Finished Year One, One Year Left To Go: A Collection of Snippets, Memories, and Words from ED2
Compiled by Lucy Sung
A year ago plus some change, we ED2 volunteers rolled in deep onto the cobblestoned streets of Old City, Philadelphia, played games at Brussels airport to ukulele strums and Genevieve Williams hums, and took in the charcoal perfumed night air at the Kigali Airport parking lot. October 22nd marked our one year anniversary in country and the first week of January will be our one year anniversary at site. A game we like to play is, “Who sat at your table and what fact about Rwanda did you give during staging?” I remember fondly at those round tables sitting between Hope Lewis and Stephanie Mulhern (we all lived and studied in Philadelphia) and thinking, “Who the heck is this dude (Ian Ross) and how does he know the numbers in Kinyarwanda?” Almost everyone remembers Dan Serwon and his fact, “Rwanda is in Africa.”
The first year of teaching brought in surprises. “Expect the unexpected,” became our motto, as many of us were the first PCVs at a new site and the first science, math, and ICT teachers in PC/Rwanda. We attended village meetings and reburials during Genocide Memorial Week and slowly built our Rwandan circle of friends. We also lost some of us, but they go living the dream and we gained new friends from the land which Mark Rodehorst claims is quite magical. We saw our students improve over the school year in their language skills and confidence and we experienced pride during GLOW/BE camps as we watched our students grow and mature.
To help paint a picture of our experiences as the second education group, here are some stories, memories, and words.
During PST, Tashiya and I were walking back to the house when we heard someone scream, “HELP! HELP!” Tashiya immediately started to yell, “OMG! Hello? Do you need help? Sarah, we got to help them!” We looked around and couldn’t find anyone. We gave up and realized a local wouldn’t have yelled for help in English. It was a goat. – Sarah Doyle
At the end of Term 2 and an unsuccessful attempt to teach computers on the small and annoying OLPCs (One Child Per Laptop), I was grading exams in the teacher's room. As I flipped through my 135 S1 exams, I discovered the best answer ever to any exam question:
Q: "What key on the keyboard is used to make the space between words?"
A: "Is a space mouse"
I don't think I have ever laughed that hard. I then found myself creating a mental image of a mouse with a tiny jet pack flying around space and, of course, saving the universe. - Keira Brooks
Only in Rwanda will your body overcome carsickness by necessity.
Only in Rwanda has talking about bodily functions become a frequent and not unpleasant part of our conversations.
Only in Rwanda would I eat a plate of rice, pasta, boiled potatoes, fried potatoes, and plantains and consider it a nice meal.
Only in Rwanda would I discover french fries to be a pleasant addition to an omelet.
Only in Rwanda would you avoid going outside because there is a cow being slaughtered on the basketball court 20 feet from your house.
Only in Rwanda would a man fervently and affectionately dance with another man, and be straight.
Only in Rwanda could you get a fine for having dirty clothes or yard with "bad hygiene".
My favorite quote from a student was on a GLOW application: "I will not be a long door." = I will not be a wrong
doer. - Deanne and Aaron Witzke
I have read two hundred and thirty three books since we arrived. - Allister Stanton
Peter and Jacques meet me in front of the Primary School.
–Morning How are you?I am fine
We move towards the school’s garden, a collage of collared greens.
–Today we have a burial
-A what?
–A burial, I think, we say in English
–We say a funeral
–Yes, it is true
–For who?
-A young Primary Six student
-What did she die of?
–Poison
Poison is a big thing here, he says.
I stare at Peter and Jacque briefly. Poison, the visitor meant to say and I would learn later, is the culturally appropriate English translated euphemism for all forms of destructive diseases; the umbrella term for the plethora of pestilences that pervade East Africa: Malaria, AIDS, Influenza, etc.
-What time is the funeral?
-Ten,or eleven
-Okay.
-I guess I won’t teach today
–No, you won’t. The priest will tell us the time. He is very serious
Two p.m. The casket arrives. The fidgeting ceases. Silence replaces the omnipresent noise of prepubescence. The soft cries of mourners gradually chip the calm away. A wailing woman enters the church. Hers is the only sound I now hear. Behind her, four men dressed in tshirts and jeans carry in the casket. The mood abruptly sours. A young man of eleven tears through the crowd. Mourners take their seats in the front four pews. He collapses over the coffin. His cries synchronize to those of his mother. He is the younger brother. The deceased was only sixteen. Thunder and lightning enclose the small church. It begins to rain. The priest continues to lead the congregation in prayer. Lightning strikes, the lights flicker, the amplifier explodes, the mike shocks the priest. He continues. Jean Baptiste’s wife leads the student body in prayer. It is a call and response pslam but I don’t know this one. She continues for one hour.
We’re outside now, making our way to the cemetery. The mourners all move slowly. I follow in the rear of the immense parade of parishioners, gradually weaving through the trenchlike path down the mountain to the plot. The priest blesses the grave and lays several student bouquet’s down. The head teacher of the Primary School gives a speech, reminding the students that this girl was their colleague and to keep her in their prayers. The priest gives a signal. The men begin to fill in the grave. A Senior 2 student of mine begins a concluding prayer. Gradually, the funeral attendees begin to depart, returning home, to school, or to work. The family remains. - Patrick Malone
You might be a Peace Corps volunteer in Rwanda...
You refuse to walk outside in even the slightest drizzle
6:30 a.m. is sleeping in, and 9:30 p.m. is a wild and crazy night.
You refer to people as “that one there” and it no longer feels even a little rude.
You even occasionally refer to yourself as “this one here” and it just feels so right.
The majority of your budget goes toward buying toilet paper, candles, and phone credit.
You know that there’s always room for one more person on the bus.
You are at least one hour late to everything…and are still the first person to arrive.
You recognize the four major food groups as salt, sugar, starch, and oil.
You curse Belgium for leaving behind postcolonial politics but not waffles, chocolate, or good beer.
The only snap, crackle, and pop that you hear is the sound of insects exploding in your candle’s flame.
You walk around your house with small objects balanced on your head.
You hate the dry season, until the rainy season begins. Then you hate that too.
The preschoolers in your village are all trained to hug you.
You no longer give clothing the sniff test, because you know that you’re going to wear it anyway.
It’s weird to see grown men walking beside each other and not holding hands.
You do a doubletake when you see someone carrying a backpack on their back instead of on their head.
- Kay Howell
During Independence Day weekend, I had all kinds of plans to be productive over the holiday but instead I relaxed and took some time to reconnect with my site. That Saturday I spent two hours tossing an avocado back and forth with some kids, and I can honestly say it was the most meditative and wonderful two hours I’ve had all month. I also bought sugarcane at the market for the first time ever, which turned out be quite an experience. In Rwanda, it’s considered impolite not to conceal food you’ve purchased unless you plan on sharing. The problem with sugarcane is that it’s only sold in eight foot sticks, making discretion impossible. Sharing was also impossible because I was in the middle of a marketplace full of people and had I decided to share I would have ended up without any for myself. So I did the only thing I could do. After making my purchase, I marched briskly and defiantly through the town square, pretending I couldn’t hear the horde of children chasing after me and screaming for “agasheke.” I think my village njoyed the spectacle. - Gelsey Hughes
The first year of teaching brought in surprises. “Expect the unexpected,” became our motto, as many of us were the first PCVs at a new site and the first science, math, and ICT teachers in PC/Rwanda. We attended village meetings and reburials during Genocide Memorial Week and slowly built our Rwandan circle of friends. We also lost some of us, but they go living the dream and we gained new friends from the land which Mark Rodehorst claims is quite magical. We saw our students improve over the school year in their language skills and confidence and we experienced pride during GLOW/BE camps as we watched our students grow and mature.
To help paint a picture of our experiences as the second education group, here are some stories, memories, and words.
During PST, Tashiya and I were walking back to the house when we heard someone scream, “HELP! HELP!” Tashiya immediately started to yell, “OMG! Hello? Do you need help? Sarah, we got to help them!” We looked around and couldn’t find anyone. We gave up and realized a local wouldn’t have yelled for help in English. It was a goat. – Sarah Doyle
At the end of Term 2 and an unsuccessful attempt to teach computers on the small and annoying OLPCs (One Child Per Laptop), I was grading exams in the teacher's room. As I flipped through my 135 S1 exams, I discovered the best answer ever to any exam question:
Q: "What key on the keyboard is used to make the space between words?"
A: "Is a space mouse"
I don't think I have ever laughed that hard. I then found myself creating a mental image of a mouse with a tiny jet pack flying around space and, of course, saving the universe. - Keira Brooks
Only in Rwanda will your body overcome carsickness by necessity.
Only in Rwanda has talking about bodily functions become a frequent and not unpleasant part of our conversations.
Only in Rwanda would I eat a plate of rice, pasta, boiled potatoes, fried potatoes, and plantains and consider it a nice meal.
Only in Rwanda would I discover french fries to be a pleasant addition to an omelet.
Only in Rwanda would you avoid going outside because there is a cow being slaughtered on the basketball court 20 feet from your house.
Only in Rwanda would a man fervently and affectionately dance with another man, and be straight.
Only in Rwanda could you get a fine for having dirty clothes or yard with "bad hygiene".
My favorite quote from a student was on a GLOW application: "I will not be a long door." = I will not be a wrong
doer. - Deanne and Aaron Witzke
I have read two hundred and thirty three books since we arrived. - Allister Stanton
Peter and Jacques meet me in front of the Primary School.
–Morning How are you?I am fine
We move towards the school’s garden, a collage of collared greens.
–Today we have a burial
-A what?
–A burial, I think, we say in English
–We say a funeral
–Yes, it is true
–For who?
-A young Primary Six student
-What did she die of?
–Poison
Poison is a big thing here, he says.
I stare at Peter and Jacque briefly. Poison, the visitor meant to say and I would learn later, is the culturally appropriate English translated euphemism for all forms of destructive diseases; the umbrella term for the plethora of pestilences that pervade East Africa: Malaria, AIDS, Influenza, etc.
-What time is the funeral?
-Ten,or eleven
-Okay.
-I guess I won’t teach today
–No, you won’t. The priest will tell us the time. He is very serious
Two p.m. The casket arrives. The fidgeting ceases. Silence replaces the omnipresent noise of prepubescence. The soft cries of mourners gradually chip the calm away. A wailing woman enters the church. Hers is the only sound I now hear. Behind her, four men dressed in tshirts and jeans carry in the casket. The mood abruptly sours. A young man of eleven tears through the crowd. Mourners take their seats in the front four pews. He collapses over the coffin. His cries synchronize to those of his mother. He is the younger brother. The deceased was only sixteen. Thunder and lightning enclose the small church. It begins to rain. The priest continues to lead the congregation in prayer. Lightning strikes, the lights flicker, the amplifier explodes, the mike shocks the priest. He continues. Jean Baptiste’s wife leads the student body in prayer. It is a call and response pslam but I don’t know this one. She continues for one hour.
We’re outside now, making our way to the cemetery. The mourners all move slowly. I follow in the rear of the immense parade of parishioners, gradually weaving through the trenchlike path down the mountain to the plot. The priest blesses the grave and lays several student bouquet’s down. The head teacher of the Primary School gives a speech, reminding the students that this girl was their colleague and to keep her in their prayers. The priest gives a signal. The men begin to fill in the grave. A Senior 2 student of mine begins a concluding prayer. Gradually, the funeral attendees begin to depart, returning home, to school, or to work. The family remains. - Patrick Malone
You might be a Peace Corps volunteer in Rwanda...
You refuse to walk outside in even the slightest drizzle
6:30 a.m. is sleeping in, and 9:30 p.m. is a wild and crazy night.
You refer to people as “that one there” and it no longer feels even a little rude.
You even occasionally refer to yourself as “this one here” and it just feels so right.
The majority of your budget goes toward buying toilet paper, candles, and phone credit.
You know that there’s always room for one more person on the bus.
You are at least one hour late to everything…and are still the first person to arrive.
You recognize the four major food groups as salt, sugar, starch, and oil.
You curse Belgium for leaving behind postcolonial politics but not waffles, chocolate, or good beer.
The only snap, crackle, and pop that you hear is the sound of insects exploding in your candle’s flame.
You walk around your house with small objects balanced on your head.
You hate the dry season, until the rainy season begins. Then you hate that too.
The preschoolers in your village are all trained to hug you.
You no longer give clothing the sniff test, because you know that you’re going to wear it anyway.
It’s weird to see grown men walking beside each other and not holding hands.
You do a doubletake when you see someone carrying a backpack on their back instead of on their head.
- Kay Howell
During Independence Day weekend, I had all kinds of plans to be productive over the holiday but instead I relaxed and took some time to reconnect with my site. That Saturday I spent two hours tossing an avocado back and forth with some kids, and I can honestly say it was the most meditative and wonderful two hours I’ve had all month. I also bought sugarcane at the market for the first time ever, which turned out be quite an experience. In Rwanda, it’s considered impolite not to conceal food you’ve purchased unless you plan on sharing. The problem with sugarcane is that it’s only sold in eight foot sticks, making discretion impossible. Sharing was also impossible because I was in the middle of a marketplace full of people and had I decided to share I would have ended up without any for myself. So I did the only thing I could do. After making my purchase, I marched briskly and defiantly through the town square, pretending I couldn’t hear the horde of children chasing after me and screaming for “agasheke.” I think my village njoyed the spectacle. - Gelsey Hughes