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).