kure y'amaso, sikure y'umutima

29 november 2009

Here I am, once again, sitting under my yellow (gender neutral) mosquito net canopy. I'm surrounded by a bed covered in envelopes, stamps and loving, kind words of encouragement - both incoming and outgoing. Thank you.

While we had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner here - cooked in the backyard over charcoal stoves and baked in ovens dug into the ground - I still found it incredibly hard to be away from home. Dinner was really special, the table brought to life with wild flowers gathered by the lake and candles dancing all in colors of warmth, but any of our LCFs (language culture facilitators) could see in our blank gazes that our minds and our hearts were not here in Rwanda, but rather in the homes of our aunts and uncles, grandparents and families.

Abel, one of our teachers, got it spot on when he turned to me and asked:

"What are you missing?"

"Everything" was my response.

I fought back tears.

Meredith, our teaching director, made an announcement thanking everyone for all they'd done to prepare for our first Rwandan Thanksgiving (the cooks, the cleaners, the flower arrangers, the eaters), then a hush lull washed over the room; that's when my ears caught it, the final notes of Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World", my Grandpa Hofsess' song.

I felt him there, his presence. My first holiday away from home, but as the phrase goes "kure y'amaso, sikure y'umutima" (far from the eyes, not far from the heart).

I believe music has a funny way of doing that to a person, connecting us to memories and hearts of others, far away in both space and time. Maybe it sounds silly, but I find comfort in it and in believing that my grandpa was there helping me to celebrate Thanksgiving when the rest of my family wasn't and couldn't be.

Today I decided to attend church with my host family. At home, setting foot anywhere near a church fills me with anxiety and discomfort. I have been struggling to come to terms with my own definition of faith and spirituality as far back as freshmen year of college - I'm sure before then as well, it probably just wasn't until college that I realized I had a say in that department.

Honestly, I feel uncomfortable just writing about it. I fear that my admittance to my own uncertainty about religion and spirituality will hurt or disappoint certain friends and family. I know that for some, faith is something they've never thought about questioning, but as I've said before, I'm not one to go about things the traditional way.

At home, sitting in church, every time the crowd responds with a chorus of "Amens" to something the priest has said, I am sitting there, 2 steps behind, still deciding if I want to put my seal of "amen" on whatever it was he'd said minutes ago. I analyze everything, questioning whether or not it's something I stand for, something I want to ask a higher power for - remember I'm incredibly superstitious as well, so I try to be extra careful about what I wish for, especially when it comes to consulting G-o-d...

This morning, walking in with my host mother and three young host brothers, after mass had already started (the running late to church thing isn't just a Gaunt family trend I see), we found seats in the front rows of the back half of the church. I was grateful to be seated behind the majority of people already present as to not stir up too much commotion (muzungu in the house...). As mass proceeded, heaps of people continued to file in. Large groups of children wandered in together, as young as those clearly new to their feet - as they wobble around with heavy, uncoordinated steps - and those no older than 7, all seated together in rows, children balancing children on their laps, babies holding babies.

I wonder if those children are orphans. It is very possible that many are - but then I look around the enormous room and see Mama after Mama, dressed head to toe in wax-print, a Mama to one, a Mama to all. Really makes me believe the "it takes a village" theory - where all women are mothers - with or without a dozen children of their own.

& the service went on -

I stood up when I was meant to stand up, I kneeled on the wooden bench in front of our own when I was meant to kneel, I clapped along with all of the clap-along songs that were sung by a chorus of children, their voices as rich as the Earth and culture they come from, and I sat there, I let it all happen to me. I let the Kinyarwanda seep into my pores, I let the notes flow in and out of my consciousness as I felt a bath of gratefulness warming my heart. I was in a church, I was surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of people I am unable to communicate with in any way other than the universal smile that comes so naturally, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of people all different shades of chocolate, exaggerating the pinkness of my own skin, all so different, all so foreign, all so African, and yet it all felt so right.

There was no pressure to respond in prayer - I don't know the language. There was no pressure to commit my beliefs to one thing or another. All I had to do was go through the motions, stand up, sit down, kneel, clap - and I can do that - no problem, and allow the culture and language to fill me with wonder and comfort.

To my surprise, in the midst of it all, I didn't find myself stressing - as I've done in any American church I've set foot in recently - rather, I found myself sitting there, lost in thought (prayer?), counting my blessings, expressing my gratitude for all those at home who work behind the scenes, unknowingly fueling me with the support and confidence, the courage and strength it takes for me to be away from them on Thanksgiving, for months and years on end. Making this journey of self-discovery in Rwanda possible. And gosh, call me crazy, but isn't that church is meant to be about? Isn't it about remembering the good things in life, and asking for the strength to find and fulfill your purpose, whatever that may be?

Just kinda funny that with this language barrier, only when I am able to stop tripping over all of the words and prayers and chants and promises, does love, God, whatever you want to call it, flow naturally from within.

I'm sorry if my religious ignorance offends you, or makes you think differently of me. I don't have all the answers, I never will, but I've got 2 years here and in that time, I hope to find a few of them.

Much love, as always.

- nicole

umunezero - forever happy

25 november 2009

I am thankful..

for my new Rwandan name: umunezero, forever happy.

for the fact that I have been finding happiness in every single day, no matter how big or small it may be, I am just glad that it is there.

for my sister who made me a dream catcher to protect me from the Mephaquin nightmares that haunt me from time to time.

for the dreams I often have where I am at home again (798 Alberton, of course), spending the afternoon with my family. It's almost like I get to visit you all every other day, sometimes it feels so real that I actually think it is.

for my grandma who has learned how to email and dial long-distance so that she can keep in touch with me half way around the world.

for being able to maintain a vegetarian diet here in Rwanda - if you saw the meat in the market, you would understand.

for having studied abroad in Tours - where I had teachers who were patient with me and designed creative lessons to help me learn French, which I feel is helping to make me a better English teacher for my students here in Rwanda.

for getting a roll of toilet paper every Sunday, so that I don't have to take quite as many napkins throughout the week from the dining room after every meal.

for every time there is a bucket full of water in the restroom beside the toilet for flushing.

for my ipod that allows my mind to escape into memories, feelings or nothingness from time to time.

for the heavy clouds that play hide & seek with the mountains in the early mornings, for the sun that shines in the sky, and for the afternoon thunderstorms that cool things down.

for the starry nights where I can see Orion's belt - and I don't feel so far from home.

for the yellow dish-washing gloves from Elizabeth that allow me to hand-wash my laundry without quite so much discomfort to my skin.

for the laundry days when the sun is so strong that my clothes dry in one afternoon.

for the laundry days when I am too lazy to do a proper rinse and it storms, getting that left over soap residue out for me.

for the electricity that allows me to charge my laptop & camera.

for the nights when the electricity is out so we have to have candle-lite dinners.

for my mosquito net that protects me from the giant grasshoppers that have taken over Rwanda this week.

for the electric tea-kettle that makes it possible to take a warm bucket bath every day.

for the funky shirts and treasures that I find at the market on a weekly basis.

for the fact that my students were well behaved today, so much so that we were able to play a game throwing around the big globe, without things getting too crazy.

for my summer at KP with a staff of amazing individuals who taught me how to really love myself.

for dark chocolate that arrived last week. yum.

for the opportunity to visit Africa, make a contribution to the world and grow as a person.

for my parents, grandparents, friends and family who send me their love, support and updates on a regular basis - be it in the form of letters, chocolate, emails, songs, leaves, phone-calls or prayers. Thank you.

Thank you for being there for me, even when so far away.

with much love & much to be thankful for,

- nicole

I just spent the last hour & a half stirring a huge pot of onions, garlic, oil & spices over a charcoal fire & you know what, I am happy as a clam

22 november 2009

It has been just a wonderful day.

I woke up bright and early, just after 7:30 or so. The sun was out and a heavy fog hung over the mountains in our backyard. Penny and I split a pineapple for breakfast and I decided that the sky was far too blue to spend much time inside today so I went to my room, packed up a to-go sack and headed out the door.

My destination was the art museum that sits on a hill (mountain?) overlooking all of Nyanza. The museum was originally built to be the new home for the king, but he died (suspected murder) before that was possible. On the way, I stopped to snap a picture of what I think is the most beautifully colored house in all of Nyanza. I've been meaning to photograph it since we first arrived but only today did I fell comfortable enough taking my camera out in the early hours of the morning, before the streets were too heavily populated with wanderers and church-going traffic afoot.

Here, grass and weeds are all cut by hand... or more-so by tool, but there certainly are no gas-powered lawnmowers in town. On my way to the top of the perch where the museum sits, I passed by different groups of men in charge of "mowing" the enormous lawn. What a job, swinging this tool away hour after hour in the burning sun. But you'd be amazed by how evenly cut the fields are. I felt slightly nervous, having all sorts of valuables in my bag, as I passed by, but after the men got a good glance at whatever it was they were looking at, they got back to work and let me be as I found my resting spot. I sat there, soaking up the sun, listening to memory-infused tunes and pouring my thoughts out in letters for what must have been a couple of hours. Long enough to get a little burn on my arms and chest - a sun kiss to warm my skin.

This afternoon I visited my resource family. I made plans to come home and cook around 3:30, leaving myself an out, a legit excuse to go, if things were too awkward and uncomfortable. Fortunately this was one of the most pleasant visits I've had to my family and time passed by quickly without me even noticing it.

My host mother said that she wants to have a "kwita izina" - a naming ceremony for me. She wants to give me a Rwandan name. I'd been hoping that this would happen, but I told her that I did not want to be "Kayitesi" (which ultimately means "spoiled girl" - the name a couple of girls in our group have been given) but that I wanted to be named "Guseka", which is the verb "to laugh" in Kinyarwanda. I asked what my host family's Rwandan names were and they explained. The daughter, Diane's means "comfort" and I nearly had tears in my eyes as my host mom said in Kinyarwanda, "my comfort". (For a family who has experienced so much hurt and struggle - a mother who has lost all of her siblings, adopted all of their children, whose husband is in the hospital and has been/will be for who knows how long - hearing her talk about her daughter, whose Rwandan name literally means comfort, it warmed my heart). Lembert on the other hand, when he told me what his Rwandan name translates to, he made me blush and giggle: Breast.

Breast?!?.

Breast.

.... do you know what a breast is? You mean this?? (as I point to my sunburned chest)

Breast.

..why??

Because I am breast from God.

You are the breast of God?

Because I am breast.

(a realization!) BLessed!!

Breast.

You are a bLessing from God. BLLLLLLLessed.

Blllllllessed.

That whole darn L/R thing here...

Let me tell ya, another girl, Michelle, couldn't help but to crack up when speaking about politics and a man said "women's erections".

eRection. eLection.

pRay. pLay.

...

Maybe we should have an entire week of school dedicated to correcting this mistake.

Walking home from Mama wanjye's house, a young guy struck up a conversation with me. I am proud to say that about 80% of it took place in Kinyarwanda.

He asked where I was going. I said home.

He asked where I was coming from, I told him the market, town.

I told him that my mother works in the market, that she is a vender.

He got a kick out of this.

(I just didn't specify that I have a couple of mothers in this world - a good few in the States, a keeper in France.. shoot, and you know what.. I just happen to have one who works at the market in Nyanza, Rwanda).

He asked what I did.

I told him I was a fishermen.

A fishermen?

He was shocked.

Then I told him I was a farmer.

Then I told him, no, no, I am a driver.

Finally, I told him that I was an English teacher.

(might as well practice as much vocab as possible I figure)

He asked if I had children.

I said yes. Two.

Their names are Valence and Assinath.

(these are the names of our language teachers at school)

He was so surprised.

Uri umumama??! (You are a mother?!)

Yego. (Yes.)

I asked how old he was.

He said twenty.

He asked how old I am.

I said 40.

He said I could be his mother!

Yego.

Then I told him the truth. 22.

He caught on, no, I don't have children.

Then I reached home and our little game was over.

It was fun while it lasted.

It's nearly 6:30 now. The sun has set, leaving just a lighter spot, highlighting the clouds in the distance, only to fade into a rich navy over my shoulder.

The scent of the spices seeped into my skin.

Ethiopian food.

I feel like here, I will discover, or rather, create the foundation for what will later in life be my culture.

Yes, I am American, but what does that even mean?

If/when I have children, I want them to have a special home life, a family culture.

I want us to cook some sort of traditional meals,

I want us to have our own language at home, one different from that spoken at school.

This is a big idea and I don't quite have the time nor the battery power left to put into exploring it.

Just,

I feel like over these next couple of years,

I will grow up.

I will have my first career,

I will have my first home,

I will learn to cook for myself,

I will do all of these things that I haven't done in the States.

I will become an adult in Rwanda.

Gosh, I think that's really exciting.

You know when you look at the mountains and you say "I wanna go there". Well, today I went there. Then I played soccer with Big G, Little G, Ball Ho

Tuesday, 17th November 2009

Good morning class.
My name is Ms. Nicole.

(scramble to tape up lyrics)

Number lines 1-14 in your copy book
(circulates) No, no. Not: 1, 2, 3.
(find student who has done it correctly, hold up notebook) Your paper should look like this:
1.
2.
3.
ect.

Today we will listen to a song, but first I will read it through and we will go over any vocabulary that you don't understand.

...what is to catch? (begins vocab list on the board)
...what is a light?
No.. not "correct, not "right"" (they don't differentiate between l and r here.. play/pray - very complicated. "you do not play to your god, you pray to your god")
.. a light.. look up. See, that's a light. But here, "light" means a flame.. a lighter, what you use to light a cigarette.
... what is aching? (crickets)
okay.. if I hit my arm on the wall, it would hurt.
I could say that my arm is aching.
Aching = to have pain.
Rogaine. I doubt you know what that is.
Um... it is a cream. When men begin to lose their hair, they use Rogaine, they put it on their head and it makes their hair grow back.
Rogaine = hair growth cream.
Patches? What is a patch?
(fumble for explanation). Okay! See my sweater, see how there's a hole in it? (students giggle). Well, if I were to take some fabric and sew that over the hole, to fix it, that would be a patch.
Who wants to fix my hole?
(blush - realizing what I'd said. giggles from observing trainees in the back).
Tear.. to tear. What is "to tear"?
(picks up piece of paper) Okay, if I do this (tears the paper), I tore the paper.
Tear = to rip. ("do you know what rip means? ..it means to tear.. that was a bad explination")

Alright,
We will listen to this song several times.
The first time, just listen.
Pens down (Demonstrate - put pen down on the desk)
Just listen.

Then, we will listen to fill in the blanks.
It's okay if you don't know the whole word, just write down what you hear.
Everyone needs to be silent, can you hear in the back?
No?
Come up to the front.
It's okay, you can come closer, come stand around this desk (points to desk with ipod and speakers). You need to be able to hear this, so make sure you move if you have to.

Ready? Everyone quiet now.
Okay, remember, just listen this first time...

The Way I Am
Ingred Michaelson

If you were (1)______
Then I (2)______ catch you
You need a light
I’d find a (3)______
Cus I love the way you say (4)______
And you take me the way I am

If you are (5)______,
Here take my (6)______.
Your (7)______ is aching?
I’ll make it better.

Cus I (8)______ the way you call me (9)______
And you take me the way I am

I’d (10)______ you Rogain
When you (11)______ losing all your hair
(12)______ on patches
To all you tear
Cus I love you more than I could ever (13)______
And you take me the way I am

You take me the way I am
You take me (14)______



And so it went.
Explaining that "sew" is not "saw" - the past tense of to see, and that match actually has another meaning and isn't referring to a football game (or match) here. And "baby", yes, it's a child or an infant, but also is a name you call your "sweetheart".

This class of 50 older students (most around 20 or so), is typically very quiet and hesitant to participate, but by the end of class, we had the whole song translated and most everyone singing.

It was wonderful. Proud teacher moment, right there.

On Thursday, I think that I will finish up the rest of the lesson that I did not get to on Tuesday (it is now Wednesday morning, I am sitting outside finishing up this entry - the sun is out, just a patch of thin clouds off in the distance. hopefully another read-in-the-sun kinda afternoon). I will have students write what they think the song is about, share with a partner, share with the class (they call this: Think, Pair, Share - in the "teacher" world).. then I will have them write their own lyrics using the conditional. If ______, Then ______ for their sweetheart (of course), or "imagination".

Picture someone saying "Imagination!" holding their pointer fingers up in the air, eyes open wide. Here it's used to refer to anything that's pretend.. or requiring imagination.

Alright, I think I will "Imagination!" (fingers up towards the sky!) that I am wide awake and make my way over to breakfast - which is right next door. We had to move from our center across the street (the owner was asking something like 500,000 USD/month - or something outrageous like that) to a different school right down the street - which was then decided to be unsafe (no bars on the windows, ect) to a big ol' fancy house that sat vacant right next door. I was shocked to find out that no one occupied this place as every day, an old man with his cane and radio sits outside on his wooden chair, guarding the establishment. Rain or shine. I really want to photograph this man. I'll see if I can warm him up to the idea.

Have a beautiful day.

so I'll check the weather, wherever you are, cus I wanna know if you can see the stars tonight

16 November 2009

I'm on a break from class at the moment. I sit there and see the words on the page, I know they're there, but all I can think about is the mall at home, and what it must be like, dressed top down in holiday decorations, christmas lights hanging from all heights, everyone bundled up with scarves and mittens trying to counter the cold. Here I walk to class in sandals, peeling off my sweater as I go to avoid overheating and it's funny because I find that I miss the cold of the fall and the warmth of our home during the holiday season.

I enjoyed reading in the sun this afternoon but there's something to be said for being wrapped up tight on a brisk, fall day.

What if the freckles never fade?

"What do you want like in the life"

11 November 2009

Jimmy - Of Montreal // look up lyrics

It's not grammatically correct, but the message is clear - and such a huge idea for a 10 year old, let alone a non-English speaker.



I walked into class today and found this on the board. As far as I know, a student wrote it up there during the mid-morning break. I don't know who the author is, I don't know what motivated him/her to write it, I don't know if he/she even really understands it. Shoot, I don't know if I even understand it, but that question without the proper punctuation, it's hitting me hard, sticking with me like a tattoo sticks to a bum.



What do you want like in the life


I will tell you this (and hope that my class of 70 rowdy prepubescent kids doesn't make me take it back tomorrow), i want to be a wonderful teacher. I can't wait to have my own classroom, to know my students names, to find that familiar comfort that comes with time and experience - with people, with an occupation. I can't wait to be Ms. Nicole in a village somewhere, to know the personality that goes with a face, to understand why the same kid always sleeps in the back of the room while others always act out.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe.

This morning a kid asked me how old I was.
I told him to guess.
He said 24.
I said 64.

Another asked me about my children.

"It takes a village".

p.s. Wednesday, 11/11/09.
It's hump day.. not just because it's Wednesday, this is the half-way mark of staging.

sometimes no news is good news.

8 November 2009

close your eyes (I realize that will make reading the rest of this very, very difficult to do :) ) alright, if you don't want to close them, then just imagine.. imagine being on that wooden roller coaster at Cedar Point ("America's Rockin' Roller Coast" - for those of you unfamiliar with the theme park).. the one that back in the day, was the number one attraction in the park, drawing in crowds from all over the mid-west to take a whirl on its tracks. Now fast forward 40+ years to the 21st century, through years and years of traitorous winters that have worn the wood, rusted the rails, transformed the once stellar roller coaster into a jerky tousle of a ride, a headache and back problems just waiting to happen. You know, half the time when I go on those older rides, I wonder if it's them or rather just me - suffering the loss of smoothness & flexibility that comes with age - maybe both. Why did I just have you do this little imagination exercise? (Because exercise does the body good) No, because our 7+ hour round trip ride to Nyungwe National Park was exactly like taking a spin on that wooden roller coaster.. it was a bumpy adventure, racing around mountains, through jungles of mossy, dreadlocked trees, and dodging the monstrous potholes, oh the potholes.

Even those of us with the strongest of stomachs were left feeling nauseous as we got off the bus at the wildlife conservatory. 21,000 RWF (Rwandan Francs) later and with walking sticks in hand, we set off on our uphill hike to the forest to "track" monkeys.

In a country where every other square kilometer of mountain-side is a quilted pattern of farmed Earth, it was so refreshing to find ourselves in a thicket of lush lichens and ferns, natural streams and slippery, rich soil. The climb was often steep and we were grateful to have those walking sticks. Could you imagine if we'd fallen? We would have looked like a bunch of white dominos, toppling over one onto the next, all the way down the "steps" that had been carved into the ground.

Eventually we reached the safety of flat land again and came across a group of monkeys. Don't ask me what kind they were (that's the wholistic part of my brain for you - I can tell you that they're born white but within 3 weeks turn black everywhere except for their shoulders, around their eyes and at the tuft of their tails, I can tell you that females in this species reach sexual maturity at 8 weeks old while males take nearly twice as long - I'm not surprised, I can tell you that their biggest predators are chimpanzees who hunt them, and humans who use their skins to make drums, I can tell you that their "leader" is a different type of money - who's actually smaller than their own breed, I can even tell you that they don't have magnanimous relationships, but mate with many partners - BUT - ) I can't for the life of me recall the name of this type of monkey. But there they were, sitting on branches, allowing their long black (& white!) tails to lazily accept the forces of gravity. Of course we all scrambled for our cameras, but the longer we stood there, listening to our guide ramble off all of those fun facts I just regurgitated for you, the closer the monkeys came. Again, as is often the case with Rwandan locals, it's almost a mutual starring contest. Curiosity got to of both of us as we snapped away while the monkeys jumped from branch to branch, taking breaks only to play with their own tails or check the fur of one another for tasty treats. Yum.

The monkeys were pretty cool, but my favorite part of yesterday wasn't the critters, it was the view. Whenever we go on these outings, I feel like I am a college student on study abroad. It was so, so good (and so necessary) to get out of Nyanza for a day, to see the jungle, to see the monkeys, to spend some time in nature! Oh my goodness, the view of the mountains and then the lake... it could have been mistaken for fog looming in the distance, it was absolutely spectacular. Maybe it's because i live in a house along with a dozen or so Americans, maybe it's because I'm constantly surrounded by English speakers, but often I have a hard time understanding where exactly I am. It's only in the small moments - such as yesterday, as we were sweating our butts off, struggling to get a good, deep breath of air, walking along the fields of never-ending tea leaves with the forest in the distance, that I realize this is Africa. I'm here.

It's in those small moments like yesterday, or as I began teaching last week, when I felt that my students were really catching on, really getting it, or like when on Wednesday this past week we spent our entire morning of language classes in town, wandering in and out of stores, exploring the market, introducing ourselves to strangers, bargaining a man down for an Obama watch, flirting - not with the locals, but with the language, it's these small moments that make my day. These small, unexpected minutes of light that make the truth of this quote ring loud and clear not only within my mind, but within my heart:

"Don't aim at success-the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it.  For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of ones personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by product of ones surrender to a person other than oneself.  Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it.  I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge.  Then you will live to see in the long run, in the long run, I say! Success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it." - Mans Search for Meaning

So good. And, so true.
I have been so concerned about finding ways to be happy here (or should the wording for that be "concerned about finding ways to be happy, here"?) that I constantly felt down not just about not being happy, but also over the frustration at failing to be happy. Goodness! Talk about a self-defeating cycle.

Today I went to visit my host family (we call them "resource families") and i took a couple friends with me this time - Bobby and Katy, hoping that their presence would help to make things less awkward. I told my host sister, Diane, that I wanted her to teach me how to dance and she tried, really made a good effort demonstrating as my host mom, Cecile sat singing in her chair across the room from the 3 foot statue of Mother Mary (Mary occupies the spot where most other families would have a television). We all kind of made fools of ourselves, turns out my Rwandan dancing skills are just about as bad as my language skills (big surprise). When we'd given up on the Rwandan traditional dances, Diane left and came back, telling us to follow her. Nervously, Bobby, Katy and I left our things in the living room and trailed behind. Clapping and singing greeted our ears before our eyes caught sight of the crowd of 40+ people of all ages.. children to adults, men banging drums and women adorned with the most popular accessory here - babies on their backs, of course.

The three of us sat down, not quite sure of what to expect. We were under the impression that we'd gone there to learn to dance, but what happened next was unbelievable. A group of 8 young girls, all under the age of 10 or so, all wearing traditional wax-print skirts, took their places and preceded to dance, moving their bodies in the most fluid of ways, arms stretched back like wings, bare (or poorly sandaled) feet all stomping and sliding on the dusty ground in unison... while the rest of the group clapped and sang together, creating their own music. Just as this group was finishing, the next group took their places, these girls a bit older. Here people hiss to get the attention of others, much like how we would say "hey" to a friend we see on the street or across the room, and during the first dance, I heard some hissing, but couldn't identify it. In this group, I realized that it was actually one girl making that noise which must have been their signal to change motions. Still another group preformed and then the final group was made up of 4 boys - one wearing what were obviously once women's capris - as they had faded flowers painted on (just about all clothes here - unless made-to-order, are bought second hand at the market.. some still even have the salvation army price tags intact - keep this in mind next time you make a donation, it's very funny explaining to someone what his bright orange "CHOOSE LIFE" t-shirt means). All in all, the three of us were treated to a 25 minute recital of traditional Rwandan dancing. When it was said and done, we clapped and tried to express our gratitude but with such a limited vocabulary, I hope that the enthusiasm in our voices and the expressions on our faces throughout their performances said all that we were unable to say with words.

It was amazing, literally sent chills up my spine.

This week my group (we have 3 groups) begins "model" school. From what I understand, I will be teaching a group of 60+ children. We'll see how this goes. Any TSOL (TEFL) teachers out there, please feel free to send me any lesson plans you may have (via email would be ideal). Turns out English grammar isn't exactly my forte.. in my defense, I don't think many English speakers know much about grammar, we all know how to use it (some more so than others), but we don't know the rhyme or reason behind it. It's some tough stuff! That's for sure. So, as always I'm open to all the suggestions/help I can get.

Also - I have received 5 letters so far and I have put a few of my own in the mail as well. If you get something from me that was sent from the USA, it's because I sent it in an envelope along with other letters - helps to save on postage, I just hope they all make it to your mailbox safely.
Thanks so much for writing. It's wonderful.

Amahoro <3

(thanks for the quote, Jay).