Those T-Shirts You Donated to Salvation Army: They’re in Rwanda

You would never guess Gap and Old Navy don’t actually have locations in Rwanda. On any given market day, you will find rows and rows of vendors who have enormous piles of clothing for sale. I’m not exactly sure how all the clothes end up in Rwandan markets, but the scene is any thrift shopper’s dream come true.   

I find myself doing double takes all the day as I walk down the street in Rwanda, below are some of the hilarious things I’ve seen people wearing:

·   Older woman wearing a t-shirt that on the front said: “YES, I am…” and the back: “A JESUS FREAK”

·   “Country Boy” with the John Deere logo

·   “I support the draft” (image of a draft beer in the middle)

·   “HOOTERS, Skokhalm, WA”

·   “DIVA” (in sequence letters, on a black t-shirt, worn by a 20-something year old man)

·   “Girl Scouts Chicago”

·   Nick Carter (images of the 1999 pop-icon all over the t-shirt, worn by a 50 year old man)

·   “CHRIST made me a winner” (seen on a young man at a bar)

·   “MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, Fort Bliss, TX”

And of course, my favorite so far… an Ithaca is Gorges t-shirt!

Peace Corps Training, Round Two

My first month in Rwanda has been spent in training. Worldwide, training is generally between 9 and 11 weeks for all PCVs. During training you focus on language, technical skills, safety & security, cultural issues, and Peace Corps development philosophy. Since I already completed this training in Niger, Peace Corps Rwanda created a modified, high-speed training schedule for the other Niger PCVs and me that focuses almost exclusively on language.

To be honest, I am finding training the second time around exhausting and pretty difficult. When I left in October, I had mentally prepared myself for two years of independence in a remote African village. Instead I had three months of incredibly structured life surrounded by forty other Americans. I made some lifelong friendships during training and learned a lot, but when I left for Zinder I was really excited about finally having some independence. Instead I had eight days on my own, a month of craziness, and now I’m back in training.

Did I ever say learning Hausa was hard? It wasn’t. Kinyarwanda is hard. If I hadn’t just spent three months trying to learn a different language, and if I weren’t under so much pressure to learn Kinyarwanda as quickly as possible, I’m pretty sure I would find it really fun. I do love learning languages; I love the subtle differences in pronunciation, the mannerisms, and the un-translatable sayings... Learning languages makes your brain think in different ways, it teaches you about other cultures and other ways of life.

Learning another language takes time. A lot of time. A lot longer than one month. Particularly when the language you are trying to learn has 16 different noun classes. (No joke—there are 16 different ways to form a descriptive adjective or a verb depending on the noun that proceeds it. The words are long.). I know this, but I can’t help but get frustrated with myself. It’s been almost a month and I can barely get past greetings.

I do, however, consider myself incredibly lucky to be surrounded by three other amazing Niger PCVs, a good (although pretty tough) language instructor, and a great Training Manager. I am living with a fabulous host family, I have electricity, and I can buy 5 passion fruits or 3 avocados for 20¢ anytime of day. Now if I can just remember the word for passion fruit in Kinyarwanda… 

A Different Kind of Difficult

Niger was considered one of the most physically difficult places to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The heat, the lack of electricity (or any other western amenities), the sand: if you can survive in Niger you can survive anywhere... or so they say.

During my first few hours in Kigali, as I drove around in the Peace Corps vehicle on clean, paved roads I thought to myself how much easier and potentially more interesting this experience would be. There were well functioning streetlights, tall buildings, large advertisements for everything from shampoo to government sponsored health initiatives, and Land Cruisers for various well known International NGOs. I might make things happen here!

We arrived at the hotel and I was surprised to find that not only was I being given my own room, but that it also had electricity and running water. A functioning toilet for me alone! That night I went out to dinner with the other three Peace Corps Niger transfers and several staff members from Peace Corps Rwanda. The restaurant had pizza with real cheese! I could not believe my luck.

When I met with Peace Corps Rwanda Country Director Mary Abrams, she was incredibly warm and welcoming. Mary served as a volunteer in Niger and also as the PC Niger Country Director from 2006-2010. She warned the other PCVs and me, “Rwanda is not Niger”. For what would soon become painfully obvious reasons, Rwandans are much more private and not as trusting as Nigeriens. This is not a place to ask or joke about ethnicity, or assume anyone you meet will invite you into his home.

Upon returning to the hotel the first night, a very friendly young man came to introduce himself. His name was Willy and he explained that the nuns who ran the hotel, and the orphanage that was connected, had raised him. His parents died in the 1994 genocide. That's when I realized this was going to be a whole different kind of difficult.

Alma's in Rwanda

Last May, if you had asked me in what country I wanted to be a Peace Corps Volunteer, I would have said Rwanda.

Right now, in terms of development Rwanda is one of the most exciting places in the world.  President Paul Kagame, who is currently serving is second 7-year term, has made development the highest priority on his political agenda. When Peace Corps reentered Rwanda in 2008 after a twenty-year absence, he wrote a welcome letter in the Huffington Post I highly recommend you read.

The current government has also made gender development and equality a priority. By law, all government offices (at every level) must be at least 30% female. The electoral gender quotas have helped place Rwanda at the top of the list when it comes to women in parliament. Today, over half of Rwanda’s national parliament is comprised of women.

Last year, at Cornell, while writing my senior thesis on women’s representation as it relates to women’s health in sub-Saharan Africa I did a lot of research in this area, so I’m absolutely thrilled to have a chance to be on the ground now. If women in development something you’re interested in, I highly recommend International IDEA (Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance). They have a huge database on gender and electoral quotas.

When it comes to public health, Rwanda is also at the forefront of development. Thanks to a lot of local initiatives and international NGO interest, Rwanda has instituted a series of changes in public policy and primary health care treatment that are changing the entire country. PBS ran a segment on community health workers in Rwanda that I also highly recommend.

As an English speaker, Rwanda is also a great place to be. As part of their entrance into the East African Community, Rwanda is in the process of switching all public sector business from French to English. Two years ago, the school systems switched from teaching mainly in French to now mainly English. This should be great for future generations, but is causing some unease among adults who are in desperate need of English teachers. Looks like I'll be doing some teaching after all!

Rwanda is also a favorite among international NGOs. For a variety of reasons (some good, some bad) the international community is heavily present in Rwanda, which means I should get to see a lot of development projects in the works and hopefully meet and work with some of them.
 
Everything I've mentioned in this post are facts, ideas, and perceptions I come to Rwanda already having. It should be interesting to see how they change over the next two years!

WELCOME TO MY COUNTRY: Land of 1,000 Hills and Eternal Spring

On February 6^th, after 30 hours of travel in four countries, two continent, and three airlines, I arrived safely to Kigali, Rwanda, where the plan is for me to serve my two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the health sector.

As soon as I walked into the airport I saw a huge sign in English: “WELCOME TO MY COUNTRY”. The advertisement was for a beer company. Clearly, I am no longer in Niger.  

For now, all I can say is this country is beautiful. Everywhere I look it's green, green, green. I see why they call it land of 1,000 hills and also eternal Spring. 

Stay tuned for updates… 

**Special thanks to Daniela for naming my blog (again).  

Adventures of a Traveling Snack Pack

Back in September, when I got my invitation to serve in Peace Corps Niger, I received a wealth of information about my assignment, including a suggested packing list. I took the list pretty seriously and tried to buy everything on it: including chocolate pudding.

My dear, insightful mother and I had a small discussion about this before I left. “Alma, you don’t even like pudding” she reminded me. “Mama, it’s on the list, and the list was made by volunteers who are in Niger now, and I want to be prepared” I argued illogically.

Of course as soon as I got to Niger I realized my mother was right, as usual. Why the hell did I bring two Snack Packs to the desert? Still, any and all food from America is considered a treasure by Niger PCVs, so I held on.     

About a month into our training, my roommate Shelly had an especially lousy day, so to cheer her up I gave her one of my Snack Packs. We agreed we would eat them together when the emotional boost was necessary.

I thought about eating the pudding several times, and kept telling myself I needed to save it for a really rainy day, but the bad days I had never seemed bad enough to be worthy of such an extravagant American food item. Soon enough, training was over and my Snack Pack was still untouched, so I packed it up with the rest of my belongings and headed off to Zinder. Two weeks later, it was time to leave, so I packed up again and into my suitcase went the lonely Snack Pack.

By the time I arrived in Morocco, my Snack Pack has been to more countries than the average American. At this point, I didn’t even know what to do with the pudding because I felt so ridiculous still having this incredibly processed, chemically manipulated food item, and yet too attached to throw it away.

The Snack Pack traveled from Philadelphia to Niamey, to Zinder, to Rabat, across the Saharan Desert on camel until it reached Hostel Canaria in Agadir, where the need for a wine glass finally compelled me to eat it. Turns out it was pretty delicious, and the plastic container it came in served nicely as a make shift wine cup.

Thank you, Snack Pack! 

Things I did in Morocco

·   Rode a camel across the Saharan Desert. Full disclosure: I paid to be able to do this, like every other western tourist, but it was worth every penny. Riding the camel it was a bit (very) painful, but the sunrise in the Sahara is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

·   Tried to Bargain. I’d like to think I did ok, but I have a feeling the vendors who sold me things would say otherwise.

·   Got Hustled. Especially in Marrakech. Those vendors are aggressive.

Breakfast of Melwi, coffee, and fresh OJ... bliss!

·   Ate Everything in Site. Of course I found the fried dough within hours of leaving Rabat, so I was happy. Reintegrating fruits and vegetables into my diet was also amazing. Alison and I also developed a rather unhealthy obsession with melwi avec miel (kind of like crepes, only more delicious) during our travels.

·   Ran into two other evacuated Niger PCVs in Essouaria! It’s a small world after all.

·   Walked on the beach, and laid, and read, and ate, and spent as much time on the beach as possible on the beach.

·   Got lost in every city I went. Mostly on purpose, a couple times not so much. Wandering around through the tiny streets of Morocco’s medinas is a lot of fun though.

·   Saw snow in Africa. Did not expect that to happen when I packed for Peace Corps…  

·   Appreciated running water and other amenities not available in Niger. Functioning toilets: I love you.

·   Had a kid tell me to “donne moi un cadeau”. This phrase, which means “give me a present” in French, was every child in Niger’s favorite thing to say… apparently kids in Morocco got the memo too.

Trip to the Hamam

One of my most memorable experiences in Morocco was the trip I took to a Moroccan hamam. In Marrakech, Cristina, two of my dear friends and fellow evacuees, and I set out to experience a hamam, which at the time none of us knew much about: something like a spa, Moroccan style.

So there we were, four silly American girls walking into what looks like… well, I don’t know what to compare it to. The entrance door was small, then there were lots of tiled walls, and then someone somehow knew which of the two doors was for women.

We entered what I guess I would call a Moroccan locker room, where an older woman was sitting at a desk surrounded by bags of clothing, and two larger Moroccan women were changing into their clothes. One of my friends took the lead and conveyed to the women that we were interested in entering the hamam.

What followed were lots of hand gestures, pointing, awkward stares, grunts, and the exchange of money. I don’t think any of us really knew what was going on, but before long we were sitting on the plastic benches, with little more than towels to cover us.

Our very generous host (I mean generous physically and as a character trait) ushered us into a large room with white tiled walls, and gestured for us to stay put. No problem. The four of us stood awkwardly holding on to our towels, watching women who were not wearing their towels, come in and out of other, similar looking rooms.

A few minutes later our friend came back and began making more gestures that none of us really understood, until she tugged one of my friends’ towels off. The three of us who still had towels on our bodies looked horrified for a second, and then followed suit. We remained standing awkwardly, only now we had no towels, and could not stop giggling. I can only imagine what the other women in the hamam were thinking.

Next, we were escorted into another room that looked pretty similar to the first, only a little smaller and warmer because there was more steam. Faucets around us were filling buckets with hot water that women were taking and moving from room to room.

We continued sitting awkwardly and laughing hysterically, watching everyone else go about their business, until again we were called on, this time individually. One of my friends went first, and the rest of us watched as the generous Moroccan woman scrubbed her down. We were each instructed first to lie flat on our backs, and then when our friend was finished, lay on our stomachs on the hot tile floor. I don’t know how else to describe it, but this friendly Moroccan woman just took what feels pretty close to sandpaper and scrubbed each one of us down until all of our skin was bright pink and clean.  

If you are ever in Morocco I highly, highly recommend the hamam experience. It was certainly awkward at first but a lot of fun and by the end I think all of us had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and entertained all the Moroccan women there.

Things I did not do in Morocco

·   Learn Arabic: although I repeated shokran! (thank you!) many, many times. Thanks Uncle O, shout out to the Piatto crew!

My favorite picture from the trip: Riding camels across the Sahara

·   Capture the beauty of Morocco in pictures. I tried, and having a good camera helped (thanks Uncle Peter & Aunt Widgie!) ... but it's an impossible thing to do.

·   Go into a mosque. Non-Muslims are prohibited to enter almost most Mosques in Morocco, but I certainly admired their beauty from outside.

·   Figure out how to deal with all the men on the streets who wanted to “welcome” me, and “practice English”.  Various techniques of evasion were attempted.

·   Try the snail soup. I looked at it, I thought about it, and I passed.

·   Visit a Morocco PCV. This would have been really cool…but didn’t happen. Hopefully any traveling I do post-Morocco will be more planned and I can arrange for this to happen in other Peace Corps countries.

·   Play with kids. Before Niger, kids made me feel uncomfortable, and babies scared me. In Morocco, I found myself missing them.

·   See the Mediterranean Coast. Another trip, another time…the Atlantic Coast was beautiful though.

·   Find the Saharan Desert stars more impressive than the ones in Niger.  Now I sound like a snob, but all I’m trying to say is that in Niger, the stars are astounding.

Places I went in Morocco

·   Rabat: the capital of Morocco. Walking along the coast I was able to see the ancient city walls, which was really cool. In Europe you often see partial city walls, but from the coast it really looked like the whole city was still being protected from the sea. The Mausoleum was also really beautiful.

·   Fes, the city of leather making! The medina/market area is one of the largest in the world. Thanks to it, I now own a leather purse…and shoes, but I was able to resist the wallet.

·   The Saharan Desert. Wow. That’s all I can say. The pictures capture about 30% of it.

·   Mid-Atlas and High Atlas Mountains. We took the scenic route from Fes to Marrakesh and traveled through the Atlas Mountains with the assistance of the ever so patient and kind Haj. Along the way we saw monkeys, lakes, mountains, gorges, and ancient Moroccan towns…oh my!

Best part of Marrakech: CRISTINA! 

·   Marrakech. Marrakesh is a magical city. It’s also an incredibly aggressive one. The best part about it was that Cristina met me there! It was absolutely wonderful to see her, and although we missed Daniela and Alex a lot, the two of us had a great time drinking mint tea, dogging the aggressive vendors, and trying to bargain for scarves.

·   Agadir was a welcomed break from Marrakesh, although the city seemed a little bit out of place given all my other recent traveling. The beach area was completely run by touristy restaurants and shops, and European retirement communities.
·   Essaouria was a lot like Agadir, minus the European retirement communities and the people that tend to frequent them… so it was awesome. An incredibly relaxed atmosphere, and on our last day there Alison and I found an incredible terrace café to sit and watch the sun set on the water.

Essaouria

 

American Ambassadors on a Moroccan Train

During Peace Corps training, we were often reminded that as PCVs we are “American Ambassadors to host communities”. Most people in PCV host communities have never met an American, so your conduct is how America and American people will forever be engraved in their mind… or something like that.

In Niger, this didn’t bother me. Almost all the Nigeriens I met told me how much they loved America. (I sat on a bus once where, after my nationality was established, the man on my right told me he loved Obama and the man on my left told me he loved Bush, I kid you not).

In Morocco, however, the situation is a little bit different.

My friend Alison and I began our epic journey around Morocco on a bus from Rabat to Fes. We sat in a 6-person cabin, the only women there (common trend in Morocco for us). Soon after our journey began, one of the men on the train asked us in English where we were from. We began talking and when it came up we were Peace Corps Volunteers he asked us what that meant.

For me, it was a proud moment. Alison and I explained the three goals of Peace Corps and told him a little bit about Niger. All three men in the train car seemed impressed, and the man we had been talking to thanked us on behalf of the Moroccan people and wished us the best of luck. Go Team America!

Shortly after he left, one of the other young men who had been listening to our conversation asked me timidly if I spoke French. We began some small talk and when I mentioned I studied political science he enthusiastically said “Oh! You’re a politician!” I tried to correct him but he had made up his mind.

“So tell me, since you are a politician, what does the White House and what do the American people think about Arab countries, and Muslims in general?”

Woha. Suddenly all the pride I felt minutes earlier was gone.  My heart shrank as I thought about the discussions in America over the mosque near ground zero; the negative discussions on talk show programs about Muslims in the US; and some of the comments people at home had made to me when they heard I was moving to a Muslim country.

“That’s a very difficult question” I responded diplomatically. Then, I told my new friend on the train to Fes as much truth as I could muster: I don’t think most Americans know enough about Muslim people, culture, or countries. I have experienced nothing but kindness from Muslims in Niger and in Morocco, and I will tell all my American friends about it, and encourage them to learn more too. 

My fantastic travel companion, Alison & me

Invisible Effects of Terrorism

“They will have to touch me before they touch you!”

It’s been over three weeks since I was evacuated from Niger… My friend Kabirou’s voice continues to replay in my head.

I am excited to begin the next chapter in Rwanda, but I am afraid of forgetting Niger. I am afraid we will all forget Niger… three months ago I barely knew where it was on a map.

Kabirou (wearing the green turban)

When I told Kabirou about the evacuation plan he was calm. He told me not to worry; volunteers in the past had been consolidated because of security concerns, but all had returned. “Are you scared?” he asked me, with the same genuine concern Masbahou had earlier. “Of course not,” I repeated, “I want to stay here”.

Kabirou is a practicing Muslim and, from our limited discussions, I gathered feels pretty strongly about his faith. He has three wives, the youngest of which is fifteen. Kabriou is the village elected President of the Health Hut and the School Board in Kore Hausa. He keeps the books for at least one of the four women’s associations in the village, and maintains one of the three village wells. Everyone I talked to told me to talk to Kabirou.

I had only known Kabirou for eight days when he told me that he’d take a bullet for me, and so would everyone else in Kore Hausa.

I’m heartbroken to leave Niger, but I’ll be fine. I got a vacation in Morocco and a job in a country my friends in the US might actually want to visit. As a result of AQIM terrorism, however, my Nigerien friends, and many others, are out of jobs.

The Peace Corps is not the only aid organization to leave Niger as a result of terrorist threats. Debates on foreign aid aside, the immediate effects of this withdrawal are devastating for hundreds of Nigeriens who are employed by international organizations or otherwise supported by them. 

In the United States, when I heard or thought about “the effects of international terrorism”, September 11^th, long airport security lines and the Patriot Act came to mind. I rarely thought about the damaging effects al Qaeda and other extremist groups have on other countries, much less Muslim countries in Africa.

Eight Days as a PCV in Kore Hausa, Niger

I spent a total of eight whole days at my post in Niger. They were incredible.

Some of the most amazing and most difficult things I experienced were in the health hut, where I worked alongside my counterpart, Masbahou. From polio vaccinations to prenatal exams, the work was absolutely fascinating. I really don’t have words to describe what I saw or how excited I was to learn more… and the prospect of eventually being able to help people there.

A lot of crazy things happened, one in particular I’d like to share.

Sunday morning I was at the health clinic with Masbahou, practicing my Hausa, when I noticed a donkey kart approaching. I figured this probably meant something serious because generally people just walk.

Two women enter the clinic: one very young and one very old. The young woman (she’s probably 15 or 16) looks petrified. The older woman is carrying a large bundle of blankets, which she shows to Masbahou. They speak quickly in Hausa to each other, the whole time the younger woman looks terrified. I pick up something about a hand, a birth, home, and lots of “asha, asha”…which is kind of like saying darn, but you say it when people are sick.

Inside the bundle I realize there’s a baby! A newborn, whose tiny little left hand is swollen and purple. Masbahou looks it over, and speaks again with the older woman. They leave the health hut and walk over to the donkey kart and speak to the man there. They all come back inside, speaking quickly again. This time I catch the word medicine, and something about Matamaye, the bigger town with a hospital 12 km away.

At this point, Masbahou sees that I’m completely confused and gives me a brief explanation. The older woman is a traditional midwife, who delivered the young woman’s first child at home. Since the birth two days earlier, the baby’s hand has continued to swell and darken—probably an infection. Masbahou is prescribing ibuprofen and amoxicillin, but the health hut in Kore Hausa stocks neither; they will have to wait until the next day when someone can go to Matamaye to buy them.

Then, family leaves and Masbahou tells me the midwife is not a real midwife. There are several trained midwives who know how to look for complication signs during pregnancy, and always bring women in labor to the clinic. This midwife is not, and she did not. Masbahou thinks perhaps the baby’s head was not well positioned during the deliver; the hand probably came out first.

“Are there many problems?” I ask.

“No problems, incha Allah,” Masbahou assures me. “Tomorrow the baby will drink medicine: amoxicillin and ibuprofen, and then no problems”.

A health facility that serves over 3,000 people doesn’t stock amoxicillin or ibuprofen.