Finish your dinner, there are starving children in Africa

I’ve always thought this argument for making kids eat their food was silly. Whether or not you finish your food will make absolutely no difference to the starving children in Africa. They will remain starving and you will either gain weight or create more trash.

Enjoying  chistorra with my sisters in San Sebastian

This holiday season, I was lucky enough spend some time with my family in San Sebastian, Spain. Although the absence of my Abuelo Daniel was hard felt and difficult, I really cannot describe how wonderful it was to be with my parents, my sisters, aunts, and cousin, who I hadn’t seen in over a year! Of course eating jamon Serrano, enjoying three hour lunches at Barkaiztegi, and bar hopping for tapas around the Parte Vieja weren’t so bad either.

I have been told time and time again: the most difficult part of a volunteer’s Peace Corps experience is coming home. Instead of suffering from stress about un-sanitized meat and the swarm of people following you everywhere; you have panic attacks about the ridiculously large selection of cereals on isle 14 and why your Applebees order took five minutes, not three hours-- things that before a short two years in Peace Corps, were normal. 

My visit to Spain was too short to really deal with reverse-culture shock. Mostly, I just filled myself with good food, enjoyed family time and western plumbing. I was, however, seriously thrown off by one thing: kids and their rude, spoiled, habits.

Now I have said this before, and I will say it again: I’m not the most kid-friendly person. Africa has made me much, much better at interacting with kids. In fact, after a year here I really thought I was starting to like them, maybe want some of my own one day. Then I went to Spain.

Suddenly, I was yelling at my seven year old cousin: “Do you know, every day, I work with children your age who have nothing to eat? NOTHING! They spend their days carrying 20 liter water jugs on their head! They don’t complain! Do you understand how lucky you are? Eat your delicious fish! It’s delicious! What is wrong with you?! Behave yourself!”.

My cousin was seriously confused. It was unrealistic and rude of me to expect her to understand the hardships of children on a different continent who share nothing in common with her other than age. For a second, her inability to comprehend the struggles of my young Rwandan neighbors infuriated me.

In reality, I hope my cousin will never experience the hunger or strife suffered by the children I work with. But I do hope that she, and all the other picky eaters in this world, will in some way appreciate their luck. The luxury of walking through a grocery store with isles, the ability to be picky, to refuse food and not be hungry: this makes you part of a very, very small percentage of this world.

So I guess I did go through a bit of reverse culture shock. I don’t think you should finish your dinner just because my neighbors in Africa are starving, but maybe don’t complain about getting baked potatoes instead of mashed, regular instead of diet. Take a deep breath, enjoy the variety and the abundance. Life is good.

Girls Leading Our World and Boys Excelling

Campers & PCV Facilitators at BE Camp

Gender and Development is a priority among Peace Corps Volunteers worldwide. In the 1990’s volunteers in Romania conducted a girl’s empowerment camp they called GLOW: Girls Leading Our World. Since then, the camp has been adopted across the globe in countries where PCV’s live and work. In 2009, Rwanda held the first national GLOW Camp in the capitol city, Kigali. The following year, GLOW was repeated, and a boy’s version: BE, Boys Excelling, was also conducted. In an effort to be more sustainable and inclusive, Peace Corps Rwanda headquarters requested volunteers conduct regional camps in 2011.

When I first heard about the project, I wasn’t impressed. Flashy, expensive, youth camps that local communities never asked for and will probably never conduct on their own, are conducted by all types of international NGOs. It didn’t seem to me like the kind of project meant for a Peace Corps Volunteer: where was the community need, input, and participation? Besides that, I’m not so great at interacting with children or teenagers, and I have never been a camp person. (Thanks Mama and Papa, for never sending me to Camp Thompson). 

 

Then one day my counterpart, Mama Fis, asked me when the GLOW Camps would be this year. Her daughter attended the GLOW Camp last year and loved it. “She learned so much English, she came back so happy!” Mama Fis told me, “I want Fis [her oldest son] to attend this year too!”.

And that’s how I ended up organizing my district’s GLOW & BE Camps.

With the BE Campers & Community Facilitators from my town

Preparing for the Camps was a great experience. I wrote and received my first Peace Corps grant, and got a chance to interact with a lot of local leaders that I otherwise probably would have never met. I felt like my coworkers and supervisors at the Health Center, Hospital, and local government office were finally able to see me “do” something, which I hope will result in more people approaching me with ideas for collaboration. Finally, as those of you who have worked with me in the past know, I love to be in charge.

GLOW Campers during the closing ceremony

The camps themselves went pretty well. On November 27^th we began the training of trainers for the boy’s camp (a day and a half of just PCVs and community facilitators), followed by four days of fun with twenty-nine boys between the ages of 14 and 18, who all live and study in and around the district. The following week, we did the same with girls.

Activities focused on goal setting; leadership; communication; healthy relationships; decision making; sexual and gender based violence; HIV/AIDS facts and myths; women’s health/birth control; and everyone’s favorite—condom demonstrations. In between lessons we played lots of games, and with the support of a local health center we were able to offer voluntary HIV testing and counseling, which almost all the students participated in. A total of 11 PCVs, 42 students, and over 30 community leaders completed and/or assisted in the successful execution of the camps.

At GLOW Camp, trying the Human Knot

Of course we had some hick-ups along the way (mental note: never expect a government official to show up on the right date or at the right time), but the students all seemed to have a great time and learn something along the way.

Now that the camps are finished, I’m excited to have almost twenty students from my site eager to begin GLOW & BE Clubs at their school. These clubs will allow the students to continue the conversation about issues they discussed at the camps, and share information with their peers. So much for not being good with teenagers!

(Late) Family Thanksgiving Letter

Mi Querida Familia,

I realize this letter is late for Thanksgiving, but I don’t think it’s ever too late to be thankful. I can’t believe over a year has passed since I wrote my last Thanksgiving letter. I’ve been away for the changing of four seasons, for birthdays, for family dinners, and time around the living room fire. But I’ve been ‘here’ (Niger, Morocco, South Africa, and Rwanda) for sun and rain, for births and naming ceremonies, weddings, and dinners with families that have invited me in as if I were their own. Like I said last year, time is a bizarre
concept.

Rwanda is a beautiful country, but as many of my phone calls and emails have shown, it’s not an easy country to live or work in. I’m not sure if it was the original excitement of being in Africa and joining Peace Corps, or if Niger just was that special—but reading over the letter I sent last year I have re-realized how much I have to be thankful for.

Of course right now, I am thinking mostly of Abuelo. I am so, so thankful for the time I had with him. There aren’t words to describe his mischievous smile, his whole hearted laugh, his deep and confident voice, or his affection. My heart aches that from now on I will only experience those in my memory, but I am forever thankful that those memories are many.

Abuelo

This year, I am also especially thankful for:

Rain. There is nothing more calming or cleansing than a good rainstorm. After a good rain, you can feel the difference. Rain is also hilarious. I challenge anyone to be caught in a rainstorm and not laugh hysterically, at least for a few seconds.

Avocados. In Rwanda, avocados are cheap, easily accessible, and delicious. When I start to think about the Western comforts I’m missing out on, I eat an avocado and realize that you can find delicious special treats everywhere in the world.

Latrines. I know last year I told you to be thankful for seated toilets, and I stand by that statement. But this year, I am thankful for pit latrines. Because when your plumbing system is questionable, it’s better to have a pit latrine than a broken toilet.

My neighbors. Because they have accepted this strange, young white girl as one of their own. In particular, I am thankful for my eldest neighbor Donatille, who gives me the smile of a thirteen year old girl when I complement her outfits; and Jaques, the four year old who runs to hug me at the beginning and end of each day, and reminds me why I wanted this job in the first place.

My access to healthcare. E-coli, giardia, and root canals, aside, I’ve been incredibly blessed with good health this year. When I have needed medical attention, the attention I’ve received has been world class. I
am painfully aware of how much this sets me apart from my neighbors here in Rwanda, but also in the United States. I cannot be thankful enough for this.

My friends and family. I think about you every day. Last year, I really thought my appreciation could go no further, but I was wrong. Being in a country where so many have lost their closest friends and family members, and as a result have shut down and let no one new in, I am thankful every second, for the love, trust, and care I receive from my friends and family spread out across the entire globe.

So I’m not really sure if this year you’ll be all together when you read this letter or if it will just be on individual computer screens in Carlisle, New York City, and Ithaca… but I’m pretty sure Cristina and Mama are still crying a bit, so again I have what is intended to be comic relief—

Things you should be thankful for because I cannot be:

Oreo Cookies. Do not ask me why or how, but I crave them every day, and I am so jealous that you can drive to any store you want and buy a box (or send me one, hint hint).

Cement Sidewalks and Roads. Now I am very thankful for the rain, but I am not thankful for what it does to the mud roads and paths I walk on. Be thankful that you do not need indoor and outdoor shoes to (try to)
keep mud out of the house.

Fast Internet. I cannot wait until the day I can upload my Gmail without having to use HTML version, and know it will work.

Donuts. I think I’ve said this before, but the fried dough here really doesn’t cut it. Dad, I am counting on you to go to GIANT after reading this email and buy a chocolate donut. Mama, please don’t stop him.

Weather.com I’m glad being a weather woman or meteorologist was never a career aspiration of mine, because I suck at predicting the weather.

Sorry this letter is late, but I hope I was able to bring back some Thanksgiving spirit. I love, miss, and think of you all the time.

Besos,
Alma

Thief!

My friend Chantal, drinking sorghum beer before a wedding

Last week, as I walked down the main road of Kigali, a man grabbed my arm. At this point in my Peace Corps experience I’m pretty unfazed by street harassment, but this guy grabbed my arm hard. I turned and pushed him away, giving him a piece of my mind in a mix of English and Kinyarwanda. As he crossed the street, I realized my phone was gone. 

“HEY! That man has my phone! Stop him!” I screamed in Kinyarwanda. The man standing next to me looked concerned, and ran after the first. As I watched them both run, I realized the second man was the one who had taken my phone.

I walked in the direction the men had run, not exactly sure what I could do. As I turned the corner and looked around helplessly, another man approached me.

“Did someone just steal from you?” he asked. I explained to him what had just happened. “Yes! I saw the men running. My friends and I, we are the taxi drivers here, we will find your phone.” I thanked him, gave him the contact information for the Peace Corps Safety and Security Officer and headed back to the Peace Corps Office.

When I arrived at the office an hour later, the Security Officer saw me and immediately said “Alma! I’m so sorry about your phone!”. Surprised and confused about how she already knew, I started to explain what had happened. “I know, I know! Richard, the taxi driver, he called me. He has your phone!” she told me.

Back downtown, I met up with Richard and thanked him a million times. He and the other taxi drivers had tracked down my phone, which had already been sold off, and then found the thieves, who had kept my SIM card, and gotten that back from them too. “There are a lot of thieves downtown, and we business people don’t like it. You are a nice umuzungu, you speak Kinyarwanda! They cannot steal from you! We just want peace in the city, we are all happy to help.”

So my little Nokia phone and I are reunited again. No amount of Peace Corps evacuations, latrine falls, or thefts can keep us apart … I think it’s true love.

Volunteer Tourism

At Cornell, I took part in a service-learning course that culminated in a three week malaria intervention project in Ghana. It was my first time in sub-Saharan Africa, and the experience solidified my desire to work extensively in the region.

Before leaving, a professor, who would two years later become my thesis advisor, put the trip into context for me: “Listen, there’s no denying that no matter what you give or do for these people, you’re getting much more out of this experience”.

Service trips have become very popular in the United States. Whether building houses in the Mississippi Delta or stocking libraries in Nicaragua, energetic, inexperienced, idealistic young people are hoping to “save the world” and “make a difference”, all while soaking in sun and posing for a Facebook picture. The programs usually require more funding than the communities they visit will ever see.

Pre-Wedding Grub with two Local Leaders in my community

Full disclosure: I was (and in many ways, still am) one of those people.

Nonetheless, Peace Corps Volunteers love to hate these types of ‘volunteers’. We meet them in the fancy western bars in big cities, and after a two hour visit to the local school and health center, they claim to understand the problems faced by rural African families. After these volunteers make their flashy appearances, it’s pretty hard for PCVs to explain to our community why we don’t have suitcases of donated clothes and soccer balls, we do not eat at fancy hotels, but we are here to stay.

If you are considering this type of tourist volunteer work, I say by all means go for it. Just be realistic.

In September a group of twenty or so masters students from an American university came to my site for an afternoon visit. Before the group arrived, rumors spread around the hospital that abazungus from the Clinton Foundation and UN were coming to build a new maternity ward, pediatric ward, school, and cyber café.

The day was amusing. In many ways, I felt more comfortable with my Rwandan friends, who I’ve lived with the last nine months, than the Americans, who I share a language and culture with.

The group spent two weeks in Rwanda: meeting with the Minister of Health, talking to genocide survivors, touring a refugee camp near the DRC border, and coming all the way to my hospital to experience ‘village life’ and engage with ‘stakeholders’.

Before leaving, the group held a meeting in Kigali to share their experiences with everyone they had visited. The group said they wanted to help Rwanda. They gave everyone bookmarks.

I have no doubt the students had the best of intentions, and I found most of them to be very pleasant. But the patronizing attitude I observed from some (perhaps subconscious, perhaps intentional) was embarrassing. In conversations with the top two health workers of the district, the group kept referring to “the literature” they had read, and their unique solution which involved mobile health technology. The ideas and discussions presented by Rwandans themselves seemed barely heard. The group had come with a planned vision (researched and developed in a comfortable, American, university library), and no amount of experience or insight from Rwandans with years of work experience and a lifetime of understanding could stop them. We’re Americans, we know all!

My Rwandan neighbors were very excited about the big group of abazungus who came to visit. It was the largest number of Westerners most of them had ever seen. The Americans seemed grateful for the opportunity to experience something so different. Since the visit, a few hospital staff members have started intense English classes with me. I’ve exchanged emails with one of the professors from the group who said some of the students were now considering Peace Corps.

A short service trip can do a lot of great things for all parties involved. But it will not save starving children from malnutrition or provide steady jobs for the local population. I encourage anyone to join or support short service trips, so long as the people involved take some time to reflect about what they can do, and more importantly, what they cannot. This is true for anyone interested in community development, long or short term, in sub-Saharan African or in the Mississippi Delta.

Lake Kivu from Kibuye, Rwanda

Millions of people across the world (hundreds of thousands of them born, raised, and educated in sub-Saharan Africa) are working hard, every day, on improving education, healthcare, and economic conditions of the poor. It’s great if you want to join them, but you won’t be the first, or the last, and you certainly won’t solve anything by yourself.

Obama Style

Overgeneralized Alma Fact Number 230984: Americans are sloppy dressers.

Example: American citizens are the easiest people to spot in airports around the world. While in American culture comfort is key, the rest of the world sees traveling as an important time to show off your stuff. It makes sense: you’re making a lot of first impressions—sweatpants and a hoddie don’t translate to anything impressive, in any language.

Not long after President Obama swore in, a New York Times article described the controversy surrounding the ‘casual’ makeover the White House was getting, particularly as it related to the President’s attire. I remember thinking the attention was ridiculous. As far as I know, coats and ties have no magical powers to fix the economy or stop terrorism. If wearing sandals and Bermuda shirts help Obama concentrate, that’s fine by me. 

Well, it turns out New York Times reporters are not the only ones paying attention to what the leader of the free world wears to work.

Rwandans are very formal dressers. They are particularly serious about their shoes, which are always perfectly polished, no matter how much mud and dirt they've tracked through. My outfits are scrutinized on a daily basis for spots, holes, and ironing (or lack there of). Mama Fils has given up reminding me that my shoes are muddy.

I recently acquired a cute pair of khaki pants, courtesy of an unknown Peace Corps Volunteer who left them in the volunteer grab box. The pants are perfect for Rwanda: they look nice (I think), they're dark (to hide dirt), with pockets (for my phone and hand sanitizer), not too light but not too heavy (perfect for the consistently changing weather patterns). Best of all, these pants have special buttons so they can be rolled into capris, ideal for the many rainy days that turn the bottoms of my pants into mud sponges.

When I showed up to work wearing my stylish-yet-practical “new” pants I was expecting complements. Instead, Mama Fils gave me a good up-down and asked “Alma! Are you going to farm?!”. I didn’t understand. “Why are your pants rolled up? It’s ugly, it’s not correct.”

It should be no surprise that my attempts to explain capri pants failed miserably. Fashion isn’t my thing. Just as I started to unroll the pants and make them acceptable for my counterpart, a young hospital nurse came over and complimented my outfit. I laughed and explained to Claudine that Mama Fils disagreed. The two women began a heated argument about the legitimacy of my outfit. Much to my surprise, Claudine won and Mama Fils agreed I might have some sense of style after all.

Claudine’s winning argument? Well, Alma is just following Obama’s style of course! The man roles up his sleeves; his countrymen role up their pants.

Sporting Rwandan Style Festive Attire at a Wedding in Kigali

Abashitsi (Visitors)

Ben drinking traditional sorghum beer

As I’ve mentioned before, hosting visitors is a huge honor in Rwandan culture. Visiting someone is a way of showing respect, appreciation, and friendship. I love visiting my friends and coworkers, and have been honored to receive quite a few visitors myself, Rwandans and Americans as well! 

Several volunteers from the most recent health group have been installed at sites near mine, and showing them around my community and the District Hospital has been a really great way for me to see how far I’ve come since I arrived eight months ago.

The most exciting visit so far was from my world traveling friend Ben Cole, who worked for Google all of last year and was based out of Accra, Ghana. Introducing my “cousin” to neighbors and colleagues was really fun and a huge cultural moment for me. In a society where family is so highly valued, why a single, twenty-three year old white girl would move half way across the world to work is hard to explain. A visitor from home seemed to make my existence a little more real. 

So: karibu, karibu! You are all welcome!