tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2915839031749771262024-03-04T23:00:01.123-05:00Real Drama is in the HumdrumDisclaimer: This blog represents my personal views and does not represent the views of the United States government or the Peace Corps.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-17674927857845284302009-07-08T17:43:00.000-04:002009-07-08T17:47:17.704-04:00Akazi (Work) ObservationsMany problems here seem to stem not only from the many factors we were taught in grad school (poverty, lack of female education, etc.) but also the roles of men and women in society. In our area, the majority of people make what small money they have from farming, and women are expected to perform the brunt of the work. In addition to cooking, cleaning and raising the children, they are expected to do the planting, cultivating and harvesting as well. Men, if they work, prefer to do things like carpentry. More typically, they like to hang out and drink alcohol together (either beer brewed by companies such as Primus and Mutzig or the local banana beer.) While I was working in ARV services recently, one man who came in had a CD4 count of 75 because would get drunk and forget to take his ARVs. Polygamy, though illegal, is still a huge problem, especially when, as in one case, the man had HIV but refused to bring in any of his wives for testing. It is not uncommon for a man to have one wife in one village and another in another village. There are also many discordant relationships (the man is HIV+ but the wife is not or vice versa.) Though it is easier for women to contract HIV, I must admit there are many more discordant relationships in which the wife is positive and the man negative than I expected to see.<br /><br />The other major concern insofar as HIV and AIDs are concerned in our region is PMTCT (or the lack thereof.) While the PMTCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission) services are available and work when utilized, an alarming number of women refuse to have babies tested even if they themselves are on ART. The health clinic is in desperate need of a better catchment system for identifying at risk children, because even if the children come for immunizations and malnourishment testing, there is no means for identifying those exposed and testing them. Improving the number of HIV+ children on medicine therefore requires a two-part system: improved identification and catchment for testing of at risk children and education for their mothers to emphasize the importance of this testing.<br /><br />Further complicating the issue is the risk of vaccinating HIV+ infants. A new study in South Africa (WHO, 2009) has found that giving HIV positive or potentially positive children the vaccine could make them more susceptible to a deadly form of TB. This is only the latest addition to the list of vaccines that are not recommended for HIV positive children, including Pneumococcal, MMR, Varciella, and Influenza. Identification of such HIV positive is even more critical now than ever in Rwanda because the country has recently begun an initiative making the Pneumococcal vaccine available for the first time (my own health center just started giving the vaccine out yesterday.)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-84411076898732262302009-07-08T17:18:00.002-04:002009-07-08T17:43:00.503-04:00Picture #11<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwZADajqDYcQKKeVGWvpT8IQYlSPrQSVAjlgp8vPXiDIeW2O0ajzxs-iBrx-xGE4KhgGSjL1G4RNWi5PDeLU7XLBEDso-iwgAaDvCXLf2GdVbVP0sAOzht3mvI2jZxQ4uSltyv7OUTqPs/s1600-h/Bushenge+Kivu+Fourth+096.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356207902738243442" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwZADajqDYcQKKeVGWvpT8IQYlSPrQSVAjlgp8vPXiDIeW2O0ajzxs-iBrx-xGE4KhgGSjL1G4RNWi5PDeLU7XLBEDso-iwgAaDvCXLf2GdVbVP0sAOzht3mvI2jZxQ4uSltyv7OUTqPs/s320/Bushenge+Kivu+Fourth+096.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Hot springs. Mmm green water.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-78687639887379395402009-07-08T17:17:00.000-04:002009-07-08T17:18:31.194-04:00The Fourth of JulyThe first week in July is a big week for Rwanda…the first is Independence Day (aka independence from Belgium) and the fourth is Liberation Day (aka the end of the genocide). The weekend of the fourth was also a big deal in my village because two priests were being ordained (no small thing in a Catholic parish!) We, however, skipped all the festivities and headed out of the village with a group of muzungus from South Africa who, conveniently, have a car. On Saturday we went to the hot springs “near” us (aka you take the long dirt road to our village in a different director for a long, long time). Their location is pretty ridiculous because you drive from the fairly lush, well vegetated hills near Nyungwe Forest to an arid area full of mainly scrub bush. On the other side of a quarry, however, a well manicured park (complete with parking spots) appears out of nowhere with the springs in the middle. Mind you, along the way there were no signs to the springs, and without our (limited) grasp of the language we would never have found the place. The park is clearly used infrequently at best, because a group of muzungus pulling up drew a huge group of spectators, who then stuck around for the remainder of the day to see what the muzungus would do. We entertained by wading through the springs until they were too hot to bear, and settled down on the grass beside the springs to enjoy our cold Primus out of a cooler. Sunday we drove down to Lake Kivu for a more refreshing version of the day before.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-23118597743446096222009-07-08T16:52:00.004-04:002009-07-08T17:17:22.240-04:00Picture #10<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewk17rWWZMh3j1Tuhp-H4wQmO0Qi3MhtUK3liEWSL5G9J8g4lzaeWWLJnc1uPQ1JOUyirT43cmpEQVAlpxIBNkegY6alLZNQO6pzBxwYhcBYRUl_ig0utDU3JrgCkQpFRP9rLshhiHi5/s1600-h/june+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356201132793044130" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewk17rWWZMh3j1Tuhp-H4wQmO0Qi3MhtUK3liEWSL5G9J8g4lzaeWWLJnc1uPQ1JOUyirT43cmpEQVAlpxIBNkegY6alLZNQO6pzBxwYhcBYRUl_ig0utDU3JrgCkQpFRP9rLshhiHi5/s320/june+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8iGGaVu9mrNNLND6HUSBd4tdidZxCT6Go6xhv3XQS8c82_TUf9ZAmz2Hc58U4o9D8FdPdAQ4_KknWvzCOgd5RBpUPnk9HIdYXsuzcrm2ZCP4aI3zeSQaPjScFIJ1WLeBIeMoPVn2vFg9/s1600-h/june+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356197845465532306" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8iGGaVu9mrNNLND6HUSBd4tdidZxCT6Go6xhv3XQS8c82_TUf9ZAmz2Hc58U4o9D8FdPdAQ4_KknWvzCOgd5RBpUPnk9HIdYXsuzcrm2ZCP4aI3zeSQaPjScFIJ1WLeBIeMoPVn2vFg9/s320/june+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Mosquito nets distributed to children at our clinic who have completed their schedule of vaccinations thanks to the President's Malaria Initiative.<br /><div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-15116623270203242892009-07-08T16:47:00.000-04:002009-07-08T16:51:47.152-04:00Ntabwo ndi umuganga (I am not a nurse)Work continues to mainly involve showing up once the morning meeting is done at the Health Center and asking “how can I help?” This has lead to varying results, as Ali has been shown a complicated birth and two dead fetuses, while typically the fare is much less exciting (and grotesque!) Unfortunately this also means I get saddled with such mundane tasks as counting pills in the pharmacy or recording names in the registry while a nurse draws blood for VCT (Voluntary Testing and Counseling), but it also gives me to the opportunity to watch and listen and ask questions. The stories of the couples coming in for VCT vary widely, and often tend towards the sad, like the woman who brought her granddaughter in for testing (both the girl’s parents had died.) The grandmother herself had had a tough life from the very beginning- her own parents had died when she was a baby, and she was deserted by a banana tree where a dog had eaten her toes and one of her thumbs. On the flip side, one of my favorite stories is about a couple in which the man had just recently been released from prison after 15 years. Given the time they had spent apart, the couple wanted to be tested before they slept together. No matter the reason for their separation, the joy in their eyes to be back together and to be told they were both negative was heartening to see.<br /><br />Over the past couple of weeks, I finally got to meet all of the AIDS Relief (the organization I work for) staff in the region. The doctor in charge came to our clinic to check up on things and gave Ali and I a list of things to watch for at the clinic (ex. are certain procedures being followed when a HIV+ woman gives birth?) At the invitation of some of the staff, the Peace Corps Volunteers who work for AIDS Relief in our region spent the day with them in Cyangugu getting to know one another, swimming in the hotel pool, and enjoying fish brochette with a view of the DRC border.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-22477007961811541292009-07-08T16:46:00.001-04:002009-07-08T16:46:50.159-04:00Gusura (To Visit)Part of the Peace Corps experience is getting out into the community and just generally being social. Recently I was yelled at for not visiting our neighbors more- it is the Rwandan culture to just drop on by from time to time– but I have had a hard time breaking out of the American mindset that you don’t visit unless expressly invited. One family in particular started visiting us quite a bit, and Ali and I would sit and play with the girls or feed them lollipops or paint their toenails red (all my doing.) We did so assuming that they were our second host family (we each have a host family at site, and we had only met one) but as it turns out they were just friendly neighbors. They live up on a hill, so one day after visiting them we decided to continue on and make the rounds, introducing ourselves and exploring the “neighborhood.” Since then we have continued to go back and hike further and further, discovering little clusters of houses and stores (even the term “village” seems too big for what they truly are) way off the beaten track.<br /><br />Eventually we did meet our host family, a mama and papa and very newborn baby. They are farmers who built their house by themselves and generally seem to be good, genuine, hardworking people. (Can you say cliché?) We spent most of the time taking turns playing with the baby, and have already been invited to attend the baby’s baptism later on this month. Last week, the mama came over to teach us how to cook peanut sauce. By “us” I mean Ali was in the kitchen cooking with her and I was outside with the baby and another little girl trying to entertain them with Sesame Street books (in English) and bubbles.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-29121039845864756572009-07-08T16:23:00.005-04:002009-07-08T16:45:14.892-04:00Picture #9<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMTC6QtbKIwvw8fDSOJmHJ3kNU-UA7gmADM2IVQV3kf8HLStMNomaRUYcLxSQfKqpLh7chPAku0tlu9pKaK5FcXVTBLZAYOXC_FU6Xv-ymnqC4FW94pBUx8t9TwPmsyZc85rbs7e0O8tt/s1600-h/june+063.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356192300914526882" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMTC6QtbKIwvw8fDSOJmHJ3kNU-UA7gmADM2IVQV3kf8HLStMNomaRUYcLxSQfKqpLh7chPAku0tlu9pKaK5FcXVTBLZAYOXC_FU6Xv-ymnqC4FW94pBUx8t9TwPmsyZc85rbs7e0O8tt/s320/june+063.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The bride and groom...yes they are both standing.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-86617120044853018052009-07-08T16:21:00.002-04:002009-07-08T16:22:44.461-04:00Weddings and MadnessWeddings and madness aren’t typically two subjects one thinks of as going hand in hand, but my first invitation to a wedding also was my first glimpse into mental illness in my village. In Butare, mental illness was more apparent because the presence of rich foreigners allowed for a population to subsist on begging alone. In the more rural areas, communities generally band together to support those who cannot support themselves, removing such persons from the public eye.<br /><br />In Rwanda, there are typically three “weddings”: the civil ceremony, the church ceremony, and the party. The couple getting married had actually been married (with kids) in the eyes of the Rwandese government for several years, but it takes a lot of money to pull off the party, so they waited until there were able to afford it. The party was held outside their house, between the banana trees and under a tarp that had been erected for the occasion. Underneath these tarps, wooden benches were set up, which we all crowded onto to wait for the bride and groom. After the church ceremony, the family processed back to the house (many of the family members carried gifts of food or drink on their heads as they walked), with the bride and groom bringing up the rear. The bride, as is common of brides in Rwanda, wore a gown that looked as though it came straight out of the 80s, with huge bubble sleeves and all. The party itself, once the bride and groom arrived, consisted of drinking (Fanta, Mutzig, and locally made banana beer), eating (rice, French fries, beans, and meat) and many, many speeches.<br /><br />Throughout all of this, a mad woman had made herself at home on one of the benches, and insisted on greeting everyone with huge slaps and generally dancing around and causing a ruckus. In America, not only would she have been institutionalized, but even if she had been present at such an event, she would surely have been ignored by the guests. Here, however, she was smiled upon and given a plate of food. The only time she was talked to crossly at all was when she was told “not to bother the muzungus” (aka us.) For the most part, though, so she was simply allowed to be who she was and join in the festivities as she saw fit.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-68360149829393628792009-06-18T09:29:00.001-04:002009-06-18T09:34:40.733-04:00Why can't Americans carry things on their head?Why, beacause they have cars. Of course.<br /><br />(These words of wisdom brought to you by the health center staff. Actual update coming soon.)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-47134081915567543222009-06-02T09:18:00.005-04:002009-06-02T11:41:40.629-04:00Picture #8<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3BURlAuPm68m8KgV10t4L4DmIShpuZMLVo6wLIjT5bgYat69sdU_-pFjnFEM-PnBQyQmwbSyHySp0weQRUWmLCHsDIBpOAbAjvEVxmzq7DgArhJVTEKOT1UPqyns9XqkXmJIDSRrsSTL/s1600-h/Picture+342.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342728443929231906" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3BURlAuPm68m8KgV10t4L4DmIShpuZMLVo6wLIjT5bgYat69sdU_-pFjnFEM-PnBQyQmwbSyHySp0weQRUWmLCHsDIBpOAbAjvEVxmzq7DgArhJVTEKOT1UPqyns9XqkXmJIDSRrsSTL/s320/Picture+342.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Priest lighting the candles.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJL9wBnQs1XKMuXMwFQekmTcbdMImq7yvyU-CxcxNJCGfGI3STvRmwbZXWfKMENJOQQw-PsjZz3votQ87-ejMkSdZ82ngkFgv2ZeGHtvTjGBtPCGmogc10RgyPNlJBxx_czkvN7MGg615/s1600-h/Picture+359.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342725008865924642" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJL9wBnQs1XKMuXMwFQekmTcbdMImq7yvyU-CxcxNJCGfGI3STvRmwbZXWfKMENJOQQw-PsjZz3votQ87-ejMkSdZ82ngkFgv2ZeGHtvTjGBtPCGmogc10RgyPNlJBxx_czkvN7MGg615/s320/Picture+359.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Collection.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DwCVTJtb7pxtD5RidPE7rgSsAx96WlsIE6w3ABNRdihEzTXfHAm7Bj_s8R0uODtWMZ2mJf3r_KCKom1RqFnoHsk_oR_EgsYWVWw4ZT2mg4t7Tkipf71lx-2fo57C0q2p9HyPb6eU9kDp/s1600-h/Picture+371.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342722038584101762" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DwCVTJtb7pxtD5RidPE7rgSsAx96WlsIE6w3ABNRdihEzTXfHAm7Bj_s8R0uODtWMZ2mJf3r_KCKom1RqFnoHsk_oR_EgsYWVWw4ZT2mg4t7Tkipf71lx-2fo57C0q2p9HyPb6eU9kDp/s320/Picture+371.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The crowd and choir dancing.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-71817413013002623672009-06-02T09:11:00.000-04:002009-06-02T09:12:58.250-04:00PentecostLast Sunday was Pentecost, which is a huge deal in a town where pretty much everything is run by the Catholic Church (not to mention that 56.5% of Rwandans are Roman Catholic according to official numbers.) Since we got here, there has been a wooden frame structure next to the primary school that we have been curious about (it is for farming? for animals?) As we found out on Sunday, it is our village’s version of a stadium. On Sunday, tarps (including one from the UN’s World Food Programme) were laid over the top to protect from sun and rain, and all the church officials and local dignitaries sat under this outdoors enclosure. Down below this pseudo-stage, the church members were barricaded from the front by wooden fences much like an outdoor summer concert would have barricades to keep fans from rushing the stage (more than once, with all the dancing and singing, I felt like I was at a concert). While Pentecostals are known for their ridiculously long church services here, the normal Catholic service doesn’t last any longer than it would in the United States, but Pentecost is different. Sunday’s service stretched on for four hours, which made me thankful that I was on the stage with seating and shade. To combat the sun, a mass of rainbow-striped umbrellas were unfurled by the worshipers, creating quite the colorful spectacle. The stage itself, in addition to boasting seating for the who’s who of our village, included a choir clad in white robes, a group of followers to be confirmed (or at least what I think was confirmation), three acolytes in white and red robes and the alter itself. The entire place was decked out in full Pentecost decorations (white and red everywhere), including yellow flags with a red heart with a sword through it. The alter linens, bible, candles, and communion tools were much like that found in any Catholic church. As one would expect, there is no organ or keyboard here, BUT there were two electric guitars, a traditional drum, and a complete sound system that relayed the words of the priest as well as the choir’s songs to the people. Raised in the Episcopalian church, and given that much of the Episcopalian and Catholic service is the same, many elements and prayers were familiar to me (albeit in a different language), though the singing was much rowdier than I remember from any church service of my past. Markedly different than the traditional church service, though, were the communion and offering, during which huge containers of holy wafers (but no wine) and, in the case of the offering, huge woven baskets, were distributed to the people by over 20 alter helpers. This was mainly out of necessity, as the nuns later told us there were over 1,000 people there.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-43471753537621618162009-05-21T04:44:00.004-04:002009-05-21T05:15:12.367-04:00Swine Flu in RwandaNow that swine flu has safely been downgraded in the world news headlines (BBC radio tells me the top story nowadays is the reported Tamil Tiger defeat in Sri Lanka), I think it is finally safe to post that blog title. In fact, there is no such thing as swine flu in Rwanda. You can all relax now. BUT, despite the fact that no cases have been diagnosed or reported here (or even in our region), Peace Corps sent out Tamiflu to those of us in the Nyamasheke district. According to the messenger, because we are the most remote group, they didn’t feel they could get to us quickly enough in the event of an epidemic (don’t I feel safe) and therefore we get to be responsible for self-medication (with PCMO consultation, of course.) Take-home message: feeling blue? Get yourself some Tamiflu!<br /><br />I’m kidding, of course. As the responsible pseudo-public health expert I am, I feel obliged to add that improper medicine consumption leads to all sorts of problems (including the emergence of drug-resistant strains.)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-50232923318791850732009-05-07T16:28:00.003-04:002009-05-07T16:42:27.053-04:00Picture #7<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVUdTuvnrhnxt9wFwouJ_8BLll1Nun0DC5FRSE9nMZeTxhNgJKgjRUPPczMZ7dA1JSVoRkLasaU6TvSZdU1QSs1cvLtlD5u-M95rfLvFQPSxRup6MI-Mn2eU9ZVP7S0i0o4fI90VF5YAI/s1600-h/IMG_2619.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333185074956536386" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVUdTuvnrhnxt9wFwouJ_8BLll1Nun0DC5FRSE9nMZeTxhNgJKgjRUPPczMZ7dA1JSVoRkLasaU6TvSZdU1QSs1cvLtlD5u-M95rfLvFQPSxRup6MI-Mn2eU9ZVP7S0i0o4fI90VF5YAI/s320/IMG_2619.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Lake Kivu.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7yaJ3HSElGdlyIxNMcNVUaB3iCz_imA-kJHpt2-VqwSXaur5MbhH4heWqdU-WEPl0BOtnjSJJGJ8Z1t7KY8yTzCwZSDPRFDuJHDDVZ3ahv4sqIkCd5NJiQ4frkIcE0UMhvaxzf-hnNwt/s1600-h/IMG_2606.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-23068210298116688442009-05-07T16:26:00.001-04:002009-05-07T16:27:28.760-04:00CyanguguThis past weekend we hitched a ride with our neighbors (the nuns) in the parish car into Cyangugu (also known as Kamembe), the only big town in the region. Along the way we met up with the other two Peace Corps volunteers in our region. Whereas the other big cities I have visited in Rwanda, Butare and Kigali, have both had a decidedly Western influence complete with “supermarkets” stocked with treats like potato chips and bars of chocolate, Cyangugu has nothing of the sort. There is a much more “we are out in the middle of nowhere and know it” feeling to Cyangugu, which is wonderful because it leads you to all sorts of odd little discoveries, but also means that the comforts of home are quite a trek away. As examples of the strange things that occurred while we were in Cyangugu, the first hotel we stopped in (the hotels in Rwanda always seem to have the best restaurants), we encountered a “Big Bass Billy” (you know, one of those mounted plastic fishes that sings) and then at the second hotel we were led through a mini fake forest to a wide cement expanse complete with three swing sets and a gorgeous view of Lake Kivu.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-17698229331592582132009-05-07T15:59:00.004-04:002009-05-07T16:25:17.000-04:00Picture #6<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5J0iMzxiJIzXhcLIFvmxa5gZphNPMJ8VnFJ57LBnIe_KshX5K03P1QIrsmSE8Ql09CNtqbCm2ivlHVOA3oauX7vVlqKEVqALSyTOwd-qerhpzxLGSY6aYTW1yR7RtjxoLqhj_aV_eG7Ox/s1600-h/IMG_2592.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333180458956019826" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5J0iMzxiJIzXhcLIFvmxa5gZphNPMJ8VnFJ57LBnIe_KshX5K03P1QIrsmSE8Ql09CNtqbCm2ivlHVOA3oauX7vVlqKEVqALSyTOwd-qerhpzxLGSY6aYTW1yR7RtjxoLqhj_aV_eG7Ox/s320/IMG_2592.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The view from our backyard.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_0U5gQyQA57eOil0__gsRwisd-suGEz5V62Q8SuRk5M0UxkyXActf8LFAYNTlS-CxM55oli5k5J2uJC1j0bsdyHui3nwndTDTm7Oh6ztaD8K4X5SzqGHe1iStnlaPlLWxxKA8BtER2vf/s1600-h/IMG_2595.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333176953779703586" style="WIDTH: 319px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_0U5gQyQA57eOil0__gsRwisd-suGEz5V62Q8SuRk5M0UxkyXActf8LFAYNTlS-CxM55oli5k5J2uJC1j0bsdyHui3nwndTDTm7Oh6ztaD8K4X5SzqGHe1iStnlaPlLWxxKA8BtER2vf/s320/IMG_2595.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Our house.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCCg2O6D4V7-g-arCRCDEdKibTGqLA887JUlS3H30x7QOcPZ92nYJx4XulNDJmLLK-JcHGVWZVwVgsN6nRTXfWeMBnoVaiEoG3ZctzPA88F7mkrEyt1UxRZO4VgSIOUh5FpapzzYvnEs0/s1600-h/2975_742490735558_10701217_42829833_4356127_n.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333174533918461458" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCCg2O6D4V7-g-arCRCDEdKibTGqLA887JUlS3H30x7QOcPZ92nYJx4XulNDJmLLK-JcHGVWZVwVgsN6nRTXfWeMBnoVaiEoG3ZctzPA88F7mkrEyt1UxRZO4VgSIOUh5FpapzzYvnEs0/s320/2975_742490735558_10701217_42829833_4356127_n.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The tea fields.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-24914866460788979442009-05-07T15:58:00.001-04:002009-05-07T15:58:37.276-04:00Site...FinallyMy arrival at site has been a little more eventful than most because I ended up switching sites halfway through the first week at site. As I mentioned earlier, my site was supposed to be a tiny little umudugudu not that far from Kigali and right off the main paved road that connects Kigali and Butare. I met many wonderful people during my time there, including my host family and some of the health center staff, but for programmatic reasons the Peace Corps Rwanda staff decided to move me to the west of Rwanda. <br /><br />The two sites are about as different as possible- my first site was close to Kigali, but without running water or electricity. My new site, located near Cyangugu and the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo, is highly remote (in fact, the most remote Peace Corps site in Rwanda) but has both electricity and running water. While none of Rwanda is “flat”, we are truly in the mountains here, which provides for some spectacular views, including the vast tea fields along the dirt road that leads to our site. Our house is located at the very top of one such mountain and as we walk down the first hill every morning, I always get this strange sensation that the villagers must see us as the white people descending from their big house on the top of the hill like gods descending from Mount Olympus (with the appropriate amount of distain attached, of course.) To get to the health center, we have to walk by the primary school, which means that at the end of the day we often end up with a group of children tagging along behind us, and we always make sure to stop and say goodbye at the bottom of the hill. I will truly feel at home here once I can walk up that hill without getting winded!<br /><br />I say “we” ” because I am living with another Peace Corps volunteer in this mansion on the top of a hill. Typically this is not acceptable in the Peace Corps- volunteers can’t live together unless they are a married couple, but it is my understanding that this site was once supposed to be for a couple and Peace Corps Rwanda decided it was remote enough that it made more sense for two volunteers to live here together. So when I pulled up after my brief stint at my first site my roommate had already been here for half a week. In fact, we have been playing a weird game of musical sites because the girl that was supposed to be her roommate was moved to a site out east when one of our two couples went home. My roommate and I are strangely similar- she is a vegetarian too, is an MI getting her MPH, and she and I share the same birthday. Crazy, right? Our main focus at the moment is finding a wait to create separate health jobs in a small community. We tried to arrange a meeting to create two separate job descriptions, but they ended up simply telling us to split a list of health topics. As a result, I am responsible for HIV and AIDS, malaria, and nutrition. Easy task.<br /><br />Thus far, we have been conducting a community needs assessment (a fancy title for getting to know the people around us and determining the biggest health concerns) and teaching English to the staff at the health center. They learn quickly- during yesterday’s lesson (time) I taught them the vocab for early, late, and on time, so when one of the staff walked in late, they are made sure to tell him he was late. We fill out our days with trips to the market and cooking our own food (in Rwanda, it is typical for each house to have a cook.) Strangely, we seem to be getting worse at bargaining, though with avocados for the equivalent of about ten cents how can one complain?Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-79290974675511204252009-05-07T15:45:00.000-04:002009-05-07T15:54:00.584-04:00Picture #5<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZVkOG735HX4D_8uUsV4joV44c08aWlX2mA1GjNkcLlke-u9_kK9kRYVysircDD1I24fuD9YUkTXsH6yJAzoMC-6uMify2ZSSKtMtumIMI5N_JK1vyrS7oW8YVL-KEtEP_GSoFIKroGtt/s1600-h/pr_rwandavols_lg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333172470466870690" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZVkOG735HX4D_8uUsV4joV44c08aWlX2mA1GjNkcLlke-u9_kK9kRYVysircDD1I24fuD9YUkTXsH6yJAzoMC-6uMify2ZSSKtMtumIMI5N_JK1vyrS7oW8YVL-KEtEP_GSoFIKroGtt/s320/pr_rwandavols_lg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Group at swearing-in.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-1889649031878257612009-05-07T15:42:00.001-04:002009-05-07T15:43:26.153-04:00Swearing-In and Vacation at the Lake HouseSadly, we have left Butare and Pre-Service Training (PST) behind and are now full-on PCVs. Most PCVs are thrilled to be out of staging, but because we were so spoiled and surrounded by muzungus, it is hard for many of us to move beyond the honeymoon phase. It is time to deal with the reality of being on our own in a foreign land, with new jobs to do in a language that we only kind of sort of know the very basics of. <br /><br />The swearing-in ceremony, held at the ambassador’s house (the ambassador from the United States of America to Rwanda, not to be confused with the ambassador from Rwanda to the United States of America), was high-class all the way, from mini quiches to the US seal on the cutlery and china. All sorts of Rwandan dignitaries were there, including the Minister of Education, and all manner of Rwandan press. Later that night, we were on Rwandan television in all three language formats: English, French, and Kinyarwanda. In fact, when I was in Kigali I was trying to buy a part for our gas stove in a hardware store in Kinyarwanda and the guy asked me if I was one of the “ones who are trying to learn Kinyarwanda and the Rwandan culture” because he had seen us on TV. The program included a speech by one of our own in English, a much-practiced speech by two of our group in Kinyarwanda (part of which was aired on TV) , and speeches by the Ambassador and Country Director. Honestly, as a true Peace Corps volunteer, I found the most exciting part of it all was the good food: mini pizzas, homemade cookies, and freshly squeezed juice. This was all followed by the requisite group photo session, in which, despite the million and one pictures, we failed to take a picture in which we were all looking at the camera (see picture.)<br /><br />To celebrate our new status as official Peace Corps volunteers, the Peace Corps Rwanda staff put together a nice little outing for us to Lake Muhazi, a lake in the Eastern province of Rwanda. The house and property on the lake are actually all owned by the US Embassy so we were accompanied by four of the ten US Marines that guard the Embassy. The Marines had a tiny little blow-up motor boat that they used to take people wakeboarding on the lake. Talk about a scene that doesn’t belong on a lake in the middle of Rwanda, especially when to get to the lake you have to drive by huge demobilization and reintegration centers. The rest of the day was spent drinking Primus on the shore and throwing around a football (turns out, even in Rwanda, it is handy to have two brothers that force you to learn such things.)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-86320134907905587232009-05-07T15:24:00.004-04:002009-05-07T15:39:52.257-04:00Picture #4<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviXrw3hT64PKBl1ezKbUc3h9enq4iuLGsjceHqqvgh0JKHxuDlNmijuBo93-zRpylX4TPLPmT-rFLcpkXQnN8WNONb-gg7o2xcV3OZMYoDB4v_104lQaj4iR7ZmPWNpp32zaIvS_wR05N/s1600-h/IMG_2461.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333168183660228434" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviXrw3hT64PKBl1ezKbUc3h9enq4iuLGsjceHqqvgh0JKHxuDlNmijuBo93-zRpylX4TPLPmT-rFLcpkXQnN8WNONb-gg7o2xcV3OZMYoDB4v_104lQaj4iR7ZmPWNpp32zaIvS_wR05N/s320/IMG_2461.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />A crossroads outside of Butare.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-11936651034042284832009-05-07T15:17:00.000-04:002009-05-07T15:22:40.520-04:00Bicycles and Brunch in ButareOn our last Sunday in Butare, a group of us went out to our favorite brunch spot- Hotel Ibis. Though Hotel Ibis has a storied past- it was built during Belgian colonial times and was once used by the interahamwe as headquarters- today’s Hotel Ibis is a muzungu hangout that provides the best people watching and breakfast in town. To be honest, I am sure that we would all be thrilled for any semi-American breakfast food, but the omelettes and French toast at Ibis really are fantastic. This particular Sunday morning, as we sat there remising about our eleven weeks in Butare, the Rwandan national cycling team road by. As the true triathlete that I am, I sat there and gawked, spinning my head as they went back and forth down the main street of Butare. Instead, I abandoned all attempts at following the conversation and imagined myself on my Cervelo following them over the hills of Rwanda. I suppose traversing the dirt roads on my Trek mountain bike will have to do. If riding the hills of Nepal doing aid work can help Chrissie Wellington become the triathlete she is today, just maybe it might do a little something for me too.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-72067161730226969892009-04-08T08:34:00.001-04:002009-04-08T08:40:32.720-04:00April Fool's Day, Dancing Wizards and All<p class="MsoNormal">At times, our training resembles a sleep away camp for 20-somethings, with our centralized living quarters, family-style meals, and communal bathrooms (not to mention ghost story nights.) <span style=""> </span>However, this was never more true than when the April Fool’s jokes started with someone stealing the bell (really a piece of metal that we hit with rocks) that summons us to class each morning. <span style=""> </span>The jokes continued with us switching classes before the teachers got there, though the joke was, in the end, on us, because the teachers just continued teaching class as though nothing was amiss. <span style=""> </span>Our class was particularly into the April Fool’s jokes, so when one of our members went to the bathroom, we naturally hid her notebook in the rafters of our little classroom hut and her water bottle in the bush outside. <span style=""> </span>Halfway through class, the gardener came along and started pruning the bush, completely oblivious to the water bottle, which remained hidden.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The day got even better when one of our language classes was dedicated to discussing dancing wizards…in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rwanda</st1:place></st1:country-region>, there is a verb for “to be a dancing wizard in the night” (gucuragura). <span style=""> </span>No April Fool’s joke.<span style=""> </span>Apparently there are also dancing wizards in many villages- the teacher who explained all this to us said there were two in her village, but they both died (which begs the question, how does a wizard die?) <span style=""> </span>I still don’t have the full story, but the wizards seem to dance outside people’s houses at night and then go home to their wives, where their wives must provide a hot bucket bath. <span style=""> </span>Odd detail yes, but as a health volunteer I applaud the cleanliness of the wizards, even if it is after a full night of terrorizing the countryside.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-72805894298882537682009-04-08T08:16:00.001-04:002009-04-08T08:21:29.243-04:00Graduation Day<p class="MsoNormal">When you think of graduation, especially college graduation, in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>, often one of the first images that comes to mind is that of large white tents with flocks of proud parents and robed graduates-to-be milling underneath.<span style=""> </span>Well, this was surprisingly like the graduation here for the National University of Rwanda graduates.<span style=""> </span>As the largest and more prestigious university in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rwanda</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the graduation was quite the occasion, and from Thursday on (the graduation was on Friday) there was an air of excitement surrounding Butare.<span style=""> </span>Seven of our language teachers, including my roommate, graduated, so we were invited to attend and take part in all the excitement. <span style=""> </span>What was truly different about the graduation here was how excited the graduates here were to be graduating- the nonchalance of too-cool-for-school college graduates in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region> was nowhere to be seen.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-49555943885423769832009-04-08T08:03:00.001-04:002009-04-08T08:33:06.672-04:00A Presentation or an Earthquake?<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve experience a tornado, a hurricane, and many a blizzard back in the <st1:country-region st="on">United States</st1:country-region>, but I had to travel all the way to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rwanda</st1:place></st1:country-region> to experience (at least to my knowledge) my first earthquake. <span style=""> </span>Per usual, I was on time to breakfast and sat down to the standard coffee and bread. <span style=""> </span>Before I had even finished buttering my bread, there was a loud shaking, but I just assumed it was a big truck going by- only the <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> people knew what it was, and left the dining room immediately. <span style=""> </span>Rumor has it the earthquake registered a <st1:metricconverter productid="6.1 in" st="on">6.1 in</st1:metricconverter> Chyangugu, near the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo, but here in Butare I’m guessing (with my extensive earthquake experience) it was far less. <span style=""> </span>BUT it was the largest since the earthquake here last year that killed several people- fortunately this one injured neither people nor buildings. <span style=""> </span>For all you geography/geology buffs out there, the volcanoes along the DRC and <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Rwanda</st1:country-region></st1:place> border were formed by seismic activity of tectonic plates in the region, so there may be more excitement in store for the volunteers place in the Western province.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>After that bang (or, rather, quake) of a morning, came another first- my first health presentation in Kinyarwanda. <span style=""> </span>The presentation was to an outreach group brought together by the nearby women’s center and actually took place in the same Catholic Church where my resource family goes to church. <span style=""> </span>We (four of us) were scheduled for the very beginning of a full day on family planning and I was responsible for explaining the biology of HIV and AIDS to this group of young adults. <span style=""> </span>Biology is a hard subject to explain even when you know the language and culture, so you can imagine the difficulty I had in explaining this subject in Kinyarwanda. <span style=""> </span>When describing the immune system, for instance, I had to call it “the body’s way of fighting bad things.” <span style=""> </span>Close, but not quite.<span style=""> </span>Fortunately, the audience was very receptive to the muzungu butchering their language and explaining a concept that seems so divorced from the everyday reality of diseases like HIV and AIDS.<span style=""> </span>After all four of us finished, we even had several questions, which we took as a good sign- Rwandan culture tends towards a reserved nature, so their confidence indicates that we may actually have gotten some of the information across. <span style=""> </span>The presentation helped to reassure me that while communication and the community’s trust may be a struggle at first, it is indeed possible and I just might be able to achieve something once at site.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-23203619131653815112009-03-23T07:45:00.001-04:002009-03-23T07:52:11.361-04:00Picture #3<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBh8lxO-mhk5wOhwCr0Sz6EA1EeJWYBo7LVHICnxOYWNzfZ0dzkfs1mqSqp9cuqrcFd5ezjXbUjQpCl90WgsQA3gCfIqWNgyXoiYhQyzNHfbzzRJbwLfbx_Xf1qNllCByRWhRmx4biJqR4/s1600-h/MONKEY.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316349469801222050" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBh8lxO-mhk5wOhwCr0Sz6EA1EeJWYBo7LVHICnxOYWNzfZ0dzkfs1mqSqp9cuqrcFd5ezjXbUjQpCl90WgsQA3gCfIqWNgyXoiYhQyzNHfbzzRJbwLfbx_Xf1qNllCByRWhRmx4biJqR4/s320/MONKEY.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>A monkey from the National Park.</div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291583903174977126.post-2866610522184131912009-03-23T07:43:00.000-04:002009-03-23T07:44:28.865-04:00Pizza for 60 and Miss AmericaAfter the sobering realities of my site visit and accompanying blog entry, I figured it was time for a more lighthearted entry on some of the more humorous experiences I have had in Rwanda thus far.<br /><br />One of the reoccurring themes, every time I go to visit my resource family here in Butare, is Miss America as a topic of conversation. Inevitably, we begin with a discussion on what shapes and looks are attractive in Rwanda and in America, and from there it diverges to the stereotypical American beauty standard of skinny Miss America. My family constantly asks me questions about the official requirements for becoming Miss America, the moral standards necessary to fulfill the role of Miss America, and the general public’s view of Miss America. I haven’t had the heart to tell them that in recent years many pageant contestants have come under fire for their public behavior or that a good portion of American society finds Miss America at the very least silly and irrelevant. If their aim is to encourage me to pursue a Miss America crown, I’m afraid that window of time has come and gone.<br /><br />The meeting of American and Rwandan culture got even stranger this week when our training director asked a group of us to make pizza for a “pizza party” to celebrate being back at the convent. Interestingly enough, this fell on a day when the convent, which usually boasts the luxuries of running water and electricity, had neither. We began with a trip to the market in Butare, which consists of a series of permanent stalls dedicated to everything from kerosene to avocados to shoes. Six muzungukazi (white girls) walking into this hodgepodge of goods caused quite the stir, and was only increased when they realized the vast quantities of food we needed (30 avocados, 20 bags of flour…you get the idea.) If our time at the market was a series of errors, between the failed bargaining and the smashed avocados all over the Peace Corps car, our actual cooking adventure was a comedy of errors. Everything had to be cooked from scratch, including the dough, which was made by three volunteers who squatted around a large pot and kneaded the dough by pounding it with their fists. I was lucky enough to draw the cheese straw, and was given the task of grating seven wheels of cheese (small blessings- there actually was a grater!) The entire adventure took us eight hours, and finished with us in the kitchen in the dark, pulling pizzas out of the wood-fueled stove long after the 60 people we were feeding were stuffed full of pizza (and guacamole which, it turns out, goes wonderfully with pizza.)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07194662704520268475noreply@blogger.com0