1HXVA/UAxRLFEjvUI/AAAAAAAAAEg/tTlDy8db2o8/s320/Rwanda+228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;<i><span style="font-size: small;">Hassan, Me, Carrie, Fils, Vistina, and Random child</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 27</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, we go to the primary school to visit Abel’s English Club. When we enter, we take seats in the wooden desks and join in as a Canadian, Correy, from the group “Developing World Connections” leads the children in singing Bingo. She then looks to us, to see if we have any ideas for the English club. We decide to play Simon says. We circle up, and though translating the game is difficult, once the children understand, we have a blast. We play other games, inspired by the children’s desire to learn, and their infinite ability to smile.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 28</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's Judy's last day, so several of us wake up early to go birding with her. The sun is glowing and king fisher's are staring at their reflections in windows when we meet her near the lake. She shows us some eagle nests which weigh massively at the top of trees. When we walk along the lake, we see the nests of weaver birds, a colonial species. Judy explains that the birds weave their nests at the end of branches to make it more difficult for snakes to reach them. We see a hippo footprint and Judy leads us around the La Palisse property, through their farming area, and up to a path where we see several mouse birds. It's a great opportunity to connect with Judy since she's been an important addition to our team. We miss her immediately as we walk to town and watch birds flit across our path.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TGbZdjPn-jI/UAxR7r0G4-I/AAAAAAAAAEo/hDK7sDQFTCs/s1600/Rwanda+299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TGbZdjPn-jI/UAxR7r0G4-I/AAAAAAAAAEo/hDK7sDQFTCs/s320/Rwanda+299.JPG" width="320" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>African weaver bird nests </i></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ztdBtMrytF4/UAxSMsZSvnI/AAAAAAAAAEw/Ero6Hr117dY/s1600/Rwanda+301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ztdBtMrytF4/UAxSMsZSvnI/AAAAAAAAAEw/Ero6Hr117dY/s320/Rwanda+301.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hippo foot print</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GXbVQxZ6Ak4/UAxSdoCkO7I/AAAAAAAAAE8/wvU5uCKOkw4/s1600/Rwanda+302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GXbVQxZ6Ak4/UAxSdoCkO7I/AAAAAAAAAE8/wvU5uCKOkw4/s320/Rwanda+302.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Judy leading us sleepy-heads on a birding trek</span></i></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Then, some people from the group meet with about 45 of the 56 bicycle taxi co-op members that provide transportation for Gashora.&nbsp; Amazingly, after making their living pulling people on bike, many are in their soccer uniforms. They thank us for meeting with them, and we share how great it has been to have such great company on our rides.&nbsp; They’re always smiling and having fun with the language barriers. They explain their co-op and their business scheme to create an office. Once roads are paved in Gashora, they wish to become Moto Taxis. They do their best to help each other out, and if someone doesn’t get enough business and is in need, they gladly share profits.&nbsp; They pay a membership fee, and most of them are intelligent young men who had their education cut short.&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">They ask how we like Rwanda, and Lama makes sure to explain that Americans work very hard to come on these trips, both financially and academically.&nbsp; They jump at the opportunity to take a picture and are very gracious for our business. They ask Tim the usual question: “How many kids do you have?” He replies. “None; I’m a priest.” Even the bicycle taxis laugh. &nbsp;He goes on to explain that there is less pressure in the United States to get married and having kids is more of a choice than a cultural duty.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile, Lindsey, Brooke and I visit the primary school again. We sing Bingo, have all of the children talk about what they like (all of them like English lessons), and then we play a game in which a representative from each of two teams must come to the blackboard and answer a question with complete English. Although the teachers will be on vacation on Monday, the children are excited to see us for English club again. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Afterward, we meet at Covaga where we make friendship bracelets. The women sit close to us and try to learn how to make the bracelets. I lie down on the top stair and take a short cat nap, feeling safe because I know the women at Covaga will be sure that no one bothers me. It’s a short day, but we’re exhausted from the week, so after lunch, many of us nap.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">By nighttime, we’re ready to go downtown. We go to a bar called the Good Samaritan which is paved nicely, is nicely lit, and has a television which replays one music DVD over and over again, complete with Whitney Houston and Celine Dion. “I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody! With somebody who loves me!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We order brochettes, more than ready to taste some delicious goat. What comes to us is nothing like we imagined. 15 shish kabobs rest on the table. Sara takes one bite, her face contorts and she returns the stick to the pile. Nicole, who has been waiting for brochettes all day, looks severely disappointed. Some of us pull a stringy outer layer off of the meat and place it on the table. “What is this!?” We soon find out that the meet is beef ribs wrapped in cow intestine. Lindsey eats an entire brochette, and Jon eats two and a half- the champions.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NrdBBhF6AmM/UAxSrX8agGI/AAAAAAAAAFE/A5eR8kaKdqY/s1600/Rwanda+308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NrdBBhF6AmM/UAxSrX8agGI/AAAAAAAAAFE/A5eR8kaKdqY/s320/Rwanda+308.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;<i><span style="font-size: small;">A disappointed Nicole</span></i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stay out later than expected, trying to make up for the beginning of the night with weird shit brochettes. On the walk home, the fact that we’re leaving starts to set in; it’s our last Friday beneath the stars, walking down the dusty road hand in hand, with our flashlights making the leaves glow. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-final-stretch.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-654607647883823813Thu, 12 Jul 2012 19:24:00 +00002012-07-14T00:25:53.313-07:00Seeing Nature<br /><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 17</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, most of the group works on a kitchen garden for a genocide survivor, just a few doors down from the last garden. When they arrive at Yvonne’s for lunch, faces red, clothes painted with soil, they plop down in the white plastic chairs, certain that they’ll be drinking more than one Fanta. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After lunch, we go to Covaga for a final English lesson, but the group becomes distracted by the baskets. We’ve been holding in the urge to purchase baskets since we first arrived. We shuffle through the baskets on the shelves, pulling out bright colors, flower patterns, and claiming them as our own. We start thinking about better ways to display the baskets since it’s difficult to see all of them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The days start to feel long in the Rwandan heat. We’re beat by the time we get to the Health Center to teach English, but when we converse with the students, we receive a jolt of energy. The students really want to learn. Before we leave, after an hour of class, my student says that the class time is not long enough; he needs at least two hours of English class!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At dinner time we get our favorite fruit salad, a pink mesh of banana, passion fruit, pineapple, and whatever else, that looks like the sunset as the day starts to cool into night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 18</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We go to Covaga to have a basket weaving lesson, but when we arrive there are only a few women in the building. We find out that one of the women, a woman that Sara has been working closely with, has lost her mom. We see a group of people walking to the funeral outside. In Rwanda everyone in the community attends the funeral.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The baskets are spread out on the floor of Covaga, colorful patterns waiting for tourists to come and buy them. We wish they were displayed like this when we went shopping!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the English lesson at the Health Center, a few of us go to the primary school to interview the principle and learn about the English Club that has been created at the school. I get the opportunity to ride in to the primary school’s courtyard on the back of a really sweet ride, Rogers’ bicycle. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we ride into the courtyard, dust being flung up behind us, my rear resting on a metal rack, children start to chase the bike. Rogers rides around the courtyard in circles. One child pries my hand off of him and a train of children trail off of my arm. I’m holding on with one arm, laughing, as Rogers sings a song to the kids. Eventually, the kids pry my other arm off as well, and I’m nervous that I’m going to fall off the bike when Rogers brings it to a stop.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is the distraction we create every time we go to the school. We feel bad for the teachers, but the kids eventually return to their studies. Me, Brooke, Carmelle, and Sara sit in on a math class with the teacher, Martin. We help grade their algebra exercises and answer some of their questions. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We find out that there are two English clubs, one hosted by a passionate teacher named Abel on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays. The teachers here work from 8AM-5PM, so for Abel to take time out of his day to host an English club really means a lot. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After going to the primary school, we head back to the hotel to go on a boat ride around Lake Rumira. As the boat leaves shore, the sun is just above the hills, glowing its usual bright orange. The boat glides near the shore and we cross our fingers, hoping we’ll see a hippo or a crocodile!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hop on the bough of the boat with Judy, a really awesome woman volunteering here from Washington. She points out the different birds, the kingfisher, the fish eagle, and some weaving birds that weave nests in colonies along the shoreline. We pass floating islands of papyrus, and Judy says they look like fireworks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The boat glides over a spot where huge bubbles are rising to the surface of the water, and I imagine that there is a hippo below us, ears twitching, and sausage-legs trudging along the bottom of the lake. Further around the lake we see something moving in the water, maybe there were nostrils, the trail was the shape of a long tail. We like to say it was a crocodile. Still, nothing is clear in Rwanda.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 19</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At breakfast time, we greet Kristi, a professor who will replace Steve who is leaving shortly. Her flight was delayed leaving from JFK and she got stuck in Belgium for a night before she could make it to Kigali. We have a lot to fill her in on, but we’re glad she’s here and that a warm and fuzzy professor has joined us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, me, Lauren, Nicole, Carrie, and two freelance volunteers from Canada, Sarah and Cazia, go on a “hike” with Rogers. Although there are thousands of hills in Rwanda, Gashora is relatively flat. We hike toward a swamp area, where the green is so far beyond green, like the color of a crayon. </span><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;Trees line the walkway, and the swamp area hosts several birds, including herring. Umbrella trees shade the way as people pass on their bikes, hauling huge loads of bananas. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We walk to a river that runs up to Uganda. Rogers explains that during the genocide many Tutsis were dumped into the river. This goes back to the </span><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamitic Ideology” that Tutsis were from Europe and Northern Africa, and it was believed that the river would take the bodies all the way back to Ethiopia where they belonged. Many Tutsi bodies were buried in Uganda for this reason. </span><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: large;">We walk for about two hours, returning at last to Yvonne’s for lunch.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 20</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today we walk to town to work on another kitchen garden. We understand the process now and can find things to do without Rogers’ help. Ray, a journalist from Los Angeles, helps us with the garden as well. We laugh as he attempts to machete a branch. It takes him 15+ whacks and it only takes a Rwandan 5. This is pretty typical. Carrie and I both attempt to sharpen the sticks, to turn them into pointy stakes, but it’s the same result.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Brooke becomes bombarded by children, almost resorting to a position as a baby sitter during the gardening. She says “I got your nose!” and “Aren’t you just the cutest!?” An education major seems fitting for her. Carrie and Lindsey take pictures of the process, step by step, so that people who can’t read can learn how to make kitchen gardens without the help of Rogers and William. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After lunch and a stop at Covaga, the group heads to the Health Center for a party celebrating all of Steve’s hard work. I was not present for the party, so someone else in the group will add a write up about it soon!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before dinner, Olivier gives us a historical presentation of Rwanda before colonialism and during colonialism. Tomorrow, we are going on a trip to Butare, the original capital of Rwanda, to visit the National Museum. Time permitting, we will also visit a replica of the old palace, since Rwanda used to be a monarchy. </span><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’re all excited to sleep tonight, but we’re even more excited to wake up (even if it is at 5AM) and head to Butare and then to Kigali. We’re hoping for some food variety (tacos!?!?); you really come to appreciate variety when you eat the same food every day. Time to pack!</span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/seeing-nature.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-209886114057535930Sun, 08 Jul 2012 16:58:00 +00002012-07-10T11:17:12.528-07:00A Relaxing Weekend<br /><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 14</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today is the usual schedule, but no kitchen gardens so we have time to work on homework in the morning. We teach at Covaga and interview some of the women with the help of translators. Then, we teach at the Health Center. We have great conversations with the students; they tell us about their mornings which all begin around 5AM or 6AM with a breakfast of beans, rice, and cassava. It’s fun to get to hear about their families and jobs. We’re all exhausted from the busy week, and we’re glad it’s Friday. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We say goodbye to the Canadians at a dinner outside next to a bonfire. We speak over candles, and it African fried chicken (SO GOOD). </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 15</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, we have the entire day off. We take the morning to rest, read, and work on homework. At lunch time, we head to Yvone’s where we meet Rowan, a WSU student who worked with Covaga, and Ray, a journalist from Los Angeles. It’s great to have the day off, but we’re not used to finding something to do in such a small town. We survey the main street of town, a bunch of clay buildings lining a dusty road. What should we do?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rowan tells us about a bar where he used to eat shish kabobs or brochettes, and drink beer after a long day of work. So we go there to hear stories of his travels. He </span><span style="font-size: large;">tells us about how he chased a giraffe, and how it was the most awkward and majestic thing he’d ever seen.</span><span style="font-size: large;">When they bring out the brochettes, several chunks of goat meat on sticks, we feel that we’ve finally found heaven. The brochettes are the perfect changeup to our usual diet here in Rwanda.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-agIafDDIyWI/T_m9bU4vK9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/WUdOCAnsLlo/s1600/brochetts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-agIafDDIyWI/T_m9bU4vK9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/WUdOCAnsLlo/s320/brochetts.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As it starts to get dark, we continue conversing and ordering brochettes, which take about 45 minutes to make. In the middle of eating a fresh, hot order, a man pulls two fresh goats into the bar’s yard. We hear them crying and set our shish kabobs down. As we’re all worrying about the goats, Nicole says, “I’m more like, ‘Are those ones about to be ready soon?’” When we go to the toilet, yes a hole in the ground and a disgusting one at that, we see the goats tied up to a tree. This is Africa, no worries. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rogers entertains us, as usual. He says he’s going into Kigali, and that he could run. Nicole, the cackler, says, “Let’s just run to Kigali. Let’s just do it.” Rogers says it’d take him about 4 hours to get there. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we ask him how he felt about the Canadians, he says, “Old people, you know, they happen.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">This may sound brash, but in Rwanda, age is something you <i>have </i>not something you are. Therefore, it sounds funny to us, but could very well be a compliment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 16</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After breakfast we take bicycle taxis to the Gashora Girls Academy for church. My Vibram Five Fingers have the bicyclists laughing hysterically on the way to the school.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The service is unlike any other. Some girls stand in front of the room and sing, clap, and dance. Their voices are unlike any we’ve ever heard, and we can feel their faith in our skin as they close their eyes and tilt their heads toward the ceiling. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few girls stand up to say what their thankful for. Many of them are thankful for the knowledge they are given, and thankful that studying for exams is almost over. They start exams on Tuesday and they go until Friday. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I receive a tour of their dorm rooms from a young girl named Marine. They look very similar to army dorms. Except their beds are all made with patterned quilts, mosquito nets hang above their bunk beds, the cement floors are spotless, and racks of drying underwear and uniforms hang from bedposts, their uniforms. When we pass by their living room, Marine says, “This is our living room; it’s a little messy because we’ve been studying.” Messy to Marine is a couple of pillows overturned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">During lunch time, we’re once again astounded by the intelligence of these women. They love movies, which they get to watch on Saturdays, and they especially love the scary ones. They love to read, and in English class they get to write stories and present things about themselves. It sounds similar to a foreign language class in the U.S. We enjoy corn for the first time since leaving home, and apparently, the girls love corn too. Even though they have more studying to do, some of them spend a lot of time chatting with us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we get home, we all rest, sit by Lake Rumira, and pretend to work on our final essays.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VYQ3gjzLOg/T_m-HmfYqPI/AAAAAAAAADA/cWGE_sDudcE/s1600/lake+rumira.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1VYQ3gjzLOg/T_m-HmfYqPI/AAAAAAAAADA/cWGE_sDudcE/s320/lake+rumira.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/relaxing-weekend.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-1118621765749354651Sat, 07 Jul 2012 09:26:00 +00002012-07-07T02:36:40.965-07:00Gardening, Sweating, Teaching, Learning<br /><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 11</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We meet Rogers and William at the Gashora Health Center around 9:30AM to help them work on a kitchen garden. When we get there, they have already cleared an area for the garden but the rest of the field is full of weeds, dead corn stalks, and patches of grass. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The aroma of mint fills our nostril with sweetness as we hack at the dirt with hoes. Children line up on the outside of the fence screeching “Muzungu” repeatedly as we work. In no time, there are several knee-high piles of weeds and the area is mostly clear, while our faces are red and our upper-lips are soaked with sweat. We pull all of the weeds into one pile, which takes a lot of effort, and then begin to help with the garden. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As mentioned in a previous post, the kitchen garden is a tiered structure that allows for a trickling affect with water. Plants with longer roots (like carrots, <i>karoti</i>) go on the top tier, and plants with lower roots (like spinach, <i>epinari</i>). Many Rwandans from the village come to help with the garden. Rogers and William, who are the force behind the kitchen gardens, hope that Rwandans will take up the old tradition of helping each other build gardens, and that they will take on the form of kitchen gardens, which can provide more types of nutrients.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Rwandans at the Health Center bring us to a tree which can be cut back. The branches tumble to the ground and crack. They use machetes to cut the leaves off of branches and we haul the branches to the garden site where they are cut into appropriate sizes and chipped into sharp stakes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some people break-up soil in one area so that we can use it in the garden. Sticks are hammered into the ground in a circular fashion using a “Rwandan Hammer” (as Rogers calls it) which is a large rock. This makes the outline of the first tier. We line the sticks with plastic-like bags to hold in the soil. Using large buckets, and other bags which two people carry to the garden, we fill the tier with soil and move on to the next tier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">This process continues until we have to go into town for lunch and teaching English at Covaga. We wash dirt off our hands, arms, feet, necks, chests, backs, legs, and faces, and change into business casual clothing. Baby wipes, which we used to be extra clean, form a pile of brown on the bench. Wilson, the IT tech at the Health Center, is happy to see us change into more appropriate clothing since we will be returning to teach his staff English later in the day. He says that we are role models for the youth in Gashora, and that when young westerners come dressed inappropriately, it upsets the elders in the village, because the young Rwandans attempt to dress similarly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rogers, William, and some locals stay behind to work on the fourth and last tier of the garden.&nbsp; In town, at Yvone’s we eat.so.much.food. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After a review lesson at Covaga, we head to the Health Center to teach English for the first time. Steve Vanderstaay put together a great lesson and has worked very hard on all of the English lessons during the trip. We really appreciate all of his hard work, all the times he leaves dinner quickly so he can work, or the time he didn’t join us in Kigali. At the Health Center, the students are very educated and motivated to learn English. We nestle in between the students, tap our toes on the slick, white tiled floor, and watch Steve’s energy radiate through the room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We begin by teaching them some basic verb conjugations for present tense, explaining that all of the conjugations are the same except for in the case of he/she. For example: I read; You read; She/He reads; You all read; We read. The students pick up on this very quickly and are soon translating sentences from Kinyarwanda. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today marks the beginning of a lot of long days with multiple English lessons and a lot of gardening.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 12</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, it’s back to the Medical Center in the morning to work on gardens. This time, we’re creating a spiral garden. First, men chop grass into small piece with a machete and place it in a pile. Then, soil is piled on top of the grass until the grass is no longer visible. While a few people pile the soil on, some people begin searching the grounds for large rocks which will be spiraled up the mound, to prevent erosion of soil. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are having trouble finding rocks when Rogers appears with a stack of bricks. He brings us to the old Health Center, a dreary building where a room is full of old bricks. Thin, black wasps hang from the ceiling in pieces of hives. We quickly pile up with bricks and hustle back to the garden. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We bring way too many bricks. More for next time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">During lunch time, Steve brings up the topic of an island in lake Kivu called <i>Iwawa</i>, where orphans or street boys and girls were sent after the genocide for a sort of rehabilitation. The way in which the government took the boys and girls, which was without their permission, was scrutinized by Human Rights Watch. However, the children were brought to the island, educated, taught life skills, and given the opportunity for government loans when they went back into society. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rogers becomes very passionate about the discussion, speaking in a preach, using his hands, as the veins in his neck protrude. I don’t have an exact quote, but he said something to the extent of: “Where was the Human Rights Watch during the genocide? They are so quick to criticize Rwanda from a distance, but they don’t come here and see the way things really are. The kids, they go to <i>Iwawa </i>as nothing and they come back with a life.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rogers also mentions how, after graduating high school, Rwandans are required to go to a month long service in which they all work together and eradicate any ideas about ethnic division. There are no Hutus or Tutsis, only Rwandans. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After lunch, we don’t go to Covage because it’s the 4<sup>th</sup> of July, which in Rwanda, signifies liberation from genocide. The women weavers are home, relishing in the security of Rwanda. We go to the Health Center again to teach English. On the way to the hotel, we see Lama pull up in a van. Tim told us that he would be coming to Gashora with a group of “middle-schoolers.” &nbsp;Apparently, there was some miscommunication. About ten middle-aged Canadian Muzungus pile out of the van. We look at each other, confused. These are not middle school students. It’s just another example of a language barrier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 13</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, a few of us, me, Tim, Carrie, Jon, and Filimon take bike taxis to a house in Gashora where Rogers and William are working on another kitchen garden. This time, the garden is for a genocide survivor named Doritea, a 76 year old woman living by herself in Gashora. From her house which is on Lake Milayi, we have a view of the huge Gashora Girls Academy compound.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A couple of women and their babies rest on a straw mat in front of the house, but Doritea is not home yet. We get right to work. Filimon takes a machete and sharpens branches for the structural support of the garden. Carrie and I help place bags and hammer sticks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Whenever a stick needs to be hammered, Rogers shouts, “Rwandan Hammer!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When Carrie hammers the sticks, Tim says “Powerful woman technician!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">To fill the tiers, the men lift a wheel barrel full of soil and pour it in to the compartments lined with bags. Dust from the soil puffs toward our faces. Doritea arrives and when we’re almost done, we get a chance to sit with her and ask her questions about her experience with genocide.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">She tells us that all three of her sons died, and that she was hidden with her sister by a local Hutu family who had power, though her sister later died. Though her face is wrinkled with pain, when she smiles, it’s like a flower reaching for the sun. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We ask her if she sees improvement happening in Gashora, and she says, yes, very much. When we ask if things are better now than they were before the genocide, she says things are way better. She also loves Paul Kagame, wishes he could be president forever and thinks that reconciliation is working very well in Rwanda. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">She thanks us for helping her with the kitchen garden, since previously, her only way to get food is through other members of the community and her granddaughters who visit her. During the conversation, a baby boy crawls over, his bum naked, and hands Doritea a small chunk of maize. She picks each kernel out of the cob and throws them on the ground, as if to feed a chicken. The baby plops down, puts a kernel in his mouth, and stares at us. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">He proceeds to throw the empty maize cob at us as though it’s a ball. In the middle of an intense conversation about genocide, we have a child, the future of Rwanda, doing what he can with his resources. This is the Rwandan way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we go to leave, Doritea walks us a little ways down the road and says goodbye, thanking us again, and clasping her hands around ours. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We join the rest of the group at Yvone’s for lunch where the middle-aged tour group from Canada eats with us. Then, it’s off to Covaga for a cultural exchange. The Canadians will join us and allow the Covaga weavers to practice their English.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the Canadians enter, the women converse with them in English, “Hello,” “My name is…” “Nice to meet you,” “Would you like to see our baskets,” “Thank you,” “We have baskets, tray, hot pads, and bags.” We squeal! Our students do so well with their English and are incredibly bold about approaching the tourists and speaking to them. We give them high-fives and hugs, so happy to see them using what they’ve learned. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then we all sit down, the women pat their straw mats, inviting us to sit with them and resting their hands on our thighs. These women, we’ve grown to love them. We appreciate our relationship with them, how they teach us Kinyarwanda and open up to us to learn English. We are surprised when they tell us their age because they all seem so young and full of life, surprised when they tell us they have six kids at home and walk 10 kilometers just to reach Covaga.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">These women are amazing. They smile, happy to weave us into their lives.&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please look back to day 5 to read a great description of recreation in Gashora, written by our very own Jon Kaimmer :)</span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/gardening-sweating-teaching-learning.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-7489814137441592111Mon, 02 Jul 2012 19:05:00 +00002012-07-07T02:21:54.734-07:00We've Been Busy<div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 5</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After some of our routine tasks, like eating lunch at Yvone’s and visiting Covaga, we get a chance to play sports in the community. Lindsey brings a Frisbee and one of the basketball team member’s brings a couple of basket balls.</span><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">“Cracked cement, faded lines on a court, rotting wooden backboards and hoops without nets greeted us when we reached the basketball court after working at Covaga. We didn’t even have a basketball. We weren’t sure what we had gotten ourselves in to. No one else was on the court so we just started to throw a Frisbee between ourselves and two local kids who had been absorbed into our group. After a while of people slowly trickling in, there were 40+ people using the combination basketball/volleyball court. Finally, the director of youth recreation rode his bike up to the court with his basketballs bungee cabled to the back of his bike. The other team started to warm up, while slowly, with no shade to protect us, the WWU students became drained of all moisture in their bodies. Warm ups and stretching turned into a friendly half-quart scrimmage which eventually became a full blown, full court match: the Western Vikings (plus Rogers, of course) vs. the Gashora Cougars (so named because Washington State University had been in Gashora the previous week). The final score was 19-20, and we went home defeated, but happy to have finally done a physical activity.” –Jon Kaimmer</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the assistance of Rogers, Sara, and Carrie, Lindsey sets up a Frisbee drill for some of the kids who have gathered near the basketball courts. Children in second-hand clothing covered in the dust of Gashora rush over to throw the disk. Rogers helps mediate between Lindsey and the kids to get all of the kids in a line. Their throws are wobbly at first but they get better quickly. They clap when their friends catch the disk and we teach them to say <i>akazi kanoze</i> in English, “Good Job!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At dinner, we decide to get beers. The first beer we try is Mutzig and compared to beer in Bellingham, it’s pretty weak. We also taste Cedric’s beer, Turbo King, which he says is beer for men. Therefore, we like it a lot. Cedric takes us out to a local hotel that plays music and has an outdoor dancing area. We hear the music when we’re still half a mile away and can see green and pink lights glowing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’re excited that there are real toilets at the hotel even if they don’t have proper seats, because we won’t have to squat and aim into a small hole in the ground.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">No one else is at the hotel, but we take up three plastic white tables in the middle of the yard. We all order banana beers, because we were told we had to try it. They gather a round of banana beers from some shed out back, and return with weathered green bottles.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">”Why didn’t anyone tell us it was so awful?” It’s kind of salty, dirty, green, gross, sewage-like…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We follow Cedric’s and Rogers’ lead to dance like Africans with lots of hip movements and stepping. They’re hard to keep up with, because dancing is such an important&nbsp; part of Rwandan culture. We look pretty ridiculous doing the lawnmower and the robot. Big Dog shows up for a while, hopping around the grass with one hand behind his back and the other pointing forward. He holds onto a smile the entire time and then leaves because he has school the next morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;When we look up to the sky, the orange moon, with all its pocks and holes visible, reminds us that we’re in Africa. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 6</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A sleepy day. More teaching at Covaga, more basketball (our team wins and we leave with red faces and sore legs), more smiles.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 7</u></i></b>&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning, Steve and I go to Gashora primary school to observe an English lesson. Upon arrival, Big Dog peers out from his classroom to wave hello and present us with his indescribable smile. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we enter the classroom, it’s dark and cool, almost melancholy, and we notice that there are three or four kids to each desk. But the children snap their fingers and wave their hands in the air when they want to answer a question, “Teacher! Teacher!” &nbsp;The teacher smiles, and clearly enjoys his job. Even though he’s still learning English, but he teaches it with confidence and energy. After completing an exercise, the kids are happy to have us grade their papers. Despite the difficulties in switching from teaching French to teaching English, the teachers and pupils have positive attitudes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the English lesson, we visit a kindergarten class, where tiny faces rush to hug our knees. The teacher shows us the materials she uses to teach them English, and we ask if we can teach the kids a basic lesson. She suggests a song, and the only one I can think of is “head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” In no time, I’m circled by kindergarteners trying desperately to follow along with the words and the movements. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After attending the school, we meet up with the rest of the group at “Gashora Girl’s Academy: &nbsp;School of Science and Technology,” a high school-level boarding school funded by Costco. The school is a huge cement compound placed on a beautiful plot of land near Lake Milayi. Half of the property is used for agriculture and includes: pineapples, tomatoes, carrots, papayas, mangoes, avocadoes, bees for honey, and corn. Some of the food feeds the girls at the school, and surplus is sold to the market to fund the school.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The girls that attend the school are the best in the country. Their days begin with cold showers at 5am. The day consists of classes and study halls that go until 9pm. We tour some classrooms, and Filimon points out that the anatomy they study is something he just studied in college; Jon says the same thing about the physics they’re studying. &nbsp;The busy day is broken up by recreational time, clubs and meals. We are fortunate enough to join the girls for lunch. We stack our plates and fill bowls with fresh papaya from the gardens, which gleam orange. We relish in the fact that there is drinkable water. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We all sit with a different group of girls. The girls speak English very well. On top of that, most of them speak French and Swahili in addition to their native tongue. They ask questions about what we want to do for our careers; some of our majors sound pathetic when they express their dreams to be pilots, engineers, doctors, and astronauts. They ask about the books we read; they love <u>The Hunger Games.</u> &nbsp;Some girls ask Carmelle if she’s going to marry a man from Rwanda or Burundi, and how many kids she wants to have. They ask “why Rwanda?” They ask if we bought our own plane tickets, and we further realize the extent of poverty in Rwanda, as well as how privileged we are. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are mixed responses about how much they enjoy the boarding school. While it’s a great place, ripe with opportunity, they miss their families. Also, they wish they could go out more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we tour the grounds, we see the trenches they’re digging to irrigate the fields; they’re working with what they have. We learn that hippos used to come out of the lake to eat the crops, until they got a light near the lake which is a natural hippo deterrent. I can picture the hippos waddling up out of the lake and lugging their huge bodies to the field, ears twitching in the night. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">To learn more about the Gashora Girls Academy, you can visit the following links:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://shoveroutlook.net/shover/index.php?option=com_content&amp;view=article&amp;id=67:gashora-girls-academy-empowering-the-girl-child&amp;catid=39:parution1&amp;Itemid=69">http://shoveroutlook.net/shover/index.php?option=com_content&amp;view=article&amp;id=67:gashora-girls-academy-empowering-the-girl-child&amp;catid=39:parution1&amp;Itemid=69</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.rwandagirlsinitiative.org/article/article_detail/63">http://www.rwandagirlsinitiative.org/article/article_detail/63</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After visiting the girls school, we take bicycle taxis back to Covaga to teach more. As our bikers lug us through town, we are an entire train of Muzungus. The back of the bike that Carrie is on doesn’t have handles and she has to squeeze her thighs to hold on. One bicyclist plays music, and we’re thankful to not have to walk in the heat. Still, even the bicyclists have a hard time lugging the 6’1 muzungu, Jon around. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">During class that night, we discuss sustainability of foreign projects and aid. We talk about the importance of whether or not projects create jobs and how they work with the local culture and community. We’re starting to think about how to form the best project, as well as what will work well with the Gashora community. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 8</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today is a national day of service in Rwanda called, Umuganda. Everyone in the country must work on a project needed in their area, only women with several children to care for are excused from the service work. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We walk into town and stop at Covaga to grab tools. Three of us leave with machetes, and many of us leave with hoes. We walk to the service area where residents seem surprised to see us. We toil in the dirt and machete bushes behind the local “cell” building. One man holds up his hand and begins to machete one of the bushes to show us how it’s done. He completes the same amount of work in one minute as three of us completed in 15 minutes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After a little bit of work, the Rwandans want us to stop so they can sing us a song. They gather in a circle wearing matching blue work uniforms. As they sway side to side, one lady begins singing. After the singing, we learn that she was making up the song as she went along. It said something to the extent of, “We are happy to see you, we weren’t expecting it,” and we feel appreciated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, they ask us to sing them a song. We try to think of a song that we all know that sends a similar message. We come up with “Lean on Me.” You can probably guess where this is going…We stood in a line, swayed, sang out of tune, and their reactions were…well, I’ll just stop there. Rwandans have rhythm, we’ll say that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the clean-up, it’s a race to the showers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then a large van transports us to a local genocide memorial side in Nyamata. It’s not a place you want to stay in long. Although churches served as a place for protection when Tutsi’s first started experiencing persecution, genocidaires eventually began storming churches where Tutsis were seeking refuge. At this particular church, the Catholic Nun who was protecting the Tutsis was eventually killed, and two years later, the genocidaires attacked the church which was filled with over 2,000 people.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The group agreed that a more abstract portrayal of the experience would be more appropriate since it’s so difficult to put into words:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Nyamata Genocide Memorial</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mary, in peaceful posture, looks over</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">piles of bloodied clothing, tears</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">stripes, human life still visible </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">beneath dust and pain. </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’re walking on death.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">&nbsp;“This is just to show.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A stained sash covers the alter </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">behind which human heads hid, </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">before the grenades, guns, and <i>pangas,</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">flung shrapnel toward the ceiling, </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">human flesh toward the bricks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“This is just to show.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The woman in the casket, </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">raped, raped, raped, impaled</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">with a sharpened stick and strung</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">together with her baby, who was swung</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">against the wall. Crack. </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“This is just to show.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A fever of silence. &nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">A cellar, not a cellar, but a mass grave </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">filled with hairs from visitors’ necks, </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">and the stench of bones with bullet-holes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“This is just to show.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, there are people in the country-side, </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">singing and dancing, with ravines</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">on their cheeks, from tears.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Children chase notes in the choir</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">and chirps ride on wind. The birds </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">have returned. </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is just to show.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">-Ali Beemsterboer</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Nyamata Memorial&nbsp;</i></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">We will never leave Nyamata,</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">the blasted black iron&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">and red beaded rosaries&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">where hopes and prayers&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">were placed, pews piled&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">with shredded shirts; "I swear</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I saw that dress on Alice yesterday."</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Bodies below ground, roses above,</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">remains of a heroine to remind us:</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i>never forget Nyamata.</i></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i>-Anonymous from our group </i><i><br /></i></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">To read more about the Nyamata memorial center, you can visit the following link:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.kigalimemorialcentre.org/old/centre/other/nymata.html">http://www.kigalimemorialcentre.org/old/centre/other/nymata.html</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">For dinner, we go to a place in Kigali which serves pizza. The path up to the restaurant, which is on top of a small hill, is lit with several lights. When we enter the restaurant, we’re surprised to see tables full of white people and a wood-fire oven. Carrie talks with missionaries from Orange County, California, can’t help but judge them “hard core” and makes sure to speak Kinyarwanda in front of them, just to show how much better WWU is. Lama explains that typical Rwandans, including Rogers and William, can’t afford this type of Muzungo dining, another reality that we have to face as financial superiors.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">We hear a dog barking from the fenced-in yard next door. I assume that Westerns live next door, because in Rwanda, residents don’t typically have dogs. Before the genocide, dogs were kept mainly to defend houses and not as pets. Our group has joked several times that Rwandans would freak out if they saw how we dress and walk and cuddle our pets. One of the girls at the Gashora Girls Academy laughed about how she saw a dog in a car when she was in Seattle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the genocide, dogs fed on the dead bodies which were scattered across the country decomposing. Because of this, dogs became a symbol of the trauma which the people of Rwanda faced, and they eventually eradicated dogs. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">On a lighter note, we eat pizza by candle-light complete with all the right spices, pineapple, mushrooms, peppers, and CHEESE. After such a rough day, we deserve it.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 9</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At 6:30AM, we head to Amahoro stadium in Kigali to celebrate, <i>50:18</i>, 50 years of independence for Rwanda, and 18 years since liberation from the genocide. We wait in line amongst the Rwandans who stare at us ceaselessly. It’s hard to get used to the fact that staring is not taboo in Rwanda. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we enter the stadium, we sit on cement bleachers with no seat backs. The celebration doesn’t start until 11AM, so we read, play cards, and watch as the people filter into the stadium. Some of us nod off, because we had to wake up so early. Eventually we’re sitting knee to knee with each other and some Rwandans. There’s not a single bit of misbehavior in the stadium. Rwandans sit patiently through the hours of waiting and listening to speeches, barely even squiggling anxiously. &nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Two young boys, probably around nine or ten years old, plop down in front of us. As we pass snacks around, they peek over at us, hunger in their eyes. Tim holds a bag of potato chips out to them and they each grab a handful. Later on during the celebration, one of the boys creeps his hand toward a chip that fell to the ground, clearly ashamed. I nod at Jon, and he opens a bag of chips and offers the kids more. We have enough to share, at least with the two boys. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our position in Rwanda, as ethnic minorities who are financially superior, is hard to get used to. We want to give all that we can, but we realize that we cannot sustain anything beyond community service, beyond building relationships.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">After hours of sitting, the celebration begins with a parade of the Rwandan Patriotic Army and the police force. &nbsp;One of the sections of the police force is made up of all women, a representation of females that’s typical for Rwanda. We wave our paper Rwandan flags as the army marches and the sun beats on our backs. Only us Muzungus need sunscreen, and we’re thankful for every gust of wind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Traditional dancers wearing silk, pink dresses move to the beat of a drum. Other dancers, men with long blonde wigs join in, flipping their hair in unison to please the crowd. After some important visitors make it into the stadium and take their places beneath the canopied area of seats, Paul Kagame and his family pull into the stadium. Paul Kagame walks across the field, passing the members of the army and police force. He’s tall, skinny, and walks with confidence. We feel lucky to see him, the man we’ve read so much about, in real life. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The ceremony focuses on reflection of the past to build a brighter future, rather than sustained celebration. Kagame’s speech, which he reads in slow, articulate English, addresses Rwanda’s past, and their hope to continue developing independent of international interests. The Rwandan government faces a lot of international criticism for the authoritative actions despite elections and exponential improvement of the country. The post-colonial and post-genocidal era has been a struggle, but Rwandans are hopeful. At lunch, Rogers says that citizens of Rwanda trust that Kagame’s decisions will reflect what is best for the country. Despite the government’s heavy-handedness, Rwandans are happy to be improving.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">To read Paul Kagame’s awesome speech, you can visit the following link:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.paulkagame.com/">http://www.paulkagame.com/</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">To see videos of the celebration, you can visit the following links:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqxFPUTtM-E">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqxFPUTtM-E</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP675Y4OmBs">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP675Y4OmBs</a></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u>Day 10</u></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">At dinner, Brooke asks the waitress for “Top Up,” the Rwandan version of ketchup. Instead, she receives Turbo King, a local beer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Close enough.</span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/07/weve-been-busy.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-7211689823700511728Sat, 30 Jun 2012 10:23:00 +00002012-06-30T21:43:18.381-07:00The Storm is Coming<br /><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><b><i><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Day 4<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At 4am, an African storm rushes over our dormitory, a stampede of raindrops drums our tin roofs and soaks the walkways, lightning flashes, thunder claps, and we can still hear our resident bats squeaking in the darkness. Though all of us students wake up, our faculty members, Steve, Tim, and Lama, sleep soundly beneath their grass roofs. &nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After breakfast, yes, plantains, eggs, fruit…we have a meeting to discuss how we are all feeling: mind, body, and spirit. In general, it sounds like no one is getting enough sleep, perhaps because of jetlag. Everyone feels spiritually connected to Rwanda and very much at home. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“We can only do so much,” Lama reminds us. We have to keep our own health in mind. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We head to Covaga to teach our first English lesson. When we enter the cooperative, the women look up from their weaving with broad smiles on their faces. They’ve kicked their sandals off and their bare feet sway casually. After Lama explains that we’ve come to teach them English, they start to squish together to make room for us on their straw mats. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lindsey and Sara act out a basic conversation which includes “Hello,” “My name is…,” and “Nice to meet you.” Lama lets the women know the translations and we group up and practice. The women stare at our lips and repeat our words slowly, squealing and grabbing our hands and clapping when they get the pronunciation right. Some women are enthusiastic about learning and find paper and pens to write down the English phrases. We hope that the English will help the women sell their baskets to visitors in the future.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When it’s time to leave, the women start giving us gifts. At first we feel awkward, unsure of whether we can accept the gifts. But the women insist. They also insist on having their photos taken, although we often have to convince them to smile. They wrap their arms around us, and gently place baskets, earrings, and bags into our hands. It’s what Tim calls a “tender moment.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During lunch at our usual place,&nbsp; Yvone’s, Cedric leads us in a song to learn the numbers in Kinyarwanda. We get to number six before things become difficult. After he finishes eating, Rogers starts to play Taylor Swift on his computer, and we can’t help but laugh.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We then split up and some students return to the medical center. Upon arrival, the staff looks prepared with pens and paper in hand. They are eager to learn. Our group is still unsure about how much time we are able to commit. The public health educators wish to be educated about nutrition, and since none of us students study nutrition, Filimon and Carrie, the students interested in community health, will do some research. The public health educators tell people to eat a balanced diet but don’t have a comprehensive description of what that means. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lama says that a balanced diet contains four different colors: yellow, red, green, and white (plus fruit). He tells a story of how Rwandans used to cook beans all day, but then they learned that they could soak the beans overnight and then would only need to cook them for one hour. It’s basic knowledge like this that some Rwandans still lack.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Instead of going to the medical center, Nicole, Brooke, and Lindsey take a longer walk back to the hotel. Before long, they acquire a group of children shouting, “MUZUNGU,” and rushing to hold their hands. They decide that finding a field and starting a soccer game sounds like a good idea.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They find a field, but the “soccer” game ends up consisting of a group of kids playing keep away. Nicole, Brooke and Lindsey decide they should head back. When they start walking, they say, “Murabeho” (Goodbye) to the children. Usually the kids understand that this means it is time for them to head home. This time it doesn’t work. The kids keep walking, big-eyed, curious, and grasping for hands. Nicole, Brooke, and Lindsey hold their hands above their heads to keep the kid’s from holding them and say, “Oya” (No). Nicole is a sucker though, and they quickly have their hands full again.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once they make it to the main road, they create a large gap but the kids keep on coming, now far from home. Eventually Brooke, the stern education major, stops and encourages the kids to go back. This works and before long the kids say goodbye.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In Rwanda, the Muzungus (Westerners) are like celebrities. Everyone in the community stares at us, because staring is not taboo in Rwanda. The children shout and wave from their clay homes as we walk by. Some stand shy, swaying with their hands behind their backs, and say in their best English, “Good Morning” (whether it’s day or night). </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes, they’re so cute, it’s hard to shake them off.</span></span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/day4-at-4am-african-storm-rushesover.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-3330151577672928598Tue, 26 Jun 2012 17:39:00 +00002012-07-08T10:10:01.980-07:00Getting to know Gashora<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Day 2<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Our dormitory is a cement building toward the back of the grounds.&nbsp; In the morning, after taking cold showers, we get to see our surroundings in the light for the first time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">The lake which the hotel sits on, Lake Rumira, hides behind the leaves of banana trees in the gray morning. A cage with a baby monkey and his momma rests just outside of our dormitory, and we assume that the baby monkey was the animal scattering across our tin roofs during the night. We walk past the fields of pineapples, where pineapples pop up, one or two to a plant. We’re astounded; we thought pineapples got pulled out of the ground like carrots! We trot down the cobbled walkways, passing thatched-roof huts, and waving hello to hotel employees, “Muraho!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">For breakfast it's eggs, cooked plantains, beans, pineapple,potatoes, bananas, tree tomatoes, passion fruit, African tea, coffee:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EeYPamafTQ/T_m-iiFUnTI/AAAAAAAAADI/LH_ur9e9e8s/s1600/breakfast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1EeYPamafTQ/T_m-iiFUnTI/AAAAAAAAADI/LH_ur9e9e8s/s320/breakfast.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">&nbsp;(the usual)</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">After breakfast, we head into Gashora to learn about current projects at the women’s cooperative, which Washington State University, and our buddies Taya and Cedric have worked on.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">The dirt road looks much different in the daylight, and Jon realizes that his nighttime fear, the one about animals jumping out of holes in the road, is irrational. Big Dog meets us, wraps his arms around us, and says “Camera?” as he takes our cameras. We soon learn that he is quite the photographer. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We hear singing from a local Pentecostal church, a large building with an unfinished roof and unfinished walls. Children rest in windows and peer out at us. Big Dog rushes up to the church and snaps a photo before a woman shoos him away. “Nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">When we reach Covaga, the building is locked but we see colorful baskets through dusty windows. Cedric is one of the employees of Building Bridges with Rwanda (BBR: See side link) and has worked closely with Washington State University Students like Taya, on agricultural projects. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Currently in Rwanda, 80% of the population survives on subsistence farming of a few crops. Most meals in Gashora consist of only bananas, cassava (a local plant), and beans, and therefore, the community has many issues with malnutrition. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">One project, a “kitchen garden,” is a circular, tiered garden that introduces more nutritious crops to Gashora. The top tier is carrots, the second tier is beets, the third tier is cabbage, and the bottom tier is amaranths (a plant from the spinach family). The kitchen garden is an attempt to teach the community how to cultivate a greater variety of plants to achieve better nutrition.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Taya gives the group a tour of the Eco-latrine. The interior of the latrine remains consistent with Rwandan culture, and this is merely a hole in the ground. However, the latrine is elevated above ground and has a compartment below it where waste is collected to later be used as fertilizer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">The next stop is the mushroom house, a shed shaded with banana leaves to keep the house cool for mushrooms. A container of worms also exists to create worm compost to aid in fertilization. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Next, Taya shows us her baby, a solar dehydrator. The sun enters and gets trapped between plexi-glass and a black board, rises into an enclosed wooden box where the hot, dry air flows through, ripping moisture from foods. She tells us that, inside, are pineapples, bananas, and tomatoes, and that the pineapples and bananas worked really well inside the dehydrator. The hope for the future is that the dehydrated foods can benefit the Covaga economically. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We return to the hotel for lunch and meet near the lake for a discussion with Lama, our partner in Rwanda, and founder of “Building Bridges with Rwanda.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">“We don’t choose where we are born. You’re born in America, your life takes off. You’re born in Rwanda it goes somewhere else,” Lama says. He explains his history, how his family fled Rwanda in 1959 to Burundi when Hutus began to overthrow Tutsis. &nbsp;&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">For a view of the hotel, and more information about Covaga and Building Bridges with Rwanda, please see the links to the right.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Day 3<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">As the first group from Western Washington University, part of our responsibility includes learning the present infrastructure and needs of Gashora as well as the community’s resources and future plans. A final cohesive document, an asset map, will provide the information needed for other groups to start projects in Rwanda. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">On our way into town, we finally experience what Taya was talking about in reference to the children. They wave from their houses yelling, “Muzungu!” (Westerner/white person). Some rush out to grab our hands, and I wind up with three children on one of my arms. Their clothes and bodies are covered in the red Rwandan dust, but as their lips part for a smile, there’s nothing but white innocence. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We meet in the Gashora’s sector building with the sector’s executive secretary, and the Education Officer, Priscilla. When asked if she has any problems with her position of authority because of her gender, Priscilla shakes her head. Rwanda is on the forefront of gender equality, partially because many men died during the genocide, and partially because the constitution calls for a minimum of 30% of government positions to be held by women. Today, 60% of the government positions are held by women. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">“There is a saying in Rwanda that ‘All women of Rwanda have Paul Kagame’s number,” jokes our Rwandan friend and Covaga helper, Rogers. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We then visit Covaga and have a meeting with the women who attempt to teach us Kinyarwanda and love to hear one of the faculty members, Steve Vanderstaay, speak to them in Kinyarwandan. They sound excited to have out help, and we plan to start teaching them English immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">After lunch in town at Yvone’s, where we ate our first night in Gashora. It’s the usual: plantains, rice, amaranths, pineapple, but somehow, we still love it. Also, Fantas for all! Rogers, unlike most Rwandans, is open to discussing the genocide. I think we feel as though our readings have prepared us, since we understand most of what Rogers talks about.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We trek the dusty roads to the Primary School where our magnetic Mazungu forces really take hold. Hundreds of children start running towards us. Suddenly, we’re surrounded by smiling, shy faces. Then, Rogers gets all of the children to start singing and clapping, joining in on a Rwandan song about children leading the future. Big Dog takes pictures on our cameras. Eventually, the party has to end, the children need to learn, and so do we.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">We meet with the Vice President of the Primary School and five other teachers who tell us about their needs. Currently at the primary school, there are 18 teachers, and 1,200 students (the students attend classes in two different periods, AM and PM). One of their largest problems is learning and teaching English.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">After the genocide, the Rwandan government ordered a switch from teaching French to teaching English. The denouncement of French is partially due to France’s involvement in arms deals which supported <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">genocidaires</i> during the genocide as well as after the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">genocidaires</i>fled the country into the Congo. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Another reason for the switch to English is simple: English is the international language for business. With Rwanda’s dense population, there is not enough land for so many Rwandans to be subsistence farmers;&nbsp; Rwanda needs entrepreneurial developments and will benefit from learning the English language. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Since the switch was relatively recent, some of the teachers do not know enough English to adequately help their students. Unfortunately, with a schedule that starts at 7am and goes until 5pm, there’s little time in the day for teachers to receive help with English.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Finally, we tour the Gashora medical center. It’s the nicest building in town, with towering ceilings and tiled floors. Despite the assumption that a medical center would be full of suffering patients, there are only a few, and they don’t seem to be suffering. The first room we enter, the room where blood is tested for diseases, smells of alcohol swabs. There are signs on the walls encouraging the use of condoms, and a separate room for family planning. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">The medical center also contains a library for medical employees to continue their education. Unfortunately, many of the employees do not understand English, and cannot read all of the books. This is the only library in Gashora and is not open to the public.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">Then, we tour the old medical center. It’s a shaded, grimy building containing hospital beds as remnants of the old center. The man giving us the tour is almost too tall for the building. Though the new center only has a few rooms, it’s clearly a vast improvement.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">At the end of the day, the reality of poverty in Gashora has us exhausted. As we leave the town, children hold our hands and follow us as far as they can. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">They say, “What is your name?” and “How old are you?” some of the only phrases they know so far. Our Kinyarwandan is about as good as their English, so we’re feeling good about our time here.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: large;">By 8:30pm, we’re ready for sleep.</span><o:p></o:p></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/0-0-1-1336-7619-western-washington.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-3035265804795041688Sun, 24 Jun 2012 14:33:00 +00002012-06-26T10:46:59.369-07:00Touching down in Rwanda<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">&nbsp;<i><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</b></i><span style="font-size: large;"><u style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><i><b>Night 1</b></i></u></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">All of our flights go smoothly, despite a delay taking off from JFK and a short layover in Brussels which has us speed-walking across the airport wishing we had time to brush our teeth. The last leg of the trip, a 7 hour flight, proves to be the most difficult. We feel a little queasy from our anti-malaria pills, exhausted from lack of sleep and vertical naps, and the flight attendants keep our bellies bloated toward the pull-down trays. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">But the airplane is sparse, spacious, and allows for decent stretching of the legs. Sara sits next to the Director of Human rights from Uganda, Lauren and Nicole find themselves in front of a crying baby who likes to punch seats, and I meet a missionary of Rick Warren’s, an Evangelical&nbsp; pastor who has sent around 15,000 missionaries to Rwanda. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">The religious situation in Rwanda is interesting. At the time of their appearance in Rwanda, the Belgian missionaries from the Catholic Church believed in a “Hamitic Ideology” which considers certain ethnicities superior. These missionaries believed that Tutsis were whiter and came to Africa from Europe; this ideology played a role in the ethnic division of Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda which led to the genocide.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">In 1959, when Hutu extremists first began the process of eliminating Tutsis, churches became a refuge for the Tutsis. However, in 1994, when the genocide began, some priests encouraged Tutsis to seek refuge in churches and then informed Hutu extremists that they could come in and mass murder the hiding Tutsis.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Some Rwandans believe that the Vatican has yet to come clean about the blood on their hands, and people are very angry with the Catholic Church. Still, survivors of the genocide are born again Christians who see their survival as God’s message that they have purpose. Rick Warren, despite his bad reputation in Uganda, is a hero in Rwanda. The current role of church includes teaching Rwandans the Bible which increases literacy, and creating development projects that teach trades and create infrastructure. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Paul Kagame, the current president of Rwanda, does not claim to be a religious person. Still, he accepts current involvement of the church because it allows Rwandans to reach toward reconciliation, something so difficult that spirituality seems to be the only option. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">When we descend the steps from the plane, a sweet smell greets us. Our feet hit the African asphalt, and reality still hasn’t hit. After retrieving our bags, we meet Tim, one of the faculty members and also the whitest person in the airport. He waves us down, clearly jittery from cappuccino, and we meet our Rwandan partner, Lama. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">On the way to our hotel, La Palisse in Kigali, lights dot the many Rwandan hills like blue fireflies. At the hotel, red cobble walk ways remind us of Western’s campus. The hotel personnel lug our bags to our rooms up a steep hill; they really like to help. Our rooms are unexpectedly gorgeous, despite the old smell. Mosquito nets hang from the ceiling like a flowing African dream.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LqYXROLNP_Q/T-cmc0OMuAI/AAAAAAAAABk/W1bWf3xCg60/s1600/rwanda+1+046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LqYXROLNP_Q/T-cmc0OMuAI/AAAAAAAAABk/W1bWf3xCg60/s320/rwanda+1+046.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BM6Yq8uXiaQ/T-cnI_cHuBI/AAAAAAAAABs/hDkzQXs793E/s1600/rwanda+1+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BM6Yq8uXiaQ/T-cnI_cHuBI/AAAAAAAAABs/hDkzQXs793E/s320/rwanda+1+047.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">On our way to dinner, at an Ethiopian restaurant, we pile 17 people into a van. Most of the roads in Kigali are paved, but everyone squashes up against each other as the van rumbles over the red Rwandan clay. “This is called African massage,” says Lama, laughing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">We meet Taya, a student from Washington State University, who has been working in Gashora with the cooperative we will be servicing during our trip. She’s been in Rwanda for almost a month and has many tips for us: bring tissue with you everywhere, you never know when there won’t be toilet paper; bring wipes, you never know when there won’t be a sink; take every opportunity to wash your hands; don’t buy things without assistance from a Rwandan friend, white skin=jacked price; the kids will love you and fight to hold your hands, three kids to each hand. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">“You’re going to love it here,” she says. We hear that from everyone we meet.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><i><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">Day 1</span></b></i></u></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">“You can’t manage time, but time can manage you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">After breakfast, we plan to visit the Kigali Memorial Centre which commemorates the genocide, get lunch and figure out financial affairs in Kigali, and visit a local neighborhood before heading to our hotel in Gashora. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Instead, we sit on the stone steps in front of the lobby chatting with hotel personnel and playing cards. The van can’t fit us and our luggage. Eventually, we decide on using two vans, one to get our luggage to Gashora, and one to transport us for the day.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dfQpyydjQyw/T-coXlZQOCI/AAAAAAAAAB0/uw3cEAozYYI/s1600/rwanda+1+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dfQpyydjQyw/T-coXlZQOCI/AAAAAAAAAB0/uw3cEAozYYI/s320/rwanda+1+049.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><i>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Tim in the van</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">On the way to the memorial, a Rwandan student filming us, Olivier, tells me about a saying in Rwanda: “I can’t manage time, but time can manage me,” and we laugh about the van confusion. When a car stops in the middle of the road, completely in our way, Olivier shouts, “This one’s drunk!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">“No, he’s from Congo,” jokes Lama.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">“No, Uganda!” laughs Olivier. In African countries which were originally colonized by the British like Uganda, people drive on the left side of the road, but in Rwanda, which was a Belgian colony, the people drive on the right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">At the memorial, somber faces visit mass graves and read walls of history. The first panel reads: “This is about our past and our future, our nightmares and dreams, our fear and our hope.”&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7dL2TZgkI0/T-cpgOtL7-I/AAAAAAAAAB8/GD31I-D5BLQ/s1600/rwanda+1+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7dL2TZgkI0/T-cpgOtL7-I/AAAAAAAAAB8/GD31I-D5BLQ/s320/rwanda+1+052.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mass Grave</i></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CslBdeU5bfU/T-cp4Q9oYkI/AAAAAAAAACI/cPd8Qp6V_yw/s1600/rwanda+1+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CslBdeU5bfU/T-cp4Q9oYkI/AAAAAAAAACI/cPd8Qp6V_yw/s320/rwanda+1+054.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Before being colonized by the Germans in 1892, the division between Hutus, Tutsis, and Twas was socio-economical. The Germans sided with the monarchy, which was comprised of Tutsi, the richer class. Still, classes were fluid and a Hutu could become a Tutsi by becoming rich. For example, a Tutsi was defined as a Rwandan with ten or more cows. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">After WWI, Rwanda was given to Belgium as a trust territory. In 1932, Belgians issued identity cards, even using rulers to measure facial features of Rwandans to determine whether they were Hutu, Tutsi, or Twa. They determined that 5% of the population was Tutsi, 84% Hutu, and 1% Twa. Belgians viewed Tutsi as superior.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">When the ruler, or mwami, of Rwanda refused to join the Catholic army, and challenged Belgian rule, he was disposed of. Eventually, Belgians believed that the conservative Tutsis were more vulnerable to Marxism and decided that the Hutu class was more connected to the Catholic Church. They then switched to being sympathetic toward Hutus. In 1959, after being encouraged by Belgians, Hutus began to overthrow the Tutsi.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">In reference to 1959, when he was forced to flee to Burundi, Lama says, “my mother told me that the object wasn’t to exterminate Tutsis but to get them out of the country so that [Hutus] could take our land.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">When Tutsi refugees in Uganda grouped up as the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) and surged Rwanda on October 1<sup>st</sup>, 1990, things got tense. The genocide started on April 6<sup>th</sup>, 1994, led by the government’s party of Hutu extremists. In a hundred days, over a million Rwandans were killed, mostly Tutsis, until the RPF ended the Genocide on July 18<sup>th</sup>. More details about these events will be spread throughout the blog, but I’d like to give readers a break </span><span style="font-size: large;">:) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">For any worried parents out there, Rwanda is currently the safest country in Africa, filled with smiling, helpful faces. We have flushing toilets, cold showers, cell phones, and have only seen 3 or 4 mosquitos; Malaria risk is very low in Rwanda. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">After visiting the memorial, we travel to the busy city of Kigali and settle for lunch. We learn that if a woman orders an orange Fanta, it implies that she is a virgin. So a lot of us order orange Fanta. We visit an ATM, and a local grocery store much like a Fred Meyer. Then we wait…I remember the saying about time which Olivier told me. We don’t have time to visit the local neighborhood. After waiting almost two hours and paying a few hundred francs for the bathroom ($1=612 RWF (Rwandan Francs)), a van arrives to take us to Gashora.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ze8FrYAB73E/T-cqLpck3mI/AAAAAAAAACQ/h3Avzx8XI04/s1600/rwanda+1+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ze8FrYAB73E/T-cqLpck3mI/AAAAAAAAACQ/h3Avzx8XI04/s320/rwanda+1+062.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">A bright orange sun sets over the luscious hills of Rwanda which are spotted with banana and guava trees. The area we drive through was burned to a crisp during the genocide but has since been replanted. We all get another African massage on the way to the hotel, which is a of couple miles past the Gashora city center. After freshening up, we head back to the city center for dinner.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Here, we meet “Big Dog,” one of the students sponsored by Lama’s program. He joins us for dinner and we soon discover how silly he is. Dinner consists of some of the usual local food: potatoes, beans, and pineapple. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">We celebrate the birthday of one of the Rwandan students working with the Covaga Cooperative, Cedric. He tells us that he’s never had a birthday celebration before; he’s just turned 26. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">We almost fall asleep in our cake. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">But first we need to walk 20 minutes up a dirt road, in the dark, to reach our hotel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">This is only the beginning.</span></div>http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/touching-down-in-rwanda.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8243090686661483166.post-1222413115088766450Wed, 20 Jun 2012 01:59:00 +00002012-06-26T07:12:36.274-07:00Pre-Departure<div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stuff our bags, check our lists, frantically text each other for opinions on bag sizes, call/see our families and friends for goodbyes, cuddle our pets, ingest anti-malarial pills, check e-mails, research Rwandan current events, and wrack our brains to be sure we've got it all: bug spray, toothbrush, laundry detergent, lotion, sunscreen, water bottle, ibuprofen, allergy medicine...</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">On Thursday at 5am, we'll trudge in to the Seattle-Tacoma airport, sleep still crusted in our eyes, our hearts thumping quickly. It will probably be raining. After passing through security, we'll rush to the Starbucks and sip the last drops of our Pacific Northwest home. We'll update our Facebook statuses, write in our journals, and feel our nerves dancing. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">As the first group of Western students going on the study abroad trip to Rwanda, we're the guinea pigs: we're still unsure of what exactly we'll be doing (but we'll keep you posted). </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What we know is, we're going to have a blast, build relationships with awesome people, and learn more than we could ever imagine.&nbsp; </span></div><br /><br />http://rwandastudy2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/pre-departure.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Ali Beemsterboer)0