"Trick of Treat" - Umuganda - My Alternative Halloween

31 October 2009

The last Saturday of every month, communities throughout Rwanda dedicate the morning to coming together and working on a development project. So today, while most of my friends at home were either still drinking or just passing out from another night of Halloween celebrations, I was one of 35 Americans, that I know of, spending Halloween helping to build a school in Africa.

There were maybe 400 people this morning, there to help build the "ishuri". It's hard to say if the Umuganda turn out is usually that large or if it was especially crowded today as many people may have come just to watch the Muzungus do some manual labor.

Goodness though, the group was pretty unbelievable.

Men wearing pin-stripe pants and suit jackets, prisoners dressed in their blue uniforms, military men carrying machine guns decked out in cameo, elderly men with canes, children with their Salvation Army t's, women sporting fancy shoes while others worked wearing long skirts, scarves around their heads and babies on their backs (babies on their backs!) - all working together, side by side this morning, to build a school for their children, and their children's children. To build a school for Rwanda's future plans, ensuring that every child gets 9 years of free, public school, education.

How is it that a country is able to get its citizens off their butts and outside to make change happen? Could you imagine if Obama started a program like Umuganda in the States? If one Saturday a month community members came together to build something or participate in some kind of development/clean-up project? While I think it could be really incredible (and some individuals do participate in volunteer programs), and could tighten the bonds of neighbors, I find it impossible to imagine. Why? Shoot, how many people never even leave their homes to vote on election day? How many Americans think that they are above doing some heavy lifting? How many Americans would even consider working side by side with prisoners to achieve a common goal? It's like how we walk down the street as if we're the only ones there. I am starting to see that Americans are so individually driven, that we often forget that we are actually a part of something much larger than ourselves. A community, a culture, a country.

That was exactly what I needed. I needed to wear my flannel and my rolled up jeans. I needed to get dirty and sweat and move Earth. I needed to learn how to carry a basket on my head and exhaust my swollen fingers carrying rice sacks and broken water jugs full of that red clay. I needed to do that because I COULD do that. I contributed to something today, I helped with something. My language teacher, Abel (I had a 2.5 hour private lesson with him yesterday) said to me "Nicole, you are strong. I see today that you are strong" - let me tell ya, that feels really good to hear for a person who has been feeling incredibly weak lately. Today gave me purpose. I know I have a purpose here (but it is often lost in the frustration of Kinyarwanda classes), but today, seeing the immediate results of our work, it made me feel good. It was a tangible, positive impact. It was awesome.

Now I am exhausted, but I know that after lunch today I have loads (literally) of laundry I will need to wash by hand, then hopefully I have a nap on my mattress that is all too thin coming my way and tonight - tonight we're bring a bit of American culture to Nyanza. Halloween 2009. I know it's a real stretch, but I think I'm going to be a hippie. Ha. I even have the hairy legs to make it extra authentic :)

Peace Out, Boy Scout.

ps if you write me or send anything (thank you in advance a million times over!!) but please be sure to keep those shipping suggestions in mind - pictures of Jesus on the box, excerpts from the bible, plant a "Sister" there in front of my name, don't say what's really in the package, maybe "religious books and magazines" would be a good alternative. All that jazz. Thanks again, so so much! <3

I am not used to being just "okay"

30 October 2009

I have class in just half an hour, but I felt the need to get this down in text form this morning (Shea- I'm sorry, you'll be getting a letter about this.. next month).

... people universally tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend upon you like fine weather if you're fortunate enough. But that's not how happiness works. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.
- Eat, Pray, Love

Something I am really struggling with here is being average, mediocre. Here, I mean, in this Peace Corps trainee group, I don't feel like I stand out, I don't feel like I am extraordinary or special in any way. I'm not awesome with Kinyarwanda, I haven't taught any really exceptional lessons (I haven't taught yet in general, but even when I do, I am nervous that I will just fall flat on my face - which is to be expected from time to time I suppose). I don't find myself going above and beyond with anything to make myself stand out in the crowd.

At home I am, or I guess more accurately I *was a good student, a RA, a volunteer, a swimmer.. ect.
At home I am good at what I do.
Here, who am I?
I'm that white girl who walks around town with a 'tude (ignoring questions for money, avoiding eye contact with men) and who can hardly follow a simple conversation.

I know Peace Corps is super competitive (we all got into this program for one reason or another) and this group of people, in general, IS an exceptional group of individuals, right? I mean, otherwise they wouldn't be here. So maybe that's part of it. Maybe I am not used to constantly being surrounded by "the cream of the crop" (although I don't feel like that accurately describes everyone here - at least socially I suppose). I imagine it like this, I heard a story once about an orientation day at UofM. The tour guide/group leader/whoever said to the group of incoming freshmen, "raise your hand if you were one of the best in your class". Everyone in the crowd raises a hand. The tour guide says to the students "take a look around, think you're someone special here?".

That's kind of how I feel. Unless I am walking in town (with all eyes on me), I take a look around the room and think, well, what makes me stand out?

Another possible explanation is that I am working so hard just to adjust to being here, day to day *emotional and physical survival.. so much so that I don't have the energy or strength to put efforts into anything else. I am out of my element here. I don't speak the language, I don't design my schedule.. I don't have but a few close friends here.. Maybe once I feel more comfortable, once I am better with the language, once I can work up some confidence again, then maybe I will find ways to go the extra mile. (I guess there's no point in spending energy being upset about things beyond my control- like my schedule- huh?). At my site, I really do want to start a girls club to talk about health and women's issues, I do want to really connect with Rwandans and feel like I belong here.

This PST (pre-service training) isn't doing wonders for my self-esteem. Yesterday we had a speaking test all morning. I hate how competitive things are, I feel like I must constantly compare my progress to others in our group (and I feel like that's what our teachers are doing too - I think part of this is a cultural thing - here it sounds like humiliation is used as a means to make kids want to do better.. by pointing out their weaknesses compared to classmates). Shoot, I am not a competitive person, I prefer to go for Personal Records (PR's - aww, swimming) rather than to worry about racing the person next to me. Talking with other trainees who were Mauritania volunteers (their program was shut down for safety reasons - creates a really weird group dynamic here, let me tell ya..), it seems like what I'm feeling is pretty normal, that my feelings are valid. I was told today that training isn't Peace Corps, it's just some of the hardest stuff we have to get through in order to get to the good part.

I know I should probably give myself some more credit, another trainee went home this week. I'm still here, aren't I? But I suppose that's not enough. I believe in the whole idea of "you get out of it what you put into it" and I think one of these days, I will be able to put in more than just floating by. For now though, I think I will worry more about my heart and soul - it'd be impossible to give myself wholly to this without either of those two fully intact in the first place.

"Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it."

How do I find ways to be self-sufficently happy? Is it possible? I am afraid that right now a lot of my happiness (or even sometimes lack thereof) comes from the other side of the world. I don't think people realize just how much their messages, letters, emails mean to me. They're great, and I don't want them to stop, but I also don't want my entire emotional well-being to be dependent on them, especially when I know you all are busy and have your own lives going on! Please, when you can, keep the love coming, it makes all the difference on my end, and in the mean time I'll keep working on things over here.

I did join Peace Corps to be dragged out of my comfort zone after all, right?

Happy Halloween, I miss you all so much.

keep me, for I am unique, even though there are millions like me in the sea

27 October 2009

I received my first snailmail letter today. It came over the river & through the woods from the wee island of Ireland, from my dear friend, Cono.

Oh my goodness, my teachers didn’t recognize me saying “Nicole is here, Nicole is back!! Turishmye!!” I was so, so happy, I couldn’t help but to have a silly grin on my face the entire time reading it.. and then rereading it. Thank you, Cono. Your letter was absolutely perfect.

Talk about a pick-me-up. I know other letters are on their way, this one was postmarked the 14th, but I suppose coming from Ireland it had a bit less water to cover than any coming from the States. Goodness though, that was wonderful.

Tonight I just wanted to comment on a couple of cultural things that I’ve noticed.
1. People don’t eat in public. here. and we have quickly realized why. If you walk down the street eating something, people expect you to share it with them.. or even more so, to simply just give it to them. Walking home from dinner the other day, snacking on a banana for desert, a kid looked at me, held out his hand and rather than the typical “give me money” that we get half a dozen times a day or so, he said “give me banana”. What the heck kid, there are banana trees all over the place here. Go get your own.
2. You know how in the States we like to put our earphones in, crank up the jams on the ipod and pretend like we’re the only one who exists on the road or sidewalk, wherever you happen to be? It’s like we float around from place to place just doing our own thing, in our own little worlds, complete isolation. Maybe this is the reason why so often in the States I could find myself in an incredibly crowded place (store, room, lecture hall, ect) and yet feel so alone. Well, that doesn’t happen here in Rwanda. Whereas in the States it’s awkward to make eye contact or share a friendly smile with a stranger you pass on the street (that creates suspicious thoughts: what’s on their mind?), here it’s awkward NOT to acknowledge others you pass on the street – and being that feet are a main mode of transportation here, there’s always a whole slew of people on the street.. all of them, if they’re not too busy picking their jaws up from the dusty road at the sight of a muzungu, are expecting some sort of friendly hello. It’s hilarious, there must be a whitey alarm (or maybe it’s just the national geographic man’s voice that I imagine narrates our every move) or something that warns people when we’re coming because there are some houses where literally, as soon as you step foot on the road in front of their place, the same kid comes out of nowhere, running out in his tattered second-hand clothes screaming “Bonjour!! Bonjour!!” at the top of his lungs.. and this kid isn’t right up by the road, no, he’s down the hill, running through the chickens, over the garden, parallel to the road, screaming until we pass out of his line of sight when he must return to wherever it was he came from, just waiting for us to pass his way again. There’s another home with a wooden fence that lines the road but the same kids spot us every time between the cracks and say “good morning!” as we pass by at 2pm on our way back to class for the afternoon. The whole “good morning” thing has been quite entertaining here. We always respond with “good afternoon” and it took two weeks, but the kids caught on because now they use the appropriate greeting rather than “good morning” post-lunch time.
3. Cell phone etiquette is another thing. You know how in the States a conversation may end with:
“okay, talk to you later”
“sounds good, see ya”
“bye”
“bye”

-or- (if we’re in 7th grade)

“you hang up”
“no.. You hang up”
“I’ll just wait til you hang up”
(giggles) “noooo….”
*and this goes on, eating into the family plan minutes for the month

Alright, well what I’m getting at is that us Americans, we like closure at the end of a conversation. Heck, if someone accidentally hangs up the phone before a proper closing statement has been adequately shared, it’s awkward and we call back to apologize for cutting the other person off. Well here, I noticed time and time again when I had one of our language teachers call my host mom to make plans that one second she’d be on the phone and then the next she’d have put the phone down and be telling me something.. all the while I am thinking “is my host mom still on the phone? Is she waiting for a reply right now? What’s going on?” There’d been no “goodbye” or “I’ll call you right back” (obviously I mean in Kinyarwanda – if they said and understood those other things in English, I’d be the one making the phone call myself)… but it took me a few days to realize that’s how people are on the phone here, they talk, say what they need to say, get the information they’re seeking and hang up. No mushy gushy stuff, no dilly addling, just straight to the point. Maybe this is because most everyone here has pay as you go phones and they don’t want to waste their credit with polite fluff. Who knows, but for me, goodness, I found that rude until I realized that it was a cultural norm.
4. Okay. How about the whole “muzungu” thing? Muzungu literally means “white man”. The other day at my host mom’s, her English-speaking neighbor was there, remember, I’ve mentioned this. Well anyway, I saw in my Kinyarwanda book that it listed both muzungu for white man and then another word for black man and I asked the neighbor if someone calls me “muzungu” if it would be rude for me to respond saying whatever the translation is for “black man”. He said no, “Nta kibazo” (no problem). I told him that I found it rude to be called muzungu, that it bothered me. He apologized immensely and then explained to my host mom that I didn’t like to be called it and he wanted to know how they should refer to me, if not by “white man” and I said “ndi umunyamerikakazi” meaning “I am an American”. I think they got a kick out of this, here’s a white girl saying “no, I am not a white person, I am an American!” (oh boy..) And then later when the neighbor and my host mom were walking me back to town from her house, of course all of the kids we pass on the way see me and yell “muzungu” and the poor neighbor, Lembert is his name, just kept apologizing to me but at the same time begged me not to be offended by it, as he explained “everyone here says it, it’s not meant to be offensive”. Maybe it’s just because in America you’d be asking for a good smack across the face if you went around getting peoples’ attention by hollerin’ the color of their skin at them, but is this whole diversity – political correctness, race is a taboo subject thing – an Americanism? Are we just offended by being called “muzungu” because we have grown up being socialized to ignore racial differences.. or at least to address them with appropriate sensitivity? I think that’s definitely it. We have grown up being taught to be “colorblind” through our social filter so we find it totally offensive when people point out the obvious. Yeah, I’m white. Goodness, what a concept.
5. Okay, so when we did our cultural taboo day a couple weeks ago, our language teachers pointed out that one thing us American’s do that they find odd is that we sit anywhere and everywhere. Between classes, for example, many of us enjoy sitting on the ground in the courtyard together to relax and catch up. I guess that people here find this habit odd… or for example, how I prefer to sit on the ground on the balcony at the internet café. Every single time the woman comes out with a chair and asks me to sit in it, but I’m sorry, I find it much more comfortable to type on my computer with it sitting on my legs as they’re extended in front of me.. rather than folded, sitting in some chair. But you know what I find odd is how walking into town, it’s not unusual to see some woman just sitting on the side of the road breastfeeding her infant, I have even seen a woman changing her baby’s diaper in the tall weeds on the side of the road as loads of people pass by. So, who are we to judge? We’re all a little weird.
6. Body odor probably deserves a whole post all to itself. I don’t even have the energy to go there tonight but I will say this. It’s bad. It’s really bad.
7. Oh my gosh!! And how could I forget this.. Okay, so PDA isn’t really acceptable here.. and homosexuality is punishable by law (real cool, huh? – you better pick up on my sarcasm there) but one thing I am not sure I will ever get used to is how men here walk around holding hands. Women do it too. There’s so much more same-sex affection expressed between friends, I suppose this is because it’s not allowed between the sexes, and we all need some TLC from time to time. I don’t mind one way or another who holds hands with who, it’s just funny because two men holding hands in the States would often imply a romantic relationship so that’s the mindset I have when I see men walking through town holding hands here, but if that were the real case, those fellas might find themselves in jail. Oh man, to each his (or her) own, huh?

Alright, that was our cross-cultural lesson for the day.
Hope you learned a thing or two.

Oh, also! So ya’ll in America probably have your costumes already picked out (or 3 for every day of the weekend..), but I think that some of the trainees are working on putting together a Halloween party for us here. I doubt Nyanza has ever seen Halloween before.. and they already think we look like goofs, can you imagine?!! This will be interesting.

Please ya’ll, make good choices, have fun, be safe.
I miss many of you terribly and wish that I could be there to go out with you this weekend.
“Sorry I can’t make it, I’m in Rwanda.”

Ha, how many people do you know who can say that?

I need more time, just a few more months & we'll be fine

26 October 2009

It's less than 2 months until Christmas. That means ya'll should start thinking about putting a card in the mail to me.. so it'll get here in time. I'm not kidding. I'm not looking forward to spending Christmas without my family. The thought actually really tears at my heart. Please don't forget about me.
I know I'm far away, but I'm still here.

let's take a look at something:
Freshmen year: relationship A
Sophomore year: relationship A
France Study Abroad 1: relationship B
Junior year: relationship B
France Study Abroad 2: relationship C
Senior year: relationship D
Maine Summer Camp
Home: relationship D
Peace Corps Rwanda: relationship ME

I'm sorry, please don't take offense, I don't by any means think of these relationships as just A, B, C & D. They were all (some more than others) special in their own way, and they all taught me very valuable things about love and life... I have just boiled them down to letters to look at the past 4 years of my life in a more analytic way.

Do you notice any patterns here?
Shoot, it doesn't take a genius to see what I've been up to.

(Relationship + Adventure)Repeat = A continuous cycle of love & loss

That love and loss doesn't just apply to my relationships with guys though, what about me?

In my last post, I referenced the book: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

This is a passage from Chapter 22:
Moreover, I have boundary issues with men. Or maybe that's not fair to say. To have issues with boundaries, one must have boundaries in the first place, right? But I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time - everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check. I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that they only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else.
I do not relay these facts about myself with pride, but this is how it's always been.
Some time after I'd left my husband, I was at a party and a guy I barely knew said to me, "You know, you seem like a completely different person, now that you're with this new boyfriend. You used to look like your husband, but now you look like David. You even dress like him and talk like him. You know how some people look like their dogs? I think maybe you always look like your men."
Dear God, I could use a little break from this cycle, to give myself some space to discover what I look like and talk like when I'm not trying to merge with someone. And also, let's be honest - it might be a generous public service for me to leave intimacy alone for a while. When I scan back on my romantic record, it doesn't look so good. It's been one catastrophe after another. How many more different types of men can I keep trying to love and continue to fail? Think of it this way - if you'd had ten serious traffic accidents in a row, wouldn't they eventually take your driver's license away? Wouldn't you kind of want them to?

When, in the past 4 years, have I taken time for myself? When have I worked on improving the relationship I have with myself, rather than trying to make something (that clearly isn't meant to be) work with someone else?

There were a couple great months at camp this past summer of self-improvment, and I do feel like being at KP helped me to feel a lot more comfortable in my own skin, but even those couple months weren't totally my own as I still spent a lot of time hurt over someone else. Kissing boys is fun, but I think I have been doing a bit too much of that lately... I also think a lot of it has been to distract myself from other things. I spent a lot less time being sad about saying goodbye to my family and friends for 3 months this summer.. and then for 2 years with the Peace Corps this fall because I kept my mind preoccupied thinking about boys and all the fun and trouble that comes along with them (funny how it always seems to be a package deal, huh?).

I don't in any way regret my past relationships, but I do regret that I am going into these next 2 years, as was the case at KP this summer, not fully able to focus on myself just yet. I believe though that it's only a matter of time before I find myself coming first on that priority list.

A, B, C, D, ME.

flowers disguise poverty with their bold colors and beauty; i feel small.

25 October 2009

Yesterday's visit to the genocide memorial seems like ages ago.

I used to let boys make me feel small.
You wanna know what small feels like?

Go stand in a room full of the
bodies of children, some with
second-hand sweaters still colorfully
intact.
Go breathe in the air
of preserved adults,
murdered 15 years ago
by their neighbors.
Now walk into room
after room
of this story on repeat.

That's what small feels like.

miniscule.


I think yesterday's visit was more than an nausea-inducing experience.
I think yesterday's visit was a reality check in a major way.

What are you meant to feel after something like that?
I found myself struggling to answer this question.

I realize now how silly and ignorant I was, trying to put it into perspective, thinking to myself "what if that was your family in there? what if that was the body of your sister?" I think I felt overwhelmed by a desire to feel. Just to feel SOMETHING. I am generally one of the most empathetic people I know, but yesterday I found myself at a loss for much other than complete confusion and guilt. Even now I can't find the words to describe it, I think maybe because I don't know what "it" is. I felt guilty for wanting to feel something, confused for not knowing what that should be, and now I feel stupid for ever having thought that I could even begin to fathom the unmatchable suffering that this country and that these people cope with every single day.

Gosh damnit. Talk about a slap in the face.

One of the language teachers confided in one of our trainees today telling her that in 1994 his family was meant to go to the place we visited yesterday but for one reason or another had been unable to make the trip. Back in the day, it was being built as a school I believe, but Tutsi families had been told that they could go there to find safety during the genocide. Ultimately it had all been set up as a trap, everyone there was cornered and murdered.

In a conversation with one of our trainees, another language teacher who'd been clearly upset being there yesterday pointed out how the location of the school had been a perfect place to trap the Tutsi families. It was on a hill, insight of everyone, there was nowhere people could run to for safety without being seen. I don't know this particular teacher's story (stories of the genocide are incredibly personal and for many, require a close, intimate relationship before they will share) but what for us Peace Corps trainees yesterday, was a "field trip" to a genocide memorial, was maybe for her, or for some of our teachers a visit to their would-have been deathbed, literally; that could have been their bodies laid out, slowly decomposing on the tables in front of the world, serving as a constant reminder of the results of hate and violence.

And these teachers, every day I am sure just getting out of bed is hard enough for some as they live with survivors guilt or the loss of loved ones, but on days like yesterday, days where we visit an all too recent past, a wound that has hardly had time to scab over, they put on the strongest, most sober faces I have ever seen. They show this incredible strength and maintain composure where others would crumble, and why? To take us trainees to these memorials, to educate us, to help us see a glimpse into the broken hearts of this country, the reasons behind some of the challenges we will face not only in our classrooms but in trying to become a part of a community that may be resistant to such strangers and change.
And then I take a look at myself, my life, my presence in Rwanda.
Yeah, I am not looking forward to the 3 language classes I have tomorrow (5.5 hours or so), or to the awkward visits to my resource family or to being asked for money every single day, but if these teachers, these amazing individuals can get up and do this for us every day, if they can visit places of such pain, in the name of our education, pardon my language, but honestly, who the fuck am I to complain?

Being here is hard, but I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else.

Attitude Check. Reality Check. In a major way.

Walking back from from my resource family's home this afternoon, cool sprinkles of rain kissed my otherwise overheating skin. The mist fell as the sun continued to shine. I searched above for a rainbow but found only cloudy mountains going the extra 10% to meet the sky. It really is a sight, here in the land of 1,000 hills, on days like this, it's hard to say if what you're looking at is a heavy cloud cradled between peaks or if it's actually a mountain dressed in disguise.

On the way I passed a small shop (that sells the same things as any other little store around here: biscuits (their taste resembling chocolate cardboard, but you eat them anyway because just the idea of a cookie resembles home), concentrated juice mix (that helps to cover the orange color of the water and the horrible taste from the water filter, toilet paper - sold by the roll (TP is more of a luxury than an expectation here) ect.) playing American music. Jordan Sparks, "One Step at a Time" just happened to be on the radio. That song, oh man. I don't care how over-played or how cheesy it is, that song helped to get me through the slumps of senior year, and believe me there were some slumps. The upbeat tune put some pep in my step and reminded me to avoid feeling too overwhelmed about things beyond my control. Sometimes I think music has a way of catching us at just the right moment. This was one of those moments. My visit to Cecile's was more successful this time around as her English-speaking neighbor came over and helped to translate so we could actually communicate and make plans, he left me his number so I can call if I get lost trying to find her house later this week, ect.and then damn, what do you know? There's Jordan Sparks reassuring me that I will make it through this, it will all be okay.

One Step at a Time.


ps.
I really don't drink nearly as much water here as I should. If you want or have the resources, please send some kind of powdered drink mix. Also, I really, really need envelopes. I suggest the kind that have the sticker-seal (the lick-seal ones seal themselves in the humidity). I have had to get creative for the envelopes I've sent letters in so far... but I'm running out of ideas and paper.

pps.
Eat, Pray, Love: Chapter 22 <- My new Jordan Sparks "One Step at a Time"

2 Weeks In Wish List

20 October 2009

- dark chocolate
- tootsie-rolls
- bar soap
- hand sanitizer
- cheeze-its (reduced fat)
- Yuhoos (any sort of chocolate-milk like drink that doesn't need to be kept cold)
- salty snacks in general (pretzels, but not chex-mix, nor peanuts. I've never been a big fan)
- Kool-Aid, Crystal Lite (filtered water tastes funny)
- letters
- hot chocolate mix!
- veggie ramen (the Oriental flavor)
- Multicolored Sharpies (great for making teaching materials)
- markers
- cheese (is there any that doesn't need to be refrigerated? even that funny stinky kind, just as long as it tastes good)
- envelopes
- ear plugs
- tea
- black panties (medium/size 6)
- pictures (friends, family, beautiful places/things, hand drawn/painted, clips from magazines, ect - just stuff to decorate the room with)
- Q-tips
- pocket tissues
- mix cd's!! (I'm afraid for how quickly my music collection will become outdated and I find that I'm already bored with it)
- burnt copies of the latest Office episodes (the wedding!!)

Holy cow!

Happiness is...

19 October 2009

With every day being a roller coaster here, of emotional (and physical) highs and lows, my friend, Ellie, and I have noticed that we are slowly learning to tune-in to even the slightest bits (& peaces) of emotion. Eventually however, I am afraid that my mind and heart may decide to go on autopilot, and surround these waves of emotion with a layer of numbness as a means of protecting myself against unnecessary, exhausting pain.

I was reading in my bunk by the light of my headlamp (I really just don't like the sterile feel and color of the florescent light above), but someone walked into the room and I said "oh, you can turn on the light". I bet people think I'm strange for sitting in a dark room reading by headlamp when there's an overhead light available.. who cares. Anyway, whoever it was who walked in the room said "are you kidding?" and I was like "uhh nope" and she said "the power's out!". Goodness, I was so caught up in my own little mosquito net world that I didn't even realize that the entire city was in a state of total darkness. So when it came time for dinner to be served, we all made our way across the street to the school (where we carry food to, from my house - I guess more accurately from the backyard.. they've built a tent back there were all the cooking takes place) to eat. Walking in, goodness. The classroom was a romantic setting of wooden tables properly set and intimately light by candlelight. And when I say candlelight, I literally mean, thin, white candles, not set in candle sticks, but rather simply balanced, one by one, on their ends on each table. I am so grateful that we have our meals family style here (helps to keep away loneliness), but this, candlelight dinner.. that was special.

Eventually while we were eating, lights started to flicker. I thought some goof was trying to take a picture of the setting using his flash... but instead it was just that electricity was flowing through the wires again and the lights were coming back on. It didn't take long for someone in our group to get out of her chair though and go back, flick the switch and return the room to its peaceful state of warmly-light being.

Happiness is a kind, gentle reminder of family dinners at home.

During dinner Ellie mentioned that she wished she'd had an avocado. Something about the salty, plain noodles was really hitting the spot tonight, but an avocado would have just put the meal over the top. I found myself lost in thought about the breakfast sandwich I had made myself this morning. Nothing covers up the stale toughness of the white bread they give us like an egg and some fresh avocado spread sprinkled with sea salt. At the same time, Ellie and I wondered out loud, "when do you think the market opens?" as we both had hopes of enjoying a Rwandan breakfast sandwich tomorrow morning as well. I suggested that she hit up the market on her way tomorrow and she said she could pick up 2, one for us to split for breakfast and one to have with lunch. At the thought of this, I found myself smiling. And then I realized I was smiling. I recognized the fact that what I was experiencing, that was happiness. I was feeling happiness for the very first time this entire, and I mean, Entire day. All of that over a couple silly avocados.

Happiness is the thought of a delicious treat in your belly.

I know it sounds strange, and it's probably considered highly inappropriate by many, but in the past few days, I have been completely blown away by the enormous collection of erotic fiction (both in novel form, and personally written) possessed by this group of Peace Corps trainees. At dinner tonight there was talk about everyone writing their own piece, anonymously, and compiling the works to make a Peace Corps Rwanda erotica collection. Maybe it's something about the fact that we will be starved for affection over the next 27 months, you know I bet that really has something to do with it... but I find the idea really quite entertaining. Towards the end of dinner, we were sitting with one trainee who I'd known had written a couple pieces in college as a required assignment for a creative writing class (.. I bet that prof. was a perv). The girls of the Kitchen House had read his work earlier this evening, but I'd been in my room reading "Eat, Pray, Love", so I missed out (protecting my innocence, of course). Struck with curiosity, Ellie and I asked to read what he'd written some time. He just happened to have his laptop then and there, so we read through it at the dinner table once he had excused himself (I assume to avoid judging, wide-eyed glances). Ellie was a much faster reader than me, and I definitely felt my cheeks blush a couple of times. When I got to the end, I just looked over at Ellie, rather quite stupefied by the rawness of the story and all we could do was laugh.

Happiness is a silly giggle shared with a friend.

Just as I was headed into the restroom with my water bottle in tow (we have to use filtered water still to brush our teeth), one of my roomies hollered at me saying that my phone was ringing. Not wanting to miss another call (as I missed 3 last night and don't have voicemail on this phone), I rushed back into the room to answer. "Restricted Number" was on the screen but as soon as I answered and heard that little lady voice "Hello.. is Nicole there?" I was thrilled! "Grand-MAW!" Goodness. I am so impressed by my grandma these days.. learning how to check her email and having a facebook account to keep up-to-date on us kids (I went over to her house many times before leaving for Rwanda and we always had a computer lesson or two just to make sure she could get on and figure everything out on her own) and look, now making long distance phone calls. Who ever said you can't teach an old dog new tricks? :) Not that I think you're an old dog, grandma. You know what I mean. It was just really wonderful to hear her on the other end of the line and the excitement in her voice told me it was just as meaningful for her to talk to me as it was for me to hear from her.

Happiness is the sound of a familiar voice on the line.

Look, even with the shitty moments and frustrations that brought me down today...
Happiness is still being able to smile despite it all, simply because I made it through another day.