15 april 2010
no matter how much i try to tell myself "oh nicole, don't be silly, you're beautiful" or "it's good to look original" (ie. not 5'7", 120lbs, blonde, ect) or how hard I try not to let my tummy get to me, let's face it, even I have so called "fat" days.
let me tell ya, it doesn't help that
1. i'm living in a culture that points out everything from pimples to an expanding waist line
2. a box of cheeze-its from america doesn't stand a chance in my house (thankyoumamaanderson!!)
not to mention the fact that the sky has been really overcast and gloomy, promising rain all day, and with the amount of noise my neighbors insist on making at literally, any given hour (who sleeps with their radio that loud?!), I was just feeling in quite the funk all morning and afternoon.
i was also really frustrated, fed-up actually, with the rats who are now way way too comfortable with my inability to kill anything personality - which is why i'm desperately searching the country for a kitten - i can't kill a rat, but i maybe i can adopt a little fuzz ball that just might - but also just communication here is so difficult and people can be so wishy-washy "i'll go back to kigali after a week" which turns into two - and then Thursday turns into Friday which actually means next Monday... plus, I spent some time reading "Half the Sky" this afternoon which makes me just want to change the world but I have no idea where or how to begin - and I also need to start planning lessons for second term and this and that and throw a "oh I miss so and so" into the mix and goodness! I think that I was justified to feel a lil' funkafied.
SO. I made a date with Adeline to get off my ass and out of the house and go for a walk. Somedays you can't count on Mother Nature to work her magic. You've just gotta create your own sunshine every now and again, don't ya? Well, there's no one better for that job than Adeline, my 10 year old best friend.
We started walking and she asked if I was okay and I tried to explain in the simplest terms English-by choice and Kinyarwanda-because I naturally speak that language like a 3 year old.. "sinkunda abana bavuga uri nini" (I can't spell in any language, but this translates to "I don't like people say you are big") and she understood - she always understands. Then she said "excuse me" and you know, usually when someone says "excuse me" it means that they want to interrupt you or say something or they're just being snotty, but when I looked at her confused, she explained, in Kinyarwanda, that she was apologizing. I wasn't upset with Adeline, nor am I upset with any one person in particular, I mean, it's their culture and telling someone they're fat (they say it even to the skinniest of people because..) it's actually supposed to be a compliment. So, I brush it off and try to let it go. Then Adeline stated, quite confidently, "I have maize (corn) in my pocket". I just looked at her with a smile in my eyes and she picked up her sweater and sure enough, tucked into her dress - she did have a a whole pocket full of maize. And we giggled as she explained that when she stopped in at a friends house, they had loads of maize and told her to eat it but she said that she wasn't hungry, so they told her to put some (loose kernels) in her pocket for later. Imagine in America walking to class with some baby carrots just hanging out in the pocket of your jeans, I don't know. It just seems so silly to me. Makes me smile.
So we're walking and for the past couple of days we've been going over the difference between "buhoro, buhoro" and "vuba, vuba" (slowly, slolwy vs. fast, fast) and - it being a "fat" day and all, I'd felt like my body hadn't.. moved, in far too long, so I looked at Adeline and said, "vuba, vuba?" "Kwiruka?" she asked me - "run?". Yego.
3,
2,
1
And off we were, racing down the dirt road, minding our step not to land in a puddled pothole or trip on one of the many embedded rocks.
it didn't take long for us to both tire, so we dropped down to walking pace, I put my hands on my head - for one reason or another I remember being told that helps with cramps - and she did the same.
When we approached a group of 3 children saying "muzungu, muzungu", Adeline jogged right up to them, scolded them for calling me such a name and then gave one of them a little spank on the "bottom" as she calls it. She's got my back and now hearing others say muzungu bugs her just as much as it does me. I continued walking while she taught the kids a lesson on political correctness and stared at her in admiration as she made her way back to my side.
3,
2,
1
We continued with our little sprints on and off the whole way to Musangabo. Once we reached our favorite peninsula, we decided to walk out to the top (it's quite the climb - and after so much rain, it was a slippery mess) and I asked her "Adalide akunda kwiruka?" "Adalide - her 28(?) year old sister - likes to run?"
Oya. Then with waving arms, Adeline explained that her sister doesn't like to run because when she does her tummy and "bottom" dance like this - the arms extended, bending at the elbows and horizontally waving side to side.
I laughed. This jig reminds me so much of one that my bestie, Kiera likes to do. "Can you feel it?! Can you feel it?!" she says, pumping her arms in and out. And yes, I guess you can, because even when I run I can feel my bottom do a little jiggle, so I know exactly what Adeline is talking about and understand perfectly the reason her sister, Adelide, chooses not to partake in the sport.
The bottom dance, watch out - give it a few months and it just might top my other favorite move - the butt floss.
So we hike to the top of Musangabo and exhausted and out of breath, I was thinking to myself, "man, I want to sit down" just as the words "ndashaka nimwitchier" (again - sorry about the spelling, but chances are good your understanding of Kinyarwanda, written or spoke, is much less than my itty bit, so just take it for what it is) "I want to sit down" escape her lips. ME TOO! I told her. Then said "ushorbora gusoma (then point to my head) my mind!!" I exclaim. "You can read my mind!" And it's true! Adeline and I are at the point now where we can - and often do - finish one another's sentences, be they in English or my American version of Kinyarwanda. I've noticed she's even learning my social cues, she doesn't overstay her welcome when she visits nor does she push the issue of watching a movie if she knows i'm tired. dang. this little girl, she's really something else.
We have a seat and she quickly stands up again, picking up loose pebbles from the ground. With a backwards wind up, she then throws her arm forward and releases the rock. "Who taught you to throw like that?" I ask her, finding her technique pretty silly and not exactly efficient, but she says that her brother, who can throw a rock all the way into the lake from the forest taught her - and if he's really capable of such a thing, then who am I to criticize?! The forest to the lake.. that's impressive. So she continues her contest with herself, always trying to out-throw her last stone, and she tells me that she has 4 names. Adeline is her favorite, but Nadine is another name to her, one that she doesn't like much. I tell her my names - Nicole Marie Gaunt - and Umunezero, for good measure. I also sit there contemplating the idea that if some day I have a daughter of my own, this is not a new thought, I've actually considered it before, but I just might include "Adeline" somewhere in her name. After all, I was named after a little girl my mom used to babysit - it's just an idea, oh, here I go again putting the buggy before the baby! Ha. One step at a time, Nicole (Marie Umunezero Gaunt).
Time and time again while we were at Musangabo and then throughout our buhoro, buhoro jog back, Adeline used the expression "gusoma head" (read my head/mind - close enough!) whenever we found that our thoughts were on the same wavelength - which, as I said, happens quite regularly between the two of us. So finding a smile where there we once lines of frustration, and a tiredness where there was once apathy, I felt much better returning home than I did leaving it. It's for this reason that I prescribe a 10 year old best friend as the best medicine for any given fat day. However, if you find you're in short supply of amazing little Rwandan friends, I think a bit of dark chocolate from America just might do the trick as well.
be happy!
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