Mere Words

30 March, 2010

I received my packages today. With much excitement and the use of a surprisingly large knife, I carved my way into the mess of cardboard and tape that protected my treasures from across the great blue. With several people standing around in tense anticipation, including our very Christian, very conservative assistant, I opened the first package, the one filled with underwear.

Corine had told me that everyone had wanted to send something in the package, and she refused to tell me about anything that was included (aside from the underwear, I was really excited about that), so everything I found was a surprise.

I’ve been here now for 3 months, exactly half the amount of time that I will be here in total. When you study abroad, you read a lot of different analyses of what they call “culture shock.” Each study abroad agency has a different one, and I haven’t really found any of them to be accurate, except for their nominal capabilities. In each one that I read, I find new words to describe how I’m feeling. Half way through my experience, which happens to be about 2 months longer than the typical study abroad, I should be: in the disintegration stage (the lowest point before reintegration); feeling homesick, helpless, and depressed; or frustrated, embarrassed, tense, and confused. Most of these analyses are depicted by a line-graph. The main point of the graph is that my emotional state will dip very low before I gradually become accustomed to the foreign culture.

Receiving these packages, though it made me realize just how much I miss all my friends and family, did much more than that; it was a wake-up call. While I’ve been here, of course I’ve felt the homesickness and confusion and tension and definitely the frustration of a foreign culture. Africa can be a frustrating place, especially for an American who wants everything right now. Not only that, but I’ve been dealing with frustration with the program I chose to study abroad with. My classes haven’t been challenging, and I haven’t felt as though my time here was being well spent. I found myself angry and disappointed with my teachers and other authority figures. I wanted to drop out of one of my classes simply to make a statement of principle.
Last week was perhaps the most challenging week since I have been here. It started out pleasantly enough. On Friday we traveled three hours to Lake Kivu on the border of Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Although this geographical region is a focal point of refugees and civil unrest, our time there was relaxing and enjoyable. Aside from being a “home” to the Banyamulenge among several other refugee groups, Lake Kivu is a tourist destination. The water is a cool, blue-green, and clear enough to see the slippery rocks on the bottom. The climate, high in the mountains of Western Rwanda, was breezy and warm. We took a slow-moving wooden boat out to one of the islands on the lake called Napoleon Island. Once there, we began hiking to the top. Along the way, our guides ran ahead of us into the dense forestation on the mountainside, and we heard loud claps. In just a few moments, the sky was thick with bats flying overhead. Thousands upon thousands of large, black and brown bats emerged from the woods to put on their aerial display. Being a small island, the path to the top was steep. The ground was loose with grey and black ash-like dirt, and centipedes lazed in the shade of guava trees. The sky was grey that day, and the top of the island provided a cool and breezy environment to relax. From the top I could see the hillside horizon that was the DR Congo. The water swirled far below me, almost like the top of a rain cloud.

That night we met a couple of German guys that were also staying at our hotel. They worked for a German development NGO; I think it was focused on water purification. It was an uproarious occasion, and late into the night Marcel decided that he wanted to call Corine, after Morgan told him how attractive she is. Instead of hitting on her like I expected though, he decided to tell her that I was in prison because they had found me “in a very dark room.” I don’t know what that was supposed to mean, but it was truly hilarious. After a few minutes, I think she heard the girls laughing and I got on the phone to tell her that, “I’m just hangin’ out with some Germans.” I’m not sure Corine liked it very much.
So it looked as though my week would be an enjoyable one; what with such a great start, it couldn’t go too far downhill. It turns out I was wrong. We returned to Kigali on Sunday, and immediately began packing for a week in Matimba in the Eastern Province. I’m not sure if we just weren’t given much information about what our week would be like, or if I just wasn’t listening. Either one of those options has been proved quite likely during my time here. After another three hour drive across this tiny country, we arrived at TTC Matimba, a teacher’s training college in a rural area. I think it is important to mention that everywhere in Rwanda is basically rural excepting Kigali. The students at TTC are mainly 18 to 19 year olds that scored lower on their tests and couldn’t get accepted into one of the universities in Rwanda. I found it ironic that the school system here sends the students who score low into a teaching career. Nevertheless, the students immediately surrounded us, eager to practice their newfound English speaking skills with native speakers. Some of the questions we were asked were quite entertaining. The conversation would generally go something like this:

Student: I would like to ask you a question.
Rob: Sure.
Student: From where are you in United States?
Rob: Arkansas.
Student: ? (puzzled look) How much money to get to Canada?
Rob: Uhh, probably like three or four hundred dollars.
Student: Oohhhh.

And while this sounds mildly entertaining, it became much less so after it occurred 10 to 20 times. It became even less entertaining when it occurred as I was sitting in my bed reading. While their curiosity was inspiring, I came to resent it. I found it intrusive and boring.

During the week we stayed in the boys bunk, a large concrete and brick room filled with around 15 bunk beds. Throughout the week, I came to understand their lifestyle less and less, each day was a new surprise that further confused my Western sensibilities. Each night the students kept the lights and radio turned on until around 11 pm. After that, they walked around to each other’s bunks to chat in Kinyarwanda until midnight or later. Several times during the night, I woke up to see a small group huddled around a flashlight in the middle of the room. Then, around 5 in the morning all the boys woke up. The radio was switched on along with the lights, and people began to take bucket baths, to dance, to talk, and most of this was done stark naked. Every day, I got out of bed around 7 after a few hours of cocooning myself beneath my sheets and my pillow. Every morning we had a plain omelet and a large piece of maize meal bread. Then we went out into the surrounding area to interview vulnerable families about their lifestyle. Every day we would inevitably be followed by a group of 5 to 35 children that were either too young to go to school, did not have the money to pay school fees, or were wearing their uniform and had just gotten out for lunch time. These children didn’t want anything from us; in fact, they weren’t really interested in communicating with us at all. They simply wanted to stare. In Rwandan culture, mzungus are seen by children as ghosts, and often told that if they are not good, the mzungu will come and eat them. At the same time, however, there seems to be a mysterious attraction to my pale skin. Sometimes, when the crowd of children becomes overwhelming, we all turn around at the same time and growl at them, only to see that their fear is real as they run away screaming.

Interviewing some of the poorest families in one of the poorest countries in the world was a completely life changing experience. Since I’ve been here I’ve been questioning my definition of poverty constantly, and this experience was perhaps the most intense period of redefinition. I found myself looking at people who had a tin roof without holes and more than 1 hectare of land as the wealthy. I said to myself, “These people seem to be doing really well.” Reflecting on those thoughts brings out how ridiculous they really are. I find it amazing that a family with upwards of 10 children finds ways to survive with half a hectare and no other source of income. Access to water generally requires a 2 to 3 hour walk, and that’s on the days that the tap is functioning. Some families had so many children that it became difficult to remember all of the names.

If all of this wasn’t frustrating enough, I was still dealing with my own Western, mzungu problems. For lunch everyday we had a boiled egg, more maize bread, and a tree tomato. This is a good lunch compared to the families that eat maize meal and beans twice a day. Most families only have meat 1 to 3 times a year.

Coming back to Kigali at the end of the week was a relief. I hadn’t showered in 5 days and had tried to tame my bowel movements so as to avoid the boys’ bathroom that smelled like a dirty elephant cage in the zoo. By the time I left, I had mastered the art of squatting over a hole in the ground. Against this background, Kigali became the center of civilization with both Internet and running water. Before I left for the Eastern Province I found myself missing things like Cheezits, good wine, and Waffle House. The frustrations that I felt before I left, or while I was there, have become obsolete. Thinking about staying here for another three months doesn’t intimidate me as much as it used to. Most of the culture shock charts emphasize the development of coping mechanisms. Maybe that’s what is happening. I’d like to think though, that I’ve developed a sense of contentedness with my life at this point.

Getting my packages, with all the comforts of the US, and all the letters from all of the people that care about me even from 5,000 miles away, showed me that my time here isn’t just about how my worldview is changed while I’m here. All of the shallow tensions and frustrations that I’ve experienced are just that, shallow and meaningless. While I value my sanity, I acknowledge that my anger and disappointment with my teachers, with Rwandan public transportation, and the service industry here in general is minute. The ways in which I can see that I’ve affected other people’s worldviews, your worldview if you’re reading this, is what is important to me. Many of the leaders that I’ve met with have urged me to be an ambassador with Rwanda, to share the story of this country, its obstacles, its successes. Although it may not have seemed like much all the way in America, the chapstick, the underwear, the cookies and the candy brought with them a powerful message- a message of success. I have, on some level, made an accomplishment, through all the tension and frustration. It makes me proud of myself to realize that my time here can do something, that it can change the way other people view the world. Thank you all for reading and encouraging and raising me. And now I’m happy that I can finally give something back, even if it comes in the form of mere words.