my dining room
laundry day
Colobus monkey
my view
Rwandan stove!
my first cooked meal
my birthday cake
my house
Pancakes!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
week four at site
May 11, 2009
I guess it’s true what they say. Women really must gain weight in the Peace Corps. I was actually really surprised when I heard that the first time. I thought, “How can I gain weight when I have to walk everywhere and cook for myself? And what will I eat? Will my village sell anything but beans, rice, and sweet potatoes?”
Well, it’s true that my village doesn’t have the variety of Walmart or even the local gas station in the U.S. for that matter. Actually, the offerings are bread, eggs, potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans, cassava, corn, tomatoes, onions, peanuts, questionable milk and some weird vegetables I don’t know the name of. Actually, people here eat the leaves off of everything it seems and they call it vegetables. Oh, and I almost forgot my favorite, avocado.
Okay, so the first week I was here, I kinda didn’t cook at all. For one, I had no wood, gas, or charcoal. Second, I didn’t know where to buy anything or how to cook on wood or charcoal. Third, I had no time to cook especially because it would get dark by 6:30. So, I basically bummed off of my neighbors for about a week and a half. At that time, I was eating only once or twice a day and I honestly thought my clothes would start falling off of me soon. Well, I finally bought some charcoal and for the past week and a half, I have been developing a system of cooking. I actually now have the charcoal lighting down (if I throw half a cup of kerosene on it before lighting). And my timing is getting better. People here eat pinto beans every day and you know as well as I do that pinto beans take forever to cook! So, I finally developed a system where I soak my beans overnight, light my charcoal when I wake up, start the beans cooking, go to work, come back and cook them another hour or two. This system is not flawless though. The first time I tried this, I underestimated how much water to put in the pan and seriously burnt the crap out of everything. Okay, maybe I did this twice. And since I work 8 hours a day, the charcoal also goes out by the time I come back and I have to relight it. Anyway (I’m taking too long to explain this.), I am finally getting used to cooking for myself and since then, I have been eating way too much. For one, I usually have half an avocado every day. In the morning, I have my bread and butter. At ten, I have one or two little sweet breads they sell at the hospital cantine. At twelve, I have some more bread and butter or I reheat food from the night before. At 7 or 8 pm, I have dinner (usually beans, rice or noodles, and avocado). Or I have eggs and, you guessed it, bread again. Then, at 11 or 12 am, I get a craving for chocolate and eat about 3 or 4 spoonfuls of Nutella. If you don’t know what Nutella is, stop reading this blog and go to the supermarket to buy some. Seriously. Nutella, with its heavenly mix of chocolate hazelnut and vanilla-like spread, is probably the best thing invented by man. At least, it is the best thing in the food department and when you spread it on bananas, wow! I, at least, can’t stop eating it and I have gone through a whole jar in just one week. And nutella isn’t cheap either. It costs $4 a jar. I guess it’s a bad idea to keep it by my bed. I’m moving it tonight.
Today, I made pancakes. Real, honest to goodness, like your grandmother makes them, pancakes. And they were delicious. I had to sacrifice one of my precious eggs for the recipe but it was worth it. I’m going to try to save around three of the pancakes for breakfast tomorrow (not sure how that’s going to turn out but it’s that or nothing). I also cooked enough beans and rice to feed a family of five, so I’m having that tonight too. This is after downing three or four cookies with nutella and eating half an avocado. You see what I mean? I’m going to blow up. I hate to keep harping on this. In the States, I was never really that conscious of my weight but here, where villagers are lucky to eat twice a day, I am actually considered a little heavier than normal. I weighed myself the other day, after the pregnant women had finished weighing themselves, and I actually weighed just as much as a Rwandan woman in her sixth or seventh month of pregnancy!
Talking about weight, that’s what I did today. I weighed children and measured their arms in one of the little villages. After doing that for about four hours, I was ready to cry or at least strangle myself for being an American. Seriously, about half of these kids were underweight and many were in the malnourished category, some severe. I weighed one child I thought to be around 8 months old only to find out she was two years old. I literally gasped when the mother told me how old she was. After I would weigh the child and find out she was underweight, I would usually tell the mother to visit the clinic for vitamins and nutrition counseling. After a while, I started thinking if I was going to have to send all these mothers to the clinic. And I asked once or twice what the children ate at home. One mother told me the family only ate pinto bean greens (the leaves off of the plant). What can I say to that? I did tell several mothers to feed their children pinto beans, sweet potatoes, fruits and vegetables. But what does that accomplish? What can a mother do with this information if she has no money to buy the food or if, like much of the land in my sector, the land she tills is so infertile, she can’t produce enough food for her family, especially not the food for a varied, healthy diet?
That’s the main problem I have been facing here. Poverty. I guess it’s obvious yet I didn’t expect it to slap me in the face like it did. You tell them something and they listen. They agree it’s good advice and they believe you because you have the white lab coat on. But do they do it? Many times, the answer is no because they simply cannot afford to do it. For example, health workers tell the villagers to boil their water before drinking because the water is dirty and will spread diseases. Yet, what mother will stop what she is doing to boil water when she has only one pan and she probably needs to cook beans and potatoes for her four hungry children? And after she boils the water, does she even have a container to put the water in?
It’s a cycle. Poverty leads to health problems, shortened life span, and malnutrition and, in turn, health problems, shortened life span, and malnutrition lead to more poverty. I guess the answer lies in trying to solve the poverty problem. If people have enough money, they can buy nutritious food, boil their water, buy shoes for their children and send them to school. Maybe, if the child goes to school, he will be one of the lucky few, who finish high school and goes to college. Maybe, if he finishes, with help from the government and scholarships, he will be one of the even luckier few, who will find a good job. But maybe, his parents will be like so many others who dredge out a sort of living every day on their small plot of infertile land and they try their best to feed their five children and send them to school. But high school is inordinately expensive and not many people can afford it. So, the children stay home and grow up to become farmers themselves. They divide the land of their parents and continue to live the same life as their parents did. And they have many children because they are afraid some of their children will die. For who will take care of them when they are older if their children are all dead?
Okay, I’m depressing myself so I will stop writing about this. And I need to stop eating! Maybe, I am channeling my emotions through food. That would be trouble. Haha. Okay, next time I will try to write a happy blog. If anybody is reading this, send me some topic ideas or questions so I will not just write about the demise of society or some other sobering topic.
I guess it’s true what they say. Women really must gain weight in the Peace Corps. I was actually really surprised when I heard that the first time. I thought, “How can I gain weight when I have to walk everywhere and cook for myself? And what will I eat? Will my village sell anything but beans, rice, and sweet potatoes?”
Well, it’s true that my village doesn’t have the variety of Walmart or even the local gas station in the U.S. for that matter. Actually, the offerings are bread, eggs, potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans, cassava, corn, tomatoes, onions, peanuts, questionable milk and some weird vegetables I don’t know the name of. Actually, people here eat the leaves off of everything it seems and they call it vegetables. Oh, and I almost forgot my favorite, avocado.
Okay, so the first week I was here, I kinda didn’t cook at all. For one, I had no wood, gas, or charcoal. Second, I didn’t know where to buy anything or how to cook on wood or charcoal. Third, I had no time to cook especially because it would get dark by 6:30. So, I basically bummed off of my neighbors for about a week and a half. At that time, I was eating only once or twice a day and I honestly thought my clothes would start falling off of me soon. Well, I finally bought some charcoal and for the past week and a half, I have been developing a system of cooking. I actually now have the charcoal lighting down (if I throw half a cup of kerosene on it before lighting). And my timing is getting better. People here eat pinto beans every day and you know as well as I do that pinto beans take forever to cook! So, I finally developed a system where I soak my beans overnight, light my charcoal when I wake up, start the beans cooking, go to work, come back and cook them another hour or two. This system is not flawless though. The first time I tried this, I underestimated how much water to put in the pan and seriously burnt the crap out of everything. Okay, maybe I did this twice. And since I work 8 hours a day, the charcoal also goes out by the time I come back and I have to relight it. Anyway (I’m taking too long to explain this.), I am finally getting used to cooking for myself and since then, I have been eating way too much. For one, I usually have half an avocado every day. In the morning, I have my bread and butter. At ten, I have one or two little sweet breads they sell at the hospital cantine. At twelve, I have some more bread and butter or I reheat food from the night before. At 7 or 8 pm, I have dinner (usually beans, rice or noodles, and avocado). Or I have eggs and, you guessed it, bread again. Then, at 11 or 12 am, I get a craving for chocolate and eat about 3 or 4 spoonfuls of Nutella. If you don’t know what Nutella is, stop reading this blog and go to the supermarket to buy some. Seriously. Nutella, with its heavenly mix of chocolate hazelnut and vanilla-like spread, is probably the best thing invented by man. At least, it is the best thing in the food department and when you spread it on bananas, wow! I, at least, can’t stop eating it and I have gone through a whole jar in just one week. And nutella isn’t cheap either. It costs $4 a jar. I guess it’s a bad idea to keep it by my bed. I’m moving it tonight.
Today, I made pancakes. Real, honest to goodness, like your grandmother makes them, pancakes. And they were delicious. I had to sacrifice one of my precious eggs for the recipe but it was worth it. I’m going to try to save around three of the pancakes for breakfast tomorrow (not sure how that’s going to turn out but it’s that or nothing). I also cooked enough beans and rice to feed a family of five, so I’m having that tonight too. This is after downing three or four cookies with nutella and eating half an avocado. You see what I mean? I’m going to blow up. I hate to keep harping on this. In the States, I was never really that conscious of my weight but here, where villagers are lucky to eat twice a day, I am actually considered a little heavier than normal. I weighed myself the other day, after the pregnant women had finished weighing themselves, and I actually weighed just as much as a Rwandan woman in her sixth or seventh month of pregnancy!
Talking about weight, that’s what I did today. I weighed children and measured their arms in one of the little villages. After doing that for about four hours, I was ready to cry or at least strangle myself for being an American. Seriously, about half of these kids were underweight and many were in the malnourished category, some severe. I weighed one child I thought to be around 8 months old only to find out she was two years old. I literally gasped when the mother told me how old she was. After I would weigh the child and find out she was underweight, I would usually tell the mother to visit the clinic for vitamins and nutrition counseling. After a while, I started thinking if I was going to have to send all these mothers to the clinic. And I asked once or twice what the children ate at home. One mother told me the family only ate pinto bean greens (the leaves off of the plant). What can I say to that? I did tell several mothers to feed their children pinto beans, sweet potatoes, fruits and vegetables. But what does that accomplish? What can a mother do with this information if she has no money to buy the food or if, like much of the land in my sector, the land she tills is so infertile, she can’t produce enough food for her family, especially not the food for a varied, healthy diet?
That’s the main problem I have been facing here. Poverty. I guess it’s obvious yet I didn’t expect it to slap me in the face like it did. You tell them something and they listen. They agree it’s good advice and they believe you because you have the white lab coat on. But do they do it? Many times, the answer is no because they simply cannot afford to do it. For example, health workers tell the villagers to boil their water before drinking because the water is dirty and will spread diseases. Yet, what mother will stop what she is doing to boil water when she has only one pan and she probably needs to cook beans and potatoes for her four hungry children? And after she boils the water, does she even have a container to put the water in?
It’s a cycle. Poverty leads to health problems, shortened life span, and malnutrition and, in turn, health problems, shortened life span, and malnutrition lead to more poverty. I guess the answer lies in trying to solve the poverty problem. If people have enough money, they can buy nutritious food, boil their water, buy shoes for their children and send them to school. Maybe, if the child goes to school, he will be one of the lucky few, who finish high school and goes to college. Maybe, if he finishes, with help from the government and scholarships, he will be one of the even luckier few, who will find a good job. But maybe, his parents will be like so many others who dredge out a sort of living every day on their small plot of infertile land and they try their best to feed their five children and send them to school. But high school is inordinately expensive and not many people can afford it. So, the children stay home and grow up to become farmers themselves. They divide the land of their parents and continue to live the same life as their parents did. And they have many children because they are afraid some of their children will die. For who will take care of them when they are older if their children are all dead?
Okay, I’m depressing myself so I will stop writing about this. And I need to stop eating! Maybe, I am channeling my emotions through food. That would be trouble. Haha. Okay, next time I will try to write a happy blog. If anybody is reading this, send me some topic ideas or questions so I will not just write about the demise of society or some other sobering topic.
week three at site
Blog May 6, 2009
It is week three at my site, and although I am still struggling with a routine at home and at work, I feel like I am getting there. Today, I actually cooked two meals on the charcoal grill. Granted I used a cup of kerosene to get it all started, I still feel pretty proud that I was able to work a whole day and still find time to cook lunch and dinner. I am actually going to have three meals today, a fact that actually makes me very happy. I had been eating only twice a day, if not once a day in the past few days. I had also been inviting myself to my neighbors’ houses for free food. But I feel like I turned a page today. I actually soaked my pinto beans all night long. I had a cheese sandwich for breakfast, cooked some ramen noodles for lunch and put a pot of beans on the charcoal grill before I left for work in the afternoon. I let the beans cook all afternoon and hurried back to check on them after work, but not before buying my beloved avocados at the local market. The charcoal was dead so I had to start it all again. Tonight, I’m having pinto beans, rice, and avocado. I even boiled some water so I can have some hot tea or coffee tonight. I am going to eat very good today and enjoy every bite.
Because I am an American, I refuse to have a house servant like all of my co-workers. Granted if I had a houseworker, I would have hot meals two times a day, clean clothes and a clean house, but it goes against something inside of me to hire a house servant. Maybe I enjoy my privacy too much or my own way of doing things or maybe I value my computer and camera. Anyway, because of my stubbornness, I have been having trouble feeding myself the way I am accustomed and finding time to do everything I need to do. Many of my co-workers here complain about how bored they are and how they have nothing to do after work. For me, I wish I had three more hours after work, at least of daylight. I have so much to do (which explains why I am wasting time writing this blog instead of preparing lessons or studying kinyarwanda). Talking about my co-workers, they are part of an interesting dichotomy in my town. Most of the people here are the typical African villager, very poor, usually farmers, no water or electricity, and little access to education. But the other type of people in my town speak to me in English, have access to Internet, wear jeans, and tell me they like shows like the O.C. and One Tree Hill. It is so weird. Sometimes, I feel like I am in one of those small towns in America that happen to have a university. The university brings in the life, the youth and modernity. It is the same here; yet, instead of having an university, it has a new hospital. And the people who are so different from the villagers are those who work at the hospital, the doctors, pharmacists, and nurses. They are the university graduates from other parts of the country or from the Congo. Many of them have only been living here for a little while and most of them are young and have no families. So, in a way, they are newcomers like me. I find it comforting because in a way, they remind me of people my age back in the United States. It is a study in contradictions living here but it brings a little bit of home back to me.
Writing about this reminds me about a blog topic I had in mind, the differences in American and Rwandan culture. It is amazing how much you can learn about your own culture just by being in another. And it is also amazing how much you miss of the local culture when you just live with thirty-four other Americans for three months. Since being at my site, the differences have been magnified and, to be honest, I think I am starting to prefer some of the Rwandese customs over my own. Okay, like I said in my last blog, the hospitality here is amazing, over the top. When a person moves into the village, people come to welcome him, show where he can buy food, etc, introduce him to the local leaders, and invite him to visit them. Ever since I have been here, it has been that way. Amazing hospitality. And I really enjoy the custom of welcoming guests into the home. They always offer hot tea, fanta or beer and let the person stay for dinner if he wants to, no prior notice needed. Actually, you could probably stay for hours at a neighbor’s house and he wouldn’t care. At least, he wouldn’t say anything and he would invite you back again. I’m trying to imagine how it is in the States. For one thing, when someone moves into a new community, no one really goes out of their way to help that person integrate. If it is a small town, it might be a little different but it is nowhere near the welcome you will get here. If a person moves into a city in the States, good luck. No one cares what you do or how you do it. And visiting the homes in the United States is also different. It is rude not to give prior notice and it is weird visiting the home of a person you do not know well. Most people just go out to socialize. And you must never overstay your welcome at someone’s house.
One thing that Rwandans and Americans have in common is that they are private about their lives. You might think this unusual if you are accustomed to West African culture. A friend once told me that the only secrets West Africans keep are the ones they forget. It is very different in Rwanda. Although the people are very friendly, they won’t let you into their confidence right away. You need to earn their trust. Even though Rwandans are private, they are willing to help each other often, even if it means sacrificing their convenience and time. And to be honest, Americans are not like that. I am not saying that Americans do not like to help each other. They do but there is also this culture of independence and intense privacy that keeps other people away. They will try very hard to do something on their own before asking for help. And asking for help usually means one has failed and is not strong enough to do it on his own. And the issue of time. Oh, you know as well as I do how obsessed Americans are about time. Time is money, isn’t it? And if someone takes your time and you feel like you are not getting anything for it, it is so annoying. If it is not convenient for the schedule, then you will not go out with a co-worker to celebrate his birthday, you will not visit the grandmother at the nursing home or grab some lunch with the new neighbor. I’m not saying that all Americans are like that. I’m just saying that it has been my experience that Americans value their time and convenience highly, too highly sometimes. And you don’t even realize you are like that until you visit somewhere like Africa where people will actually turn back from a trip to town because you are going to visit them or where people will walk you to a place if you are lost instead of just giving verbal instructions.
Okay, I will stop bashing America. It is not all bad and hopefully, I’m showing them some good American traits. It is my culture after all and they will be living with it for a while. Let’s see how they react to living with a twenty-something American female for two years.
It is week three at my site, and although I am still struggling with a routine at home and at work, I feel like I am getting there. Today, I actually cooked two meals on the charcoal grill. Granted I used a cup of kerosene to get it all started, I still feel pretty proud that I was able to work a whole day and still find time to cook lunch and dinner. I am actually going to have three meals today, a fact that actually makes me very happy. I had been eating only twice a day, if not once a day in the past few days. I had also been inviting myself to my neighbors’ houses for free food. But I feel like I turned a page today. I actually soaked my pinto beans all night long. I had a cheese sandwich for breakfast, cooked some ramen noodles for lunch and put a pot of beans on the charcoal grill before I left for work in the afternoon. I let the beans cook all afternoon and hurried back to check on them after work, but not before buying my beloved avocados at the local market. The charcoal was dead so I had to start it all again. Tonight, I’m having pinto beans, rice, and avocado. I even boiled some water so I can have some hot tea or coffee tonight. I am going to eat very good today and enjoy every bite.
Because I am an American, I refuse to have a house servant like all of my co-workers. Granted if I had a houseworker, I would have hot meals two times a day, clean clothes and a clean house, but it goes against something inside of me to hire a house servant. Maybe I enjoy my privacy too much or my own way of doing things or maybe I value my computer and camera. Anyway, because of my stubbornness, I have been having trouble feeding myself the way I am accustomed and finding time to do everything I need to do. Many of my co-workers here complain about how bored they are and how they have nothing to do after work. For me, I wish I had three more hours after work, at least of daylight. I have so much to do (which explains why I am wasting time writing this blog instead of preparing lessons or studying kinyarwanda). Talking about my co-workers, they are part of an interesting dichotomy in my town. Most of the people here are the typical African villager, very poor, usually farmers, no water or electricity, and little access to education. But the other type of people in my town speak to me in English, have access to Internet, wear jeans, and tell me they like shows like the O.C. and One Tree Hill. It is so weird. Sometimes, I feel like I am in one of those small towns in America that happen to have a university. The university brings in the life, the youth and modernity. It is the same here; yet, instead of having an university, it has a new hospital. And the people who are so different from the villagers are those who work at the hospital, the doctors, pharmacists, and nurses. They are the university graduates from other parts of the country or from the Congo. Many of them have only been living here for a little while and most of them are young and have no families. So, in a way, they are newcomers like me. I find it comforting because in a way, they remind me of people my age back in the United States. It is a study in contradictions living here but it brings a little bit of home back to me.
Writing about this reminds me about a blog topic I had in mind, the differences in American and Rwandan culture. It is amazing how much you can learn about your own culture just by being in another. And it is also amazing how much you miss of the local culture when you just live with thirty-four other Americans for three months. Since being at my site, the differences have been magnified and, to be honest, I think I am starting to prefer some of the Rwandese customs over my own. Okay, like I said in my last blog, the hospitality here is amazing, over the top. When a person moves into the village, people come to welcome him, show where he can buy food, etc, introduce him to the local leaders, and invite him to visit them. Ever since I have been here, it has been that way. Amazing hospitality. And I really enjoy the custom of welcoming guests into the home. They always offer hot tea, fanta or beer and let the person stay for dinner if he wants to, no prior notice needed. Actually, you could probably stay for hours at a neighbor’s house and he wouldn’t care. At least, he wouldn’t say anything and he would invite you back again. I’m trying to imagine how it is in the States. For one thing, when someone moves into a new community, no one really goes out of their way to help that person integrate. If it is a small town, it might be a little different but it is nowhere near the welcome you will get here. If a person moves into a city in the States, good luck. No one cares what you do or how you do it. And visiting the homes in the United States is also different. It is rude not to give prior notice and it is weird visiting the home of a person you do not know well. Most people just go out to socialize. And you must never overstay your welcome at someone’s house.
One thing that Rwandans and Americans have in common is that they are private about their lives. You might think this unusual if you are accustomed to West African culture. A friend once told me that the only secrets West Africans keep are the ones they forget. It is very different in Rwanda. Although the people are very friendly, they won’t let you into their confidence right away. You need to earn their trust. Even though Rwandans are private, they are willing to help each other often, even if it means sacrificing their convenience and time. And to be honest, Americans are not like that. I am not saying that Americans do not like to help each other. They do but there is also this culture of independence and intense privacy that keeps other people away. They will try very hard to do something on their own before asking for help. And asking for help usually means one has failed and is not strong enough to do it on his own. And the issue of time. Oh, you know as well as I do how obsessed Americans are about time. Time is money, isn’t it? And if someone takes your time and you feel like you are not getting anything for it, it is so annoying. If it is not convenient for the schedule, then you will not go out with a co-worker to celebrate his birthday, you will not visit the grandmother at the nursing home or grab some lunch with the new neighbor. I’m not saying that all Americans are like that. I’m just saying that it has been my experience that Americans value their time and convenience highly, too highly sometimes. And you don’t even realize you are like that until you visit somewhere like Africa where people will actually turn back from a trip to town because you are going to visit them or where people will walk you to a place if you are lost instead of just giving verbal instructions.
Okay, I will stop bashing America. It is not all bad and hopefully, I’m showing them some good American traits. It is my culture after all and they will be living with it for a while. Let’s see how they react to living with a twenty-something American female for two years.
1st week at site
April 30, 2009
The worst hours of the day have to be from 4:30 to 7:30 pm. As the day wanes and I go home from work, I am always faced with the issue of what to do and how to do it. And I also have to decide what to cook that night, if I will cook anything. Today, I spent an hour trying to light my charcoal grill, all the while wondering what brought me here, thousands of miles away from what I call home. Even now, I can picture myself driving home from work and stopping by a fast food joint to grab a hamburger and fries. Then, I go home and watch my favorite program on the television or I call some friends. I talk to my sister or my mother and then I go to sleep. Everything is familiar and I know exactly what to do and where to go. I know the place, the language, and the people. I can predict what will happen tomorrow and what will probably happen next week. And I am not alone. I am not the only white person for kilometers and kilometers. And my job is clearly defined.
When I first started my Peace Corps blog, I did so for two reasons. The first was to have an easy way to update all of my family and friends on how I was doing, without having to email all of them. But the second reason was to provide an honest and detailed account of life in the Peace Corps so that others who are out there can understand and make an informed decision about whether to join or not. When I first thought about joining the Peace Corps, I read many blogs. Many of them were very good and funny but I noticed that the blogs did not really provide the information I wanted. And the information I wanted to know was how the volunteer integrated into the community, how did he learn the language, and how did he do his job in such circumstances. What were the hardest things to get used to and what were the challenges in the job? Was it worth it after all? Did he ever have doubts? So, I want to do that here and I want to be as honest as possible. And I want to do that because I believe in the Peace Corps’ mission and I think it is a very good thing. Yet, I don’t want people to join with the wrong ideas or the wrong reasons and I want them to be prepared.
I have been at my site for a week and a half now. It is hard for me to come to terms with the realization that I am actually here and I will be living here for two years. For a person who does not like to make promises, I have had to make many promises and commitments, one of them being my stay here. And to be honest, although it is very difficult for me now, I can see my job in the future, like six months or so, and I like what I see. For one thing, what I am doing now actually means something and can help people, unlike any other job I’ve ever had before. And I also feel very fortunate to be placed where I am at now. I am not lying when I say that the people here just blow me away with their hospitality, kindness and generosity. I have actually felt very comfortable here from the first and it is because the people have been so open and friendly. One of my Rwandan friends says that this is the way people are here; it is the culture. They tell me that we are together and that I am their sister. For someone accustomed to the American culture of independence, privacy and “everyone for himself,” it is a little overwhelming at times. Yet, this hospitality is deeply appreciated. If I move back to the States to live, I will take this type of hospitality with me because I think it is so much better than the way we live in the States. People here are shocked when I tell them that many Americans don’t even know who their neighbors are.
I guess I can give you some details about how I am living and so on. I actually have a very nice cement house with four bedrooms. Right now, I have hardly any furniture so it looks so big and empty, but I will be filling it up month by month. Last week, I ordered a desk and a coffee table, but I still need to order chairs for the living room and shelves for my kitchen supplies, books, and clothes. It will probably take a couple of months to get it all because everything is handmade. Let’s see, I also have electricity in two bedrooms. My neighbor has offered to come over and put wiring in my kitchen, latrine, and living room, which would be awesome. I told him he should teach me how to wire my house. I might as well gain a useful skill since it seems like everyone here knows how to do those things. Talking about useful skills, it would be really nice if I knew how to light my charcoal grill. I can get it started but I usually have to go through five or six matches and a lot of paper. Today, after an hour of struggling with the charcoal and watching the sun set, I finally gave up and threw about half a cup of kerosene on the charcoal. Only then could I get the charcoal started.
It’s not that bad though. One of the two best things about my house is the distance from work, only about 200 meters. Every day, I return to my house at noon for a small siesta. The other thing is my view, which is to die for. Seriously, when I step outside my house, I feel like I am in a postcard. Where I am, there are so many hills, mountains, valleys and rivers. When I go visit the surrounding villages, I am always just gaping at the scenery. It is incredible. Of course, the scenery becomes a little nerve wrecking when I am on a big bus trying to maneuver the small dirt roads around the side of the mountains. If the bus moves just a few feet to the right, it is all over for me and my Peace Corps adventure.
Talking about surrounding villages, I am going to be visiting the area villages a lot in the next three months. My first Peace Corps assignment is a community assessment, which involves researching town and hospital records and visiting houses, conducting census-type questions. As it turns out, my sector has twenty-one little villages so I will be visiting them all very soon. The amount of work I will be doing seems a little overwhelming as a result because I not only have to do the community assessment but they want me to start teaching at the clinic. This would be okay normally but I don’t know the language yet. And I really want to be fluent but, right now, I only have survival kinyarwanda. The area schools also want me to come and teach (mostly English). Honestly, I am really excited about the possibilities and I am glad they want me to come teach about health topics. Once I get a good grasp of the language, I really think I will love my job. But right now, I am just a little overwhelmed. When I come home from work, I will usually feel more stressed than when I am at work because I feel like I need to start preparing lesson plans, translating something, filling some form for Peace Corps or trying to light the charcoal before the sun sets. Today, I gave myself a little holiday after work and I decided to write this blog. And I have a reason to celebrate. Today, I taught my first lesson at the clinic and it was awesome! I was stressing about it because they told me yesterday I should teach today at the community health workers’ meeting. But I prepared the lesson on HIV/AIDS and found a translator and presented it with no problem. I don’t know why I was so worried. It was actually fun and great to see how interested they were in the topic. I actually opened a can of worms at one point when I asked them if they thought AIDS is a punishment from God. I was playing the true/false game and I was really trying to determine the level of stigma in the community. They really got into that argument. Some thought it was a punishment from God because there’s no cure for AIDS. Most others disagreed however, and a big debate ensued. I loved it and I tried to facilitate as best as possible with guiding questions. It was a little difficult however because I had to have a translator and the translators kept jumping in and adding their own viewpoints on the matter. Overall, though it was a lot of fun and my lesson lasted forever. I thought it would be around thirty minutes long but it lasted almost two hours.
The worst hours of the day have to be from 4:30 to 7:30 pm. As the day wanes and I go home from work, I am always faced with the issue of what to do and how to do it. And I also have to decide what to cook that night, if I will cook anything. Today, I spent an hour trying to light my charcoal grill, all the while wondering what brought me here, thousands of miles away from what I call home. Even now, I can picture myself driving home from work and stopping by a fast food joint to grab a hamburger and fries. Then, I go home and watch my favorite program on the television or I call some friends. I talk to my sister or my mother and then I go to sleep. Everything is familiar and I know exactly what to do and where to go. I know the place, the language, and the people. I can predict what will happen tomorrow and what will probably happen next week. And I am not alone. I am not the only white person for kilometers and kilometers. And my job is clearly defined.
When I first started my Peace Corps blog, I did so for two reasons. The first was to have an easy way to update all of my family and friends on how I was doing, without having to email all of them. But the second reason was to provide an honest and detailed account of life in the Peace Corps so that others who are out there can understand and make an informed decision about whether to join or not. When I first thought about joining the Peace Corps, I read many blogs. Many of them were very good and funny but I noticed that the blogs did not really provide the information I wanted. And the information I wanted to know was how the volunteer integrated into the community, how did he learn the language, and how did he do his job in such circumstances. What were the hardest things to get used to and what were the challenges in the job? Was it worth it after all? Did he ever have doubts? So, I want to do that here and I want to be as honest as possible. And I want to do that because I believe in the Peace Corps’ mission and I think it is a very good thing. Yet, I don’t want people to join with the wrong ideas or the wrong reasons and I want them to be prepared.
I have been at my site for a week and a half now. It is hard for me to come to terms with the realization that I am actually here and I will be living here for two years. For a person who does not like to make promises, I have had to make many promises and commitments, one of them being my stay here. And to be honest, although it is very difficult for me now, I can see my job in the future, like six months or so, and I like what I see. For one thing, what I am doing now actually means something and can help people, unlike any other job I’ve ever had before. And I also feel very fortunate to be placed where I am at now. I am not lying when I say that the people here just blow me away with their hospitality, kindness and generosity. I have actually felt very comfortable here from the first and it is because the people have been so open and friendly. One of my Rwandan friends says that this is the way people are here; it is the culture. They tell me that we are together and that I am their sister. For someone accustomed to the American culture of independence, privacy and “everyone for himself,” it is a little overwhelming at times. Yet, this hospitality is deeply appreciated. If I move back to the States to live, I will take this type of hospitality with me because I think it is so much better than the way we live in the States. People here are shocked when I tell them that many Americans don’t even know who their neighbors are.
I guess I can give you some details about how I am living and so on. I actually have a very nice cement house with four bedrooms. Right now, I have hardly any furniture so it looks so big and empty, but I will be filling it up month by month. Last week, I ordered a desk and a coffee table, but I still need to order chairs for the living room and shelves for my kitchen supplies, books, and clothes. It will probably take a couple of months to get it all because everything is handmade. Let’s see, I also have electricity in two bedrooms. My neighbor has offered to come over and put wiring in my kitchen, latrine, and living room, which would be awesome. I told him he should teach me how to wire my house. I might as well gain a useful skill since it seems like everyone here knows how to do those things. Talking about useful skills, it would be really nice if I knew how to light my charcoal grill. I can get it started but I usually have to go through five or six matches and a lot of paper. Today, after an hour of struggling with the charcoal and watching the sun set, I finally gave up and threw about half a cup of kerosene on the charcoal. Only then could I get the charcoal started.
It’s not that bad though. One of the two best things about my house is the distance from work, only about 200 meters. Every day, I return to my house at noon for a small siesta. The other thing is my view, which is to die for. Seriously, when I step outside my house, I feel like I am in a postcard. Where I am, there are so many hills, mountains, valleys and rivers. When I go visit the surrounding villages, I am always just gaping at the scenery. It is incredible. Of course, the scenery becomes a little nerve wrecking when I am on a big bus trying to maneuver the small dirt roads around the side of the mountains. If the bus moves just a few feet to the right, it is all over for me and my Peace Corps adventure.
Talking about surrounding villages, I am going to be visiting the area villages a lot in the next three months. My first Peace Corps assignment is a community assessment, which involves researching town and hospital records and visiting houses, conducting census-type questions. As it turns out, my sector has twenty-one little villages so I will be visiting them all very soon. The amount of work I will be doing seems a little overwhelming as a result because I not only have to do the community assessment but they want me to start teaching at the clinic. This would be okay normally but I don’t know the language yet. And I really want to be fluent but, right now, I only have survival kinyarwanda. The area schools also want me to come and teach (mostly English). Honestly, I am really excited about the possibilities and I am glad they want me to come teach about health topics. Once I get a good grasp of the language, I really think I will love my job. But right now, I am just a little overwhelmed. When I come home from work, I will usually feel more stressed than when I am at work because I feel like I need to start preparing lesson plans, translating something, filling some form for Peace Corps or trying to light the charcoal before the sun sets. Today, I gave myself a little holiday after work and I decided to write this blog. And I have a reason to celebrate. Today, I taught my first lesson at the clinic and it was awesome! I was stressing about it because they told me yesterday I should teach today at the community health workers’ meeting. But I prepared the lesson on HIV/AIDS and found a translator and presented it with no problem. I don’t know why I was so worried. It was actually fun and great to see how interested they were in the topic. I actually opened a can of worms at one point when I asked them if they thought AIDS is a punishment from God. I was playing the true/false game and I was really trying to determine the level of stigma in the community. They really got into that argument. Some thought it was a punishment from God because there’s no cure for AIDS. Most others disagreed however, and a big debate ensued. I loved it and I tried to facilitate as best as possible with guiding questions. It was a little difficult however because I had to have a translator and the translators kept jumping in and adding their own viewpoints on the matter. Overall, though it was a lot of fun and my lesson lasted forever. I thought it would be around thirty minutes long but it lasted almost two hours.
Friday, April 17, 2009
luxury and deprivation
I have been trying to write a blog for weeks but every time I start, I get the worst writer’s block. I need to write though because so much has happened in the last two weeks and I feel it is my duty to report on those events. Right now, I’m sitting in another volunteer’s room watching her pack. We both leave two days from now to head to our villages and start work. I don’t really know how to handle this reality so I’m trying not to think too much about it because if I do, I will just fret and worry.
Last week was our last week in Butare. We took our final language and tech tests and had our last interviews with our training director. Somehow, I managed a score of “advanced” on my language test even though I am nowhere near that level. I also signed my name on a piece of paper stating I passed my training and agreed to be a Peace Corps volunteer. It was so surreal and I can’t believe training is finally over. It seems like it took forever yet it doesn’t seem like three months has already passed. To be honest, I don’t even think of my life in the United States anymore. The first month I was here in Rwanda, I missed home like crazy. I especially missed material things like television, pizza, Mexican food, my bed, hot showers, and driving my car. Now, those things aren’t that important anymore. I have finally become accustomed to some aspects of my new life: bucket showers, washing my own clothes, bargaining with storekeepers, trying to follow conversations in three different languages, and waiting for hours for something that would take minutes in the United States. Although all of these experiences have prepared me for life in Rwanda, I know I will experience even more culture shock once I go to my village. Until now, I have only lived in town, in a convent, and had everything prepared for me. Once I move to my village, I will have to start a new job besides learning how to live like a true villager. Well, maybe not a true villager because I will be a lot better off. Still, I want to learn how to cook on charcoal and wood and carry a jug of water on my head.
This week, we left Butare for good and headed to Kigali. We have spent a week here so far and it has been incredible. After living in Southern Rwanda for three months, Kigali seems like New York City. On Wednesday, we had our graduation ceremony at the ambassador’s house and were sworn as Peace Corps volunteers. Many former volunteers came to see us graduate (actually forty-something former Peace Corps volunteers are here working in NGO’s) and some officials from the Rwandan government came as well. Two volunteers gave speeches in Kinyarwandan and wowed the crowd. After the ceremony, we all attacked the hors d’oeuvres and coffee and explored the ambassador’s ginormous house.
Thursday was simply one of the best days I have had in Rwanda! We all loaded up in buses and traveled to Lake Morhaze for a barbecue, games and wakeboarding. The embassy has a house beside the lake and we took possession of it for a day. While our director and other staff barbecued shish kabobs, I played volleyball and soccer with the Peace Corps staff. Our balls kept falling in the lake water and we were so afraid to wade in and retrieve them because there might be schistosomiasis in the water. We finally recruited a couple of kids who were in the water to swim out and fetch the balls for us. Four off-duty Marines from the embassy came with us, much to the girls’ delight, and they brought a couple of blow-up boats. They had this board, and they taught us to how to wake board. It was amazing! It’s kind of like water skiing yet you are on your knees on a board. I couldn’t resist. I went out in the schisto water and had my first experience in wakeboarding. Awesome, awesome, awesome! Of course, I was a wakeboard retard at first and I fell off the board, let’s see, about three or four times. When you are on the wakeboard, you start off on your stomach and you have to pull yourself up on your knees while the boat is moving. I was only able to get up once without falling, then the boat speeded up and I fell off again. After I got back on dry land, I stuffed my face and played football, soccer and volleyball with the staff and other volunteers. That was followed by random dancing to Bob Marley and African singers. All day long, I kept thinking that I cannot really be in the Peace Corps. This is simply too much fun and we are so spoiled. The day was perfect, absolutely perfect.
After we returned, a group of us decided to go to a salsa club for some dancing. I don’t have a clue how to salsa dance but I tagged along anyway. Once we got there, it was like muzungoville. It freaked me out a little. I was also taken aback by the dancers because they were so freaking good. I felt like I was watching a scene in Dirty Dancing: Havana nights. With nothing to lose except my pride, I jumped onto the dance floor and “salsa danced.” The night went without too many incidents until around midnight when I got paired up with a salsa teacher. After seeing how much I sucked, he took me aside and taught me the basic steps, right there on the dance floor in front of everybody. I was too grateful to be too embarrassed but I wondered if he did that to every bad salsa dancer he came across.
After Thursday’s wakeboarding and dancing, I spent today shopping for my house and recovering from strained muscles. And it was really confusing and stressful. The Peace Corps staff rented a couple of buses and they have four cars so they have been randomly carting all 32 of us around town. It has been a logistical nightmare because there are so many of us going to different places at different times and they really didn’t set up concrete schedule or timed routes. Basically, groups of us call the drivers to take us places and come fetch us after we buy boxes of household goods. Today, I just played it by ear and caught rides whenever they were going somewhere. Somehow, I managed to visit two stores, buy loads of crap, and still be picked up by the buses without having to call them. It was seriously a case of being in the right places at the right times.
Shopping has also been stressful because 1) I’ve never shopped for a whole house before. I basically need everything besides a bed frame and a kitchen table. 2) They have only given us a little bit of money to settle in, which means I have to budget, I can’t buy cute stuff, and I have to do without many things. This is fine. I mean, I am a Peace Corps volunteer after all. The only problem is that I don’t really know how to buy things on so little money. And there is also the issue of pride. Should I buy the really ugly blanket or the nice comforter? Should I buy all matching dishes and silverware or do I buy the cheap metal and plastic dishes from China that have the cats and weird English phrases on them. I do still have half of my settling allowance left so I think I am doing better than some other volunteers but I still have to buy a mattress, a gas tank and some furniture. I guess I can do without furniture the first month. At least, I have a bed frame.
Okay, I’m going to end by telling you about my first experience in a shopping mall in Africa. I have lived in Rwanda for three months and I had heard about this “shopping mall and Target-like store” in Kigali but I didn’t really believe it. Having never seen this mythical store, I had contented myself by shopping at the open-air markets and the little sketchy stores in Butare. Today, however, I finally got to visit it. It was so weird. Everything the other volunteers said about it was true! It actually looked like a Target/Sears. It had the cash registers and aisles with the little signs saying what was on each aisle. I probably looked like an idiot just wandering around the aisles with an expression of pure delight on my face. At first, I was too afraid to buy anything. I just explored the aisles and stared at the refrigerators, gym equipment, and flat screen televisions. They even had Ramen noodles although it was about a dollar each instead of 16 cents. There were so many options, I didn’t know where to start. I had gotten used to only having one or two choices and then bargaining for that one item until I got a good price. And the item normally looked like it came from a Goodwill store or a used clothes box from the States. Now, I had options! And to make it better, the workers were actually helpful unlike the workers at Walmart who try to run away from you whenever you have a question. One of them put together my gas grill for me and answered all my questions about gas prices and cooking options. He then took me to the hardware section and got the other pieces I needed for the grill.
The best part, however, had to be the Bourbon coffee shop. I walked in and just stared for five minutes at the sign listing the options. They had all the fancy coffee drinks and little sweets that Starbucks has. I laughed out loud and exclaimed, “This is just like Starbucks!” to the barista. The barista laughed and prepared a fancy coffee drink with little swirls and designs in the coffee, complete with porcelain cup and little sugar cookie. With a smug look, he presented the drink and asked, “Does Starbucks make coffee like this?” Impressed, I ordered a café mocha and chocolate cake complete with whip cream and cherries. Although the bill was the equivalent of five restaurant buffets, you must believe me when I say that I enjoyed every bite of that chocolate cake, and the café mocha was better than Starbucks coffee!
Last week was our last week in Butare. We took our final language and tech tests and had our last interviews with our training director. Somehow, I managed a score of “advanced” on my language test even though I am nowhere near that level. I also signed my name on a piece of paper stating I passed my training and agreed to be a Peace Corps volunteer. It was so surreal and I can’t believe training is finally over. It seems like it took forever yet it doesn’t seem like three months has already passed. To be honest, I don’t even think of my life in the United States anymore. The first month I was here in Rwanda, I missed home like crazy. I especially missed material things like television, pizza, Mexican food, my bed, hot showers, and driving my car. Now, those things aren’t that important anymore. I have finally become accustomed to some aspects of my new life: bucket showers, washing my own clothes, bargaining with storekeepers, trying to follow conversations in three different languages, and waiting for hours for something that would take minutes in the United States. Although all of these experiences have prepared me for life in Rwanda, I know I will experience even more culture shock once I go to my village. Until now, I have only lived in town, in a convent, and had everything prepared for me. Once I move to my village, I will have to start a new job besides learning how to live like a true villager. Well, maybe not a true villager because I will be a lot better off. Still, I want to learn how to cook on charcoal and wood and carry a jug of water on my head.
This week, we left Butare for good and headed to Kigali. We have spent a week here so far and it has been incredible. After living in Southern Rwanda for three months, Kigali seems like New York City. On Wednesday, we had our graduation ceremony at the ambassador’s house and were sworn as Peace Corps volunteers. Many former volunteers came to see us graduate (actually forty-something former Peace Corps volunteers are here working in NGO’s) and some officials from the Rwandan government came as well. Two volunteers gave speeches in Kinyarwandan and wowed the crowd. After the ceremony, we all attacked the hors d’oeuvres and coffee and explored the ambassador’s ginormous house.
Thursday was simply one of the best days I have had in Rwanda! We all loaded up in buses and traveled to Lake Morhaze for a barbecue, games and wakeboarding. The embassy has a house beside the lake and we took possession of it for a day. While our director and other staff barbecued shish kabobs, I played volleyball and soccer with the Peace Corps staff. Our balls kept falling in the lake water and we were so afraid to wade in and retrieve them because there might be schistosomiasis in the water. We finally recruited a couple of kids who were in the water to swim out and fetch the balls for us. Four off-duty Marines from the embassy came with us, much to the girls’ delight, and they brought a couple of blow-up boats. They had this board, and they taught us to how to wake board. It was amazing! It’s kind of like water skiing yet you are on your knees on a board. I couldn’t resist. I went out in the schisto water and had my first experience in wakeboarding. Awesome, awesome, awesome! Of course, I was a wakeboard retard at first and I fell off the board, let’s see, about three or four times. When you are on the wakeboard, you start off on your stomach and you have to pull yourself up on your knees while the boat is moving. I was only able to get up once without falling, then the boat speeded up and I fell off again. After I got back on dry land, I stuffed my face and played football, soccer and volleyball with the staff and other volunteers. That was followed by random dancing to Bob Marley and African singers. All day long, I kept thinking that I cannot really be in the Peace Corps. This is simply too much fun and we are so spoiled. The day was perfect, absolutely perfect.
After we returned, a group of us decided to go to a salsa club for some dancing. I don’t have a clue how to salsa dance but I tagged along anyway. Once we got there, it was like muzungoville. It freaked me out a little. I was also taken aback by the dancers because they were so freaking good. I felt like I was watching a scene in Dirty Dancing: Havana nights. With nothing to lose except my pride, I jumped onto the dance floor and “salsa danced.” The night went without too many incidents until around midnight when I got paired up with a salsa teacher. After seeing how much I sucked, he took me aside and taught me the basic steps, right there on the dance floor in front of everybody. I was too grateful to be too embarrassed but I wondered if he did that to every bad salsa dancer he came across.
After Thursday’s wakeboarding and dancing, I spent today shopping for my house and recovering from strained muscles. And it was really confusing and stressful. The Peace Corps staff rented a couple of buses and they have four cars so they have been randomly carting all 32 of us around town. It has been a logistical nightmare because there are so many of us going to different places at different times and they really didn’t set up concrete schedule or timed routes. Basically, groups of us call the drivers to take us places and come fetch us after we buy boxes of household goods. Today, I just played it by ear and caught rides whenever they were going somewhere. Somehow, I managed to visit two stores, buy loads of crap, and still be picked up by the buses without having to call them. It was seriously a case of being in the right places at the right times.
Shopping has also been stressful because 1) I’ve never shopped for a whole house before. I basically need everything besides a bed frame and a kitchen table. 2) They have only given us a little bit of money to settle in, which means I have to budget, I can’t buy cute stuff, and I have to do without many things. This is fine. I mean, I am a Peace Corps volunteer after all. The only problem is that I don’t really know how to buy things on so little money. And there is also the issue of pride. Should I buy the really ugly blanket or the nice comforter? Should I buy all matching dishes and silverware or do I buy the cheap metal and plastic dishes from China that have the cats and weird English phrases on them. I do still have half of my settling allowance left so I think I am doing better than some other volunteers but I still have to buy a mattress, a gas tank and some furniture. I guess I can do without furniture the first month. At least, I have a bed frame.
Okay, I’m going to end by telling you about my first experience in a shopping mall in Africa. I have lived in Rwanda for three months and I had heard about this “shopping mall and Target-like store” in Kigali but I didn’t really believe it. Having never seen this mythical store, I had contented myself by shopping at the open-air markets and the little sketchy stores in Butare. Today, however, I finally got to visit it. It was so weird. Everything the other volunteers said about it was true! It actually looked like a Target/Sears. It had the cash registers and aisles with the little signs saying what was on each aisle. I probably looked like an idiot just wandering around the aisles with an expression of pure delight on my face. At first, I was too afraid to buy anything. I just explored the aisles and stared at the refrigerators, gym equipment, and flat screen televisions. They even had Ramen noodles although it was about a dollar each instead of 16 cents. There were so many options, I didn’t know where to start. I had gotten used to only having one or two choices and then bargaining for that one item until I got a good price. And the item normally looked like it came from a Goodwill store or a used clothes box from the States. Now, I had options! And to make it better, the workers were actually helpful unlike the workers at Walmart who try to run away from you whenever you have a question. One of them put together my gas grill for me and answered all my questions about gas prices and cooking options. He then took me to the hardware section and got the other pieces I needed for the grill.
The best part, however, had to be the Bourbon coffee shop. I walked in and just stared for five minutes at the sign listing the options. They had all the fancy coffee drinks and little sweets that Starbucks has. I laughed out loud and exclaimed, “This is just like Starbucks!” to the barista. The barista laughed and prepared a fancy coffee drink with little swirls and designs in the coffee, complete with porcelain cup and little sugar cookie. With a smug look, he presented the drink and asked, “Does Starbucks make coffee like this?” Impressed, I ordered a café mocha and chocolate cake complete with whip cream and cherries. Although the bill was the equivalent of five restaurant buffets, you must believe me when I say that I enjoyed every bite of that chocolate cake, and the café mocha was better than Starbucks coffee!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I finally posted pictures!!!
I finally found an internet connection fast enough to load some pictures but these were the only ones I had on me at the time. I will try to upload more pictures soon. The picture on the right is a picture of my classroom where I learn Kinyarwanda.
Monday, March 23, 2009
To kill a chicken
I only have three weeks until I graduate from training and head off to my village to start working. It seems like the weeks have just flown by and I can hardly believe PST is almost over. This week, we actually have a project to complete. Our group of four trainees visited a health clinic and arranged to talk to one of the small groups that meets every week. This group is comprised of around 8-10 women who have malnourished children. We are going to give a health talk about nutrition, water sanitation, and hygiene. I should probably be planning some of it today instead of writing my blog but the day is too nice to be spending it on work.
This week, our training director decided to teach us how to cook Rwandan food so he divided us up into groups and sent us to the market with shopping lists. My group was in charge of buying cassava powder, salt, tomato concentrate and of course, five live chickens. I was in charge of the money so I was given 24,000 francs to carry around the market. I hid the money in several areas in case I was mugged and carried two purses to throw people off. Haha Thankfully, we also had two teachers with us to help when our bargaining skills slacked off. Before the trip, I was wondering how we were going to transport five chickens back to the center but fortunately, one of the trainees was raised on a chicken farm so she told us she would teach us how to carry them and kill them. When we finally got to the area where they sold chickens, we were immediately surrounded by abacuruzi (sellers) trying to sell their chickens and rabbits and by poor street children asking for jobs and money. It was a little overwhelming especially because I had a lot of cash on me and they were invading my personal space. Nevertheless, I surprised myself by bargaining very well for the chicken price. I actually got a very cheap price for each chicken and I was so proud of myself. I got the seller to go down from 5000 RWF to 2500 RWF for each chicken. And our trainee who was raised on the chicken farm inspected each chicken and taught us a few tricks about how to choose them (as if I am going to be buying live chickens for personal consumption in the future!) Anyway, it was all a very interesting experience and made me realize how spoiled I am to be living in the States. For one thing, meat is very expensive here. And I mean expensive. I’m going to convert the currency so you can get an idea. A kilo of beef costs $4 and a kilo is 2.2 pounds. One live chicken can cost up to 4000 RWF or $8!! And the per capital GDP is $250. Soooo, people don’t eat a lot of meat here. I think that many people have gardens, and the vegetables and fruit are cheap here.
The day after we bought our supplies at the market, we started cooking our food. And it was very difficult because we had to cook for 70 people and we had to use these ancient cooking techniques like charcoal grills and wood stoves. It took forever to peel and dice everything especially because the knives looked like they were taken from the caveman display at a museum. The most interesting part of all, however, had to be the chicken preparation. Those of you who buy your chicken already killed and nicely cleaned and frozen in the store are spoiled! First, we had to kill the chickens, then we had to defeather and degut them. And the killing was awful. The knives were so dull that when some of the volunteers tried to kill them, it took forever to cut off their scrawny little heads. At one point, one of the volunteers freaked out and the chicken got away with half of his head hanging off. Volunteers started screaming and running in all directions. Finally, one of the teachers caught the poor thing and finished him off. After we killed the chickens, we put them in boiling water to loosen their feathers. Then, we took them outside and started pulling the feathers off. I helped with this and was surprised at how easy it was to pluck the feathers. After the feathers were all off, I helped cut the chicken up and degut it. That was really interesting too but I kept messing up. I finally finished the chickens however after learning how to clean a gizzard and avoid certain unsavory body organs in the chicken’s inside.
The whole cooking process took about seven hours and the end result wasn’t really that pretty. But, we got an idea of how to cook food Rwandan style, which may lead many of us to hire cooks when we get to our site. As for me, I think I might hazard cooking for myself at first if I can find a way to get around the time constraints. My reasoning is that I personally prefer my style of cooking, and I am tired of finding bugs and rocks in my food.
This week, our training director decided to teach us how to cook Rwandan food so he divided us up into groups and sent us to the market with shopping lists. My group was in charge of buying cassava powder, salt, tomato concentrate and of course, five live chickens. I was in charge of the money so I was given 24,000 francs to carry around the market. I hid the money in several areas in case I was mugged and carried two purses to throw people off. Haha Thankfully, we also had two teachers with us to help when our bargaining skills slacked off. Before the trip, I was wondering how we were going to transport five chickens back to the center but fortunately, one of the trainees was raised on a chicken farm so she told us she would teach us how to carry them and kill them. When we finally got to the area where they sold chickens, we were immediately surrounded by abacuruzi (sellers) trying to sell their chickens and rabbits and by poor street children asking for jobs and money. It was a little overwhelming especially because I had a lot of cash on me and they were invading my personal space. Nevertheless, I surprised myself by bargaining very well for the chicken price. I actually got a very cheap price for each chicken and I was so proud of myself. I got the seller to go down from 5000 RWF to 2500 RWF for each chicken. And our trainee who was raised on the chicken farm inspected each chicken and taught us a few tricks about how to choose them (as if I am going to be buying live chickens for personal consumption in the future!) Anyway, it was all a very interesting experience and made me realize how spoiled I am to be living in the States. For one thing, meat is very expensive here. And I mean expensive. I’m going to convert the currency so you can get an idea. A kilo of beef costs $4 and a kilo is 2.2 pounds. One live chicken can cost up to 4000 RWF or $8!! And the per capital GDP is $250. Soooo, people don’t eat a lot of meat here. I think that many people have gardens, and the vegetables and fruit are cheap here.
The day after we bought our supplies at the market, we started cooking our food. And it was very difficult because we had to cook for 70 people and we had to use these ancient cooking techniques like charcoal grills and wood stoves. It took forever to peel and dice everything especially because the knives looked like they were taken from the caveman display at a museum. The most interesting part of all, however, had to be the chicken preparation. Those of you who buy your chicken already killed and nicely cleaned and frozen in the store are spoiled! First, we had to kill the chickens, then we had to defeather and degut them. And the killing was awful. The knives were so dull that when some of the volunteers tried to kill them, it took forever to cut off their scrawny little heads. At one point, one of the volunteers freaked out and the chicken got away with half of his head hanging off. Volunteers started screaming and running in all directions. Finally, one of the teachers caught the poor thing and finished him off. After we killed the chickens, we put them in boiling water to loosen their feathers. Then, we took them outside and started pulling the feathers off. I helped with this and was surprised at how easy it was to pluck the feathers. After the feathers were all off, I helped cut the chicken up and degut it. That was really interesting too but I kept messing up. I finally finished the chickens however after learning how to clean a gizzard and avoid certain unsavory body organs in the chicken’s inside.
The whole cooking process took about seven hours and the end result wasn’t really that pretty. But, we got an idea of how to cook food Rwandan style, which may lead many of us to hire cooks when we get to our site. As for me, I think I might hazard cooking for myself at first if I can find a way to get around the time constraints. My reasoning is that I personally prefer my style of cooking, and I am tired of finding bugs and rocks in my food.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
+302.jpg)