Saturday, January 29, 2011

Just Relax.

I knew a boy in college that mastered the art of the lackadaisical lifestyle. Regardless of the smattering of irresponsible conquests that was said boy's life, I always envied his ability to chill out, even under pressure. And oh, he spent countless moments coaching me on this, trying to convince me that what I'm not doing right now I can worry about tomorrow. Well those words don't really mean anything to someone as frantically sprung as me, being wired all the time is just part of my genetic makeup. I never thought I would take reckless boy's advice a few years later in East Africa.

While living in the rain forest is exceptionally beautiful, it definitely makes travel a challenge. In order to get to my house in the middle of southeast bush, Rwanda, from Kigali you must take a 3 hour bus to a nearby city, a 2 hour taxi to an even smaller "city" and a 1 hour ride on a motorcycle several thousand feet up the side of a mountain. Now go ahead and picture a motorcycle driving up a mountain. It's not cheap either. Needless to say my nerves get the best of me every time I strap myself to the back of that death-mobile as I like to call it, and you're not strapped in by any means. It's just you and the driver going like a bat out of Huye. Anything could happen. But then again, anything could happen walking down street, or getting caught in a rain storm, or cooking a meal. Accidents happen, but on the moto they're rare. It's similar to people that are terrified to fly when they have a much higher chance of being in a car wreck. It's just not logical. I just needed to relax.

And seriously, that does the trick. Taking a breath and enjoying the view along the way is a much better alternative to giving my poor fingers blisters from gripping the seat as tightly as I possibly can. Trusting the balance perpetuated by the speed of the moto instead of adhering my thighs so strongly against the sides I have a bruise from my hip to my kneecap. Relaxing is better than having a panic attack. I would know, I'm like the queen of panic attacks. Besides, I have something to help me rid my fear once and for all. It's not everyday that a girl is so lucky. I had been waiting, and hoping, that he would come along. And then after just a few moto rides to and from a nearby city I felt compelled to say those magical words that everyone is desperately waiting to hear, "Will you be my permanent moto driver?". Yes. I have a personal driver named Innocent, of all names. He's considerate and kind and drives safely and slowly. I can depend on him to wake up at 5 am to come pick me up on time and he's always waiting by the phone. The deal sealer in Innocent's case was his advice to me the first time we every shared a ride together, "You need to relax." Oh really? Must be in good company. And just to clarify relaxing does not insinuate not being cautious. However it does mean allowing yourself to experience life the way it was intended to be experienced, not gripping anything to death but gripping life itself. Relaxing.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

It's All in a Name

In this country, your name can either make you or break you. Usually 8 days after a child is born, the parents invite close family and friends to a naming ceremony, called a 'Kwita Izina'. This is one of the oldest traditions of Rwandan culture, and there is still much sanctity in it. Fortunately for me, the Head of Studies at my school (similar to a vice principal) just had a baby with his wife, and I was able to learn all about this fascinating occurrence. I wasn't necessarily invited, for which I'm glad, because all of those present at the ceremony assume some level of responsibility over the child, should something happen to the parents. In a way, you are choosing the people you would like to rear your child in your absence, when you invite them to Kwita Izina. It's no ordinary party. And as far as I understand, invitations are never declined. Others might take their responsibility lightly, but to a Rwandan - a verbal understanding, even a head nod, is like a binding wax seal. Something so unique about this culture is the level of trust and understanding between everyone. It's a stretch coming from a society where every mother is telling their child not to talk to strangers. Above all else you are expected not necessarily to honor your family or get a good job, but simply to be dependable to others. Loyalty is highly revered.

The thought process behind Kwita Izina is intense, but sometimes the name can be as sudden as a whim. Babies are named after days of the week, months of the year, or the mother's mood at that very moment; relief, joy, gratitude, etc. And the madness doesn't stop there. For the rest of their lives, that person must either defend their character against their name or live up to the standard presented by it. Many people have superstitious feelings about names here, and no matter what you do if your mother named you Trouble you will be judged for the rest of your life. Such a cut and dry procedure like this made me thankful for my own Rwandan name, Muhoracye [moo-hor-a-chay]. It literally means, 'one with charm'. That doesn't exactly spell Queen of Rwanda, but I think it is an honest interpretation of how my neighbors and colleagues see me. And the benefit of being named as an adult rather than a baby? My name is a reflection of me, not the other way around. There certainly are some people that resent their names, and I read in the newspaper sometimes about laws being passed in the capital to allow legal name change. Understandably so, considering the names of some of my students. Let's just say that Mother Mary and Julius Cesar (not making this up) are great friends, who knew? So why do parents invest so much time in preparing for the naming ceremony itself but just a fraction on the decision of the name? I have yet to understand, but I'm guessing it is some form of initiation right into life; accepting or living up to your name. Considering my name's positive acquisition, I'd say I'm officially part of the club.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Move to Site

The New Year brought wishes of best luck, resolutions, and for me, a swearing in ceremony. I’ve officially sworn in as a volunteer in Rwanda and I have been living in my village since then. In all honesty, the switch from a structured and organized day to a wide open schedule was very abrupt. Training was full of time tables and while it was absolutely imperative to prepare me for site, it’s a bit nostalgic to look back on now that I’m trying to survive on my own.

And what a survival it is. The first week of school has been interesting, and I’m just glad that it’s ‘been’. Students tend to trickle into the new school year after a week or two, with no real push from the faculty or staff. Basically, I’ve been preparing lessons that don’t really pertain to the curriculum because I only have 6 students in my class right now. It’s a nice opportunity to try out some different teaching methods, and see which work and which do not. My boarding school has about 750 students, and when those students aren’t here there are less than a few hundred people in my village. I was here about a week before the students arrived, and hearing the chattering teenage voices of 750 students was like music to my ears. Anything to break the silence.

There are two male students; Emmy and Clement, that aren’t in my class but have come up to me several times and just made conversation. From as far as I can tell, these are the most genuine students I have every encountered. We all know how teenagers are – that mischievous attitude is universal. I’m so used to kids messing with me it was refreshing to just have normal conversation with some very bright boys. Their English was very good, and it made me excited for the possibilities with my own students. I am teaching upper secondary school, which is roughly equivalent to 10th, 11th, and 12th grade in America. That means that I will be teaching students that just passed the national exam to get into upper secondary, and students studying to pass the other national exam to graduate. There were not many opportunities in Rwanda to teach upper secondary, but I feel fortunate to be one of them. Most of my colleagues are teaching in public day schools at the lower secondary level.

Emmy and Clement ask me everything, from what is butterscotch to what was the American Revolution? They still ask me how old I am every time they see me (I’ll never tell!) but besides that they are respectful, motivated students. If the rest of the students at my school are anything like them, I truly look forward to this year. Upper secondary education is specialized here, so my school specializes in biology, physics, chemistry and math. This means that I should take technical context into consideration when I’m planning my lessons. I’m interested in the sciences myself, so I guess things worked out.

As far as my village outside of the school, it’s kind of non-existent. My site is in the rainforest which means it is rural but also means that it is breathtakingly beautiful. Yea, it might take me 90 minutes to walk somewhere to buy an egg, but I’ve got two feet and nothing but time. There is a church in my village and a health center, as well as a sector office for authority officials. Other than that there are just people, wandering around looking for a good tree to sit under. The lifestyle of the local is a lackadaisical one, but perhaps that is just what I need. For once in my life I actually live in a community that forbids worry and stress. Looking forward to everything I ‘won’t’ be doing in the near future.