It’s another night in the life of Patricia and it is time to write a blog. I must warn you that I have nothing really important to say tonight. I just haven’t written in a while so I thought I would give a little update. I’ve also promised myself that I would not write about food in today’s blog. It seems like every blog I write mentions food in one respect or another so I’m going to close that book and move on. Although I should mention that the market was especially well-stocked today and therefore I had a good meal tonight. Okay, moving on.
Well, it’s been seven months since I landed in Rwanda and four and a half months since I started living in the boonies, a.k.a. my site. I realized today that I only have a year and a half left of my service and that got me kinda thinking about what I’ve accomplished so far. Bad idea. I then had to buy myself a fanta and finish a whole package of cookies.
I guess you’re wondering what I am exactly doing here in Rwanda. I remember wondering myself what I would be doing when I started applying for the Peace Corps a year and a half ago. I would peruse the Peace Corps website meticulously, read all the stories, and waste hours on the web reading volunteer blogs. It was all a lot of fun and good material for daydreaming but it was also, to be honest, all kinda vague. I understand now why they were always so vague with their stories and blogs because that describes my life now. Vague, vague, vague. And random. That’s also a good word.
Let’s see. About my job. Yesterday, I distributed seed and farm equipment to a whole village. The week before, I saved a child’s life by rescuing him from a rushing river full of hungry crocodiles. Just before that, I had just finished work on a brand new house for a widow and her fifteen children. Now, I’m finalizing touches on a grant that will provide money for a brand new school for my town plus pay for the school fees for every single child. Oh, I almost forgot. Last month, I installed electricity and running water in my town. Yep, that’s my life now. Or at least my life in the movie version. You know how Hollywood writers embellish a little.
Uhm, yea. So, in reality, my volunteer job is in community health. I’m paired up with my sector’s clinic so I work there every day. I show up to work every day at 7 am and do random work the rest of the day to help the nurses with their jobs. I take temperatures and blood pressure. I weigh children and pregnant mothers and monitor their nutrition levels. I fill out forms for patients and fill syringes with vaccines. I also teach health topics sometimes to the patients in my baby kinyarwanda. Two days a week, I teach the staff English and I’ve started teaching them “the machine” or the computer as I like to call it. When there’s no work, I go over to the NGO’s office, bother them with requests for translations or ask to tag along on one of their community visits.
In all the empty space that’s between, I sit in a tiny office full of records, try to look busy on my computer, and wonder how I’m going to fill up the empty space the next day. I guess I can’t blame my co-workers. They don’t know or maybe don’t care how bored I am. Plus, they are blessed with working for the slowest clinic in the world. I think that we can have around twenty patients a day. Today, I saw five sitting on the bench outside the consultation room. In the afternoons, all the patients disappear and the nurses sit around till 5 pm doing nothing. Sometimes, I sit with them in the afternoon, watch the people walk by outside, and wonder about this clinic I work for, where the hardest workers are the janitors.
In all practicality, I’m my own boss. This would be good for some but not so much for me because my last few jobs and my whole school career trained me to be a very good robot. Unfortunately, this job requires me to be more like a computer with a good processor and access to Internet. Uhm, don’t know if that analogy worked. Anyway, my point is that I’m on unfamiliar territory and it’s been a little shaky. I’m not referring to teaching English or taking temps. What’s unfamiliar territory is having disease, hunger, and poverty staring me in the face every day when I teach English or take temps and knowing I should do something about it but not knowing exactly how to go around doing it. I do have a couple of ideas for projects and hopefully they will pan out. We'll see. It’s just month four and I’ve got twenty more months to figure things out. Maybe, I can still build that widow’s house or solve the hunger problem in my community. Probably not but why not dream. At least, I had a good dinner tonight.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Lists
Ways to tell you’re a Rwandan Peace Corps volunteer
1) You speak Kinyarwanda like a three-year-old.
2) Six months later, you’re wearing the same clothes you brought from the States even though they’re too big/small and are starting to disintegrate.
3) Unlike the other foreigners (with their big SUV’s and hired drivers), you ride around in the local minivans and public buses, covered in dust and packed more tightly than sardines.
4) Your diet consists of rice and beans and some more rice and beans.
5) When you gather in groups of two Peace Corps volunteers or more, your conversation centers around American food. And Mexican food, and Chinese food, etc.
6) You argue fiercely in the market over a few hundred francs (a few American cents) and get mad when they charge you the foreigner rate.
7) The children call you Muzungu k’uruhu, meaning you’re a foreigner by skin only, not by culture. Translation: you don’t dole out money.
8) You spend more money on the telephone and Internet than on food and other living allowances combined.
9) You develop gross conditions like worms, giardia, chiggers, and more diarrhea than you thought possible.
10) You have gotten your phone or camera or other valuable stolen, at least once, while you’ve been here.
11) You’re so poor that even the Rwandans tell you that you need new shoes. Unfortunately, you can’t afford to buy new shoes because you spent it on Internet and you walk around in shower flip-flops.
12) You’ve become an expert English teacher because everyone in Rwanda wants to learn English.
13) You haven’t trimmed or cut your hair in months because the only person who knows how to cut Muzungu hair is another muzungu.
14) You’re the first muzungu to show your village children a picture of themselves or speak to them in their native language. You may be the first white person they’ve seen.
15) You’re the expert Internet and communications specialist in your village, even though in the United States, your only specialties were Microsoft Word and Facebook.
16) You spend the equivalent of $6 on a banana split when you travel to the capital.
17) You're not insulted when another volunteer offers the remains of a food item to you, such as cookie crumbs or half-eaten cake. This is especially true if it's in a package from the States or if any part of it consists of chocolate.
18) You take toilet paper with you whenever you travel. And laundry soap.
Other random lists
Things I miss from the States, besides family and friends of course
1) Food
2) Vegging out in front of the T.V. Especially watching Criminal Minds, Jon Stewart, and Law and Order.
3) Convenience and speed. If I’m hungry, order take-out. If I need something, I can go to Wal-mart.
4) Being completely understood, at all times. At least language and culturally wise.
5) Always having family at home when I came home from work or school.
6) Having a job I’m really good at.
7) A long, hot shower
8) Having enough money to buy frivolous things.
9) My car
Perks of being a Peace Corps volunteer
1) Having a job that actually matters.
2) Developing all sorts of random skills, like latrine maintenance and bargaining.
3) Being the superstar of a village.
4) Learning a second and potentially a third language.
5) Being the most eligible bachelor or bachelorette in town (This may not be a perk for some)
6) Kids love you. (Well, most do. Some cry.)
7) Having a huge network of other volunteers in other countries to support you when you travel, need information, or a favor.
8) Good healthcare
9) Meeting awesome people you never would have met otherwise.
10) Changing your way of looking at life, rearranging priorities.
11) Learning to appreciate the small things in life, the small victories and gifts.
12) Learning to live on your own, gain independence and maturity.
13) Developing life-long friends.
14) Gaining a new culture.
1) You speak Kinyarwanda like a three-year-old.
2) Six months later, you’re wearing the same clothes you brought from the States even though they’re too big/small and are starting to disintegrate.
3) Unlike the other foreigners (with their big SUV’s and hired drivers), you ride around in the local minivans and public buses, covered in dust and packed more tightly than sardines.
4) Your diet consists of rice and beans and some more rice and beans.
5) When you gather in groups of two Peace Corps volunteers or more, your conversation centers around American food. And Mexican food, and Chinese food, etc.
6) You argue fiercely in the market over a few hundred francs (a few American cents) and get mad when they charge you the foreigner rate.
7) The children call you Muzungu k’uruhu, meaning you’re a foreigner by skin only, not by culture. Translation: you don’t dole out money.
8) You spend more money on the telephone and Internet than on food and other living allowances combined.
9) You develop gross conditions like worms, giardia, chiggers, and more diarrhea than you thought possible.
10) You have gotten your phone or camera or other valuable stolen, at least once, while you’ve been here.
11) You’re so poor that even the Rwandans tell you that you need new shoes. Unfortunately, you can’t afford to buy new shoes because you spent it on Internet and you walk around in shower flip-flops.
12) You’ve become an expert English teacher because everyone in Rwanda wants to learn English.
13) You haven’t trimmed or cut your hair in months because the only person who knows how to cut Muzungu hair is another muzungu.
14) You’re the first muzungu to show your village children a picture of themselves or speak to them in their native language. You may be the first white person they’ve seen.
15) You’re the expert Internet and communications specialist in your village, even though in the United States, your only specialties were Microsoft Word and Facebook.
16) You spend the equivalent of $6 on a banana split when you travel to the capital.
17) You're not insulted when another volunteer offers the remains of a food item to you, such as cookie crumbs or half-eaten cake. This is especially true if it's in a package from the States or if any part of it consists of chocolate.
18) You take toilet paper with you whenever you travel. And laundry soap.
Other random lists
Things I miss from the States, besides family and friends of course
1) Food
2) Vegging out in front of the T.V. Especially watching Criminal Minds, Jon Stewart, and Law and Order.
3) Convenience and speed. If I’m hungry, order take-out. If I need something, I can go to Wal-mart.
4) Being completely understood, at all times. At least language and culturally wise.
5) Always having family at home when I came home from work or school.
6) Having a job I’m really good at.
7) A long, hot shower
8) Having enough money to buy frivolous things.
9) My car
Perks of being a Peace Corps volunteer
1) Having a job that actually matters.
2) Developing all sorts of random skills, like latrine maintenance and bargaining.
3) Being the superstar of a village.
4) Learning a second and potentially a third language.
5) Being the most eligible bachelor or bachelorette in town (This may not be a perk for some)
6) Kids love you. (Well, most do. Some cry.)
7) Having a huge network of other volunteers in other countries to support you when you travel, need information, or a favor.
8) Good healthcare
9) Meeting awesome people you never would have met otherwise.
10) Changing your way of looking at life, rearranging priorities.
11) Learning to appreciate the small things in life, the small victories and gifts.
12) Learning to live on your own, gain independence and maturity.
13) Developing life-long friends.
14) Gaining a new culture.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
visit from the U.S.!!
So I haven’t written in a while…it’s not been because of lack of things happening in my life. I guess my life has been just as eventful as before but because of circumstances, I haven’t felt the urge or had the heart to write a blog.
It was around the middle of June when I got sick for the first time. I developed fevers, chills, and fatigue, which left me bedridden for a few days. I guess it’s not that bad of an illness but when you’re thousands of miles away from home and missing your mom’s care and chicken noodle soup, it can feel a lot worse. I hitched a ride to the nearest town and got put up in a motel for a few days, compliments of Peace Corps. The Peace Corps doctor also gave me enough amoxicillin to treat an elephant so I quickly recovered after that. For some reason, although I recovered physically, the illness left me really down, unmotivated, and homesick. I hope I never get sick here again because it packs quite a punch, physically and mentally.
It’s been over for a month so I’m all better now. I’ve been working some and I also visited two other Peace Corps volunteers on the 4th of July weekend. Many of my projects and lessons have been put on hold because of holidays, going to a Peace Corps meeting and other obligations so I’ve been feeling like a slacker. Next month, however, I’ve already told myself to become a workaholic and really start Peace Corp volunteering in earnest. There can be no American slackers in my town.
In other news, my father and stepmother have come to visit me in good ole Rwanda for two weeks. To be honest, I was a little worried when my father first told me he was coming to visit. After all, my house is sorely lacking in certain commodities and amenities. In addition, getting around Rwanda is not exactly luxurious or easy. Fortunately, they have been really good about adjusting to everything and seem to actually be enjoying the experience. I’ve taken them to visit the university town, my town, and the capital city. We’ve been to shops, a museum, a wedding, walking randomly around my villages, and tomorrow, we will explore Kigali City. Normally, I hate going to the capital because it’s big, intimidating and my monthly salary has a tendency to disappear. Ever since my dad and stepmom have come to visit however, I have been obligated to learn my way around the city and I have been surprised at how much I know and that I can actually get around (well, sorta). The person I usually depend on for everything Rwandan (language translations, bargaining, advice about things mundane and important) has gone to America for three weeks so I’ve been forced to rely on myself for all that. Fortunately, my kinyarwanda was enough to rent hotel rooms, bargain for taxis and find a way to my village 250 kilometers away without losing my sanity. Like I told my stepmom, nothing in Rwanda is ever easy or convenient. I guess it’s just highlighted when you have visitors from the States. I was kinda getting used to the discomfort, dust, bargaining, lack of conveniences (like water), and various mishaps, cancellations, and bad deals that comprise my life now. When my dad and stepmom came to visit, I was reminded again of all those things and the fact that my life in the United States was actually pretty cozy.
They brought gifts from the United States. I gave my dad quite a list to bring me, including: an antivirus for my computer (very important here), a cowboy hat for a friend, my backpack, my good dress, seeds for my garden, movies, songs, and books, and the Catch phrase game (I might use it in my English class to increase vocab.) Dad also brought some English teaching textbooks and cd’s for me, for which I’m extremely grateful and my sister packed some curtain material for me. Before, I just had an old rag across my window and a bedsheet across my kitchen window. When my stepmom saw my bedroom curtain, she said it looked like Pigpen’s blanket (you know from Charlie Brown’s comic). Hehe. Yea, I guess it was pretty bad but I’ve been too lazy to seriously try to find suitable curtain materials, haggle for prices, go to the market to buy rods and rings, haggle for prices, measure the curtains and cut the material, go to the seamstress to get them hemmed up, haggle for prices, then go home to sew on the rings. Too much work for me. I rather just have Pigpen’s blanket across my bedroom window for three months. Well, unfortunately, Dad doesn’t know how lazy I can be because he made me do just that. We finally got all that finished yesterday and now I have brand new curtains hanging up in my living room and two bedrooms. Pigpen’s blanket is the curtain for my stockroom now. It’s an ugly room anyway.
When I first brought my parents to my town, they were surprised I lived so far from anything. My dad said that I lived at the end of the world. I guess it’s kind of true. It’s completely different from anywhere I’ve ever lived. Fortunately, they really liked my small town. We walked to three villages and all the villagers came out to see the strange white people walking through. Children ran, babies cried, and old men delightedly shook our hands. I was quite gratified to realize that the people knew me or at least recognized me. Many of them called me “umuganga” which means doctor in Kinyarwanda. I guess you’re wondering why they wouldn’t know me if I’ve been living here for three months. Well, where I live is composed of 26 different villages or umudugudu. Where I was taking my parents was the neighboring village or umudugudu.
I gave my parents the grand tour of my house and of the clinic where I work at. I suspect they had quite a different idea of where I lived or at least were not expecting what they saw. I don’t know for sure but they quickly got used to living with little water, cooking on charcoal, using a latrine and washing clothes by hand. I thought they would be all impressed by my charcoal lighting abilities but Dad already knew how to light the charcoal the old fashioned way. The next day, he lit it no problem and cooked on it whereas it had taken me two months to learn how to light the charcoal without kerosene.
My parents also made several improvements to my home. Compliments of my father and stepmom, I now have enough groceries for several weeks, two bedrooms and a living room freshly painted in yellow and green, curtains on all my windows, a new set of tools (screws, nails, saw, screwdrivers), a dustpan, three fixed doors that actually close and lock, new sandals (My old shoes were falling apart…literally), and various other things I can’t think of right now. I also think my dad felt really bad about all the children dressed in rags because he left half of his clothes and a pair of shoes to be given away to them. My neighbor’s house-servant will now be walking around in my dad’s clothes. It’s actually a really good thing. I think he only has one shirt and pair of pants.
Well, this blog is already too long. My parents fly away in two days and I will go back to my site the next day. It will be weird living alone again but I will get used to it as always. (I saw a cat today and seriously considered taking it back with me.)
It was around the middle of June when I got sick for the first time. I developed fevers, chills, and fatigue, which left me bedridden for a few days. I guess it’s not that bad of an illness but when you’re thousands of miles away from home and missing your mom’s care and chicken noodle soup, it can feel a lot worse. I hitched a ride to the nearest town and got put up in a motel for a few days, compliments of Peace Corps. The Peace Corps doctor also gave me enough amoxicillin to treat an elephant so I quickly recovered after that. For some reason, although I recovered physically, the illness left me really down, unmotivated, and homesick. I hope I never get sick here again because it packs quite a punch, physically and mentally.
It’s been over for a month so I’m all better now. I’ve been working some and I also visited two other Peace Corps volunteers on the 4th of July weekend. Many of my projects and lessons have been put on hold because of holidays, going to a Peace Corps meeting and other obligations so I’ve been feeling like a slacker. Next month, however, I’ve already told myself to become a workaholic and really start Peace Corp volunteering in earnest. There can be no American slackers in my town.
In other news, my father and stepmother have come to visit me in good ole Rwanda for two weeks. To be honest, I was a little worried when my father first told me he was coming to visit. After all, my house is sorely lacking in certain commodities and amenities. In addition, getting around Rwanda is not exactly luxurious or easy. Fortunately, they have been really good about adjusting to everything and seem to actually be enjoying the experience. I’ve taken them to visit the university town, my town, and the capital city. We’ve been to shops, a museum, a wedding, walking randomly around my villages, and tomorrow, we will explore Kigali City. Normally, I hate going to the capital because it’s big, intimidating and my monthly salary has a tendency to disappear. Ever since my dad and stepmom have come to visit however, I have been obligated to learn my way around the city and I have been surprised at how much I know and that I can actually get around (well, sorta). The person I usually depend on for everything Rwandan (language translations, bargaining, advice about things mundane and important) has gone to America for three weeks so I’ve been forced to rely on myself for all that. Fortunately, my kinyarwanda was enough to rent hotel rooms, bargain for taxis and find a way to my village 250 kilometers away without losing my sanity. Like I told my stepmom, nothing in Rwanda is ever easy or convenient. I guess it’s just highlighted when you have visitors from the States. I was kinda getting used to the discomfort, dust, bargaining, lack of conveniences (like water), and various mishaps, cancellations, and bad deals that comprise my life now. When my dad and stepmom came to visit, I was reminded again of all those things and the fact that my life in the United States was actually pretty cozy.
They brought gifts from the United States. I gave my dad quite a list to bring me, including: an antivirus for my computer (very important here), a cowboy hat for a friend, my backpack, my good dress, seeds for my garden, movies, songs, and books, and the Catch phrase game (I might use it in my English class to increase vocab.) Dad also brought some English teaching textbooks and cd’s for me, for which I’m extremely grateful and my sister packed some curtain material for me. Before, I just had an old rag across my window and a bedsheet across my kitchen window. When my stepmom saw my bedroom curtain, she said it looked like Pigpen’s blanket (you know from Charlie Brown’s comic). Hehe. Yea, I guess it was pretty bad but I’ve been too lazy to seriously try to find suitable curtain materials, haggle for prices, go to the market to buy rods and rings, haggle for prices, measure the curtains and cut the material, go to the seamstress to get them hemmed up, haggle for prices, then go home to sew on the rings. Too much work for me. I rather just have Pigpen’s blanket across my bedroom window for three months. Well, unfortunately, Dad doesn’t know how lazy I can be because he made me do just that. We finally got all that finished yesterday and now I have brand new curtains hanging up in my living room and two bedrooms. Pigpen’s blanket is the curtain for my stockroom now. It’s an ugly room anyway.
When I first brought my parents to my town, they were surprised I lived so far from anything. My dad said that I lived at the end of the world. I guess it’s kind of true. It’s completely different from anywhere I’ve ever lived. Fortunately, they really liked my small town. We walked to three villages and all the villagers came out to see the strange white people walking through. Children ran, babies cried, and old men delightedly shook our hands. I was quite gratified to realize that the people knew me or at least recognized me. Many of them called me “umuganga” which means doctor in Kinyarwanda. I guess you’re wondering why they wouldn’t know me if I’ve been living here for three months. Well, where I live is composed of 26 different villages or umudugudu. Where I was taking my parents was the neighboring village or umudugudu.
I gave my parents the grand tour of my house and of the clinic where I work at. I suspect they had quite a different idea of where I lived or at least were not expecting what they saw. I don’t know for sure but they quickly got used to living with little water, cooking on charcoal, using a latrine and washing clothes by hand. I thought they would be all impressed by my charcoal lighting abilities but Dad already knew how to light the charcoal the old fashioned way. The next day, he lit it no problem and cooked on it whereas it had taken me two months to learn how to light the charcoal without kerosene.
My parents also made several improvements to my home. Compliments of my father and stepmom, I now have enough groceries for several weeks, two bedrooms and a living room freshly painted in yellow and green, curtains on all my windows, a new set of tools (screws, nails, saw, screwdrivers), a dustpan, three fixed doors that actually close and lock, new sandals (My old shoes were falling apart…literally), and various other things I can’t think of right now. I also think my dad felt really bad about all the children dressed in rags because he left half of his clothes and a pair of shoes to be given away to them. My neighbor’s house-servant will now be walking around in my dad’s clothes. It’s actually a really good thing. I think he only has one shirt and pair of pants.
Well, this blog is already too long. My parents fly away in two days and I will go back to my site the next day. It will be weird living alone again but I will get used to it as always. (I saw a cat today and seriously considered taking it back with me.)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
reflections on the day
June 11, 2009
Sometimes life is taking a deep breath and plunging in. That’s how I felt this morning once more as the mothers gathered together so I could start teaching them. I began my lesson on nutrition by introducing myself, then I started reading from my translation, trying to pronounce the words, hoping they understood it. Fortunately, a coworker was there, to repeat anything they did not understand and to expand on the subject.
If someone had told me a year ago I would be teaching a community about nutrition, HIV and family planning, holding English classes and conducting community assessments and interviews, I would have been intimidated and perhaps wondering how I would become qualified to do all this. Even now, when I think about what I do every week and what I will possibly be doing the next two years, I become a little terrified and I have to shut my mind and concentrate on what I am doing that day. Or sometimes, I have to just stop worrying and just do it. Because the alternative, that of not even trying, is many times worse than trying to do something and failing spectacularly. For example, the first time I taught a group of mothers, they did not understand a word I said. And I was speaking their language (or at least, some version of it)! In short, the lesson did not go well. As time went by, however, and as I taught more lessons, I started speaking more slowly, pronouncing the words more clearly, and remembering them. Now, when I teach a lesson in which I’m familiar, people can understand me and I can speak freely in Kinyarwanda for a few minutes without having to read my notes. And you can’t imagine how good of a feeling it is to be able to converse and teach in that language without having to read a translation from a piece of paper.
I’m not trying to sound all clichéd and inspirational. I’m trying to make a necessary point because if any of you guys reading are like me, then you need to hear this. Life is not safe; it’s not predictable or kind. If you want to make something of yourself, if you want to grow and learn, and leave behind something meaningful, then you have to take risks. You have to leave, for a time, whatever it is that makes you feel secure (your family, school, the living room couch) and make that gamble. It will change your life. Now I’m not saying that one decision will change your life. Instead, what changes your life is consistently overcoming your fears and taking chances. Take a chance and apply for that job or internship you think you will never get or that promotion at the office. Go out with that guy at the coffee shop although you’re afraid of getting hurt again. Sign up for that college class although you think you are not smart enough. Hey, apply for the Peace Corps. If you want to completely leave anything that could be called a safety zone, that’s one way to do it. I emphasize this point because, for many years, I played it safe and did not take many chances. I was afraid of not being talented or smart enough, of failing in general. I had so many excuses and reasons for not going anywhere significant in life. Fortunately, I realized this so I overcompensated slightly and did what could be considered either the smartest thing I’ve ever done or the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I decided to take a two-year volunteer position in a small African country thousands of miles from home and doing a job I had never done before in a language I had never heard of.
Yea, my life now is hard and new. Yea, I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time. I live and eat very poorly by American standards. I walk around half understood and half understanding, gossiped about and stared at. But when I think about these things, I start thinking about my fellow villagers. My life is hard but their’s is harder. Have you ever met someone so poor that he has to go out into the forests or countryside every day to try to find something to eat? His children have never gone to school or been vaccinated. Their clothes are literally falling off of their bodies. You probably wouldn’t even use those clothes for rags. Yea, my life is easier. And about being half understood, imagine living your whole life in one little village, struggling in the fields day by day to feed your family. There are few to no opportunities for advancement, education and a way out of that life. No one really cares or comes to try to make your life better. You don’t really have a voice.
When I start considering these things and thinking about the people I live with, I remember why I took that risk and joined the Peace Corps.
Sometimes life is taking a deep breath and plunging in. That’s how I felt this morning once more as the mothers gathered together so I could start teaching them. I began my lesson on nutrition by introducing myself, then I started reading from my translation, trying to pronounce the words, hoping they understood it. Fortunately, a coworker was there, to repeat anything they did not understand and to expand on the subject.
If someone had told me a year ago I would be teaching a community about nutrition, HIV and family planning, holding English classes and conducting community assessments and interviews, I would have been intimidated and perhaps wondering how I would become qualified to do all this. Even now, when I think about what I do every week and what I will possibly be doing the next two years, I become a little terrified and I have to shut my mind and concentrate on what I am doing that day. Or sometimes, I have to just stop worrying and just do it. Because the alternative, that of not even trying, is many times worse than trying to do something and failing spectacularly. For example, the first time I taught a group of mothers, they did not understand a word I said. And I was speaking their language (or at least, some version of it)! In short, the lesson did not go well. As time went by, however, and as I taught more lessons, I started speaking more slowly, pronouncing the words more clearly, and remembering them. Now, when I teach a lesson in which I’m familiar, people can understand me and I can speak freely in Kinyarwanda for a few minutes without having to read my notes. And you can’t imagine how good of a feeling it is to be able to converse and teach in that language without having to read a translation from a piece of paper.
I’m not trying to sound all clichéd and inspirational. I’m trying to make a necessary point because if any of you guys reading are like me, then you need to hear this. Life is not safe; it’s not predictable or kind. If you want to make something of yourself, if you want to grow and learn, and leave behind something meaningful, then you have to take risks. You have to leave, for a time, whatever it is that makes you feel secure (your family, school, the living room couch) and make that gamble. It will change your life. Now I’m not saying that one decision will change your life. Instead, what changes your life is consistently overcoming your fears and taking chances. Take a chance and apply for that job or internship you think you will never get or that promotion at the office. Go out with that guy at the coffee shop although you’re afraid of getting hurt again. Sign up for that college class although you think you are not smart enough. Hey, apply for the Peace Corps. If you want to completely leave anything that could be called a safety zone, that’s one way to do it. I emphasize this point because, for many years, I played it safe and did not take many chances. I was afraid of not being talented or smart enough, of failing in general. I had so many excuses and reasons for not going anywhere significant in life. Fortunately, I realized this so I overcompensated slightly and did what could be considered either the smartest thing I’ve ever done or the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I decided to take a two-year volunteer position in a small African country thousands of miles from home and doing a job I had never done before in a language I had never heard of.
Yea, my life now is hard and new. Yea, I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time. I live and eat very poorly by American standards. I walk around half understood and half understanding, gossiped about and stared at. But when I think about these things, I start thinking about my fellow villagers. My life is hard but their’s is harder. Have you ever met someone so poor that he has to go out into the forests or countryside every day to try to find something to eat? His children have never gone to school or been vaccinated. Their clothes are literally falling off of their bodies. You probably wouldn’t even use those clothes for rags. Yea, my life is easier. And about being half understood, imagine living your whole life in one little village, struggling in the fields day by day to feed your family. There are few to no opportunities for advancement, education and a way out of that life. No one really cares or comes to try to make your life better. You don’t really have a voice.
When I start considering these things and thinking about the people I live with, I remember why I took that risk and joined the Peace Corps.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The ten plagues of Rwanda
Blog June 1, 2009
I had a visitor last week. He stayed for several days, with no prior notice. Fortunately, he was pretty quiet and stayed out of my way most of the time. His only annoying habit was trying to eat my food and run under my feet when I was near him. He was also small, furry and ran very fast. And I was absolutely terrified of him.
As you might have guessed, my visitor was a mouse. A little, brown mouse. The first night I saw him I was in my bed talking on the phone. I screamed and started banging things around to get him out of my room. I made so much noise, my neighbors thought I was being robbed and came over to check on me. I then barricaded myself in my room and finally went to sleep. In the morning, I looked around for him but did not find him. Thinking he had run out my back door, I left for work. That night, when I was cooking, I saw him again! He was in my kitchen running over my plates and kitchen utensils. Taking drastic measures, I grabbed my squeegee and started chasing him. My neighbor came over for something and I recruited him in the mouse hunt. Under no circumstances was I sharing quarters with a mouse! Unfortunately, the mouse outsmarted us. After thirty minutes of searching and sealing all the doors, we could not find him. Disheartened, I let my neighbor go home and I went to bed. The next morning, I went into the kitchen and found my cheese eaten. Furious, I vowed that this situation would end that same day. Grabbing the squeegee, I started banging around the kitchen until the little monster showed himself and started running across the floor. I closed the kitchen door but the mouse, being so small, escaped underneath. I chased him into the hall and saw that he had hid himself behind the hall door, the little fool. Gathering my courage, I did what had to be done and the mouse died. After I finished, I realized that my whole body was shaking. Sure, I had killed insects before but never something that was so obviously warm-blooded and breathing. I scooted it outside the house into my backyard. Afraid it would wake up and run inside again, I raised my squeegee high in the air, closed my eyes, and gave a good last wham on the poor thing.
I wish I could tell you this was my only incident with unwanted guests. Since that day, it seems like I have been inundated with various uninvited critters and I have been trying to get rid of them. Ants are a big problem in my house especially when I bring in pineapple and other such goodies. They don’t really bother me that much; they are just annoying. Spiders are also common but they don’t really bother me either. What really bothers me is looking into my latrine one day and realizing, oh crap, what are those white worms crawling all over my poop. Yeah, sorry to be so direct about this but if I have to deal with it, you, my reader, can deal with it too. Like an idiot, I had never bothered to cover my latrine. Therefore, flies decided to make it their main nesting ground and voila, hundreds and hundreds of fly larvae now live there. Yeah, I know. Gross, super gross. But what can I do about it. I can’t really relocate them. The first few nights, I stared in amazement at the colony. When they started trying to migrate upwards, I realized I was in deep trouble and I broke out my bleach. Like a sadist, I poured the bleach into the hole, watched the critters struggle for a minute and then covered the hole. Unfortunately, the larvae are tough and lived on. I have been pouring bleach into my latrine for the past few days but they still live! Maybe, I should just pour kerosene down the hole and set the whole shebang on fire. Haha. Just kidding, Mom. I would never do that, no matter how tempting it is.
A few days before the latrine incident, I decided to cook some pinto beans. Realizing I was out, I went to the store and bought a kilo. After I came home and opened my bag, I realized my beans were moving. Incredulous, I adjusted my eyes to see hundreds of these pinto bean termites crawling all over my beans. I had been invaded by one of the plagues of Egypt! At the time, one of my Rwandan friends was visiting. He took one look into the bag and asked me, “You didn’t check the beans before buying them?!” Feeling like a fool, I replied dully, “Noooo, I didn’t even know you had to check beans before buying them.” I poured my beans out on a platter and stared at the termites dredging tunnels through all the beans. Annoyed and embarrassed, I decided to boycott the store and storekeeper who sold me the beans; then, I realized it was probably the only store in town that sold beans. I finally exclaimed (like I had done several times before), “In the States, this would never happen!” To which my friend replied, like a real smart-ass, “Oh, I’m sorry the FDA didn’t have time to inspect that batch of beans before it was sold. Maybe, you should go back to the store and get your money back.” He then told me the beans I bought were about five seasons old so it would take much longer to cook than ordinary beans. Like I didn’t already cook my beans for about five to six hours, now I had beans that took longer!
Anyway, I guess that’s life, right. We make mistakes, learn from them and hopefully do not commit the same mistakes again. Granted, it is embarrassing when you first do them, but what can you do about that? In case, you are wondering what I did with the beans, I did not throw them away. We put the beans out in the sun so the termites would crawl away. After several hours, I threw away the beans that had termites still in them or that had more than two holes. With the rest, I just threw them in a pot and ate them that night. You think that’s gross. Just wait until I tell you what I do with my bread when I find ants on them. I blow and shake the ants off of my bread and then I eat it. I can’t throw it away, like I would in the States! If I threw all my bread away, I would have nothing to eat for breakfast and lunch. I lose enough weight as it is. So far, I have lost about 12 pounds and I have gone down two dress sizes. The Peace Corps diet, my friend calls it, and I’m on it. Don’t worry. I won’t starve or anything. I will just be a little thinner when you see me next time. Anyway, I guess my sister must have realized my situation because she sent me a care package. You know what she sent me through the mail?! She sent me chicken! I had never thought of chicken being sent in a package but it was. And I can’t even tell you the last time I ate chicken here. I’m going to save it for a special occasion because it looks really good.
I had a visitor last week. He stayed for several days, with no prior notice. Fortunately, he was pretty quiet and stayed out of my way most of the time. His only annoying habit was trying to eat my food and run under my feet when I was near him. He was also small, furry and ran very fast. And I was absolutely terrified of him.
As you might have guessed, my visitor was a mouse. A little, brown mouse. The first night I saw him I was in my bed talking on the phone. I screamed and started banging things around to get him out of my room. I made so much noise, my neighbors thought I was being robbed and came over to check on me. I then barricaded myself in my room and finally went to sleep. In the morning, I looked around for him but did not find him. Thinking he had run out my back door, I left for work. That night, when I was cooking, I saw him again! He was in my kitchen running over my plates and kitchen utensils. Taking drastic measures, I grabbed my squeegee and started chasing him. My neighbor came over for something and I recruited him in the mouse hunt. Under no circumstances was I sharing quarters with a mouse! Unfortunately, the mouse outsmarted us. After thirty minutes of searching and sealing all the doors, we could not find him. Disheartened, I let my neighbor go home and I went to bed. The next morning, I went into the kitchen and found my cheese eaten. Furious, I vowed that this situation would end that same day. Grabbing the squeegee, I started banging around the kitchen until the little monster showed himself and started running across the floor. I closed the kitchen door but the mouse, being so small, escaped underneath. I chased him into the hall and saw that he had hid himself behind the hall door, the little fool. Gathering my courage, I did what had to be done and the mouse died. After I finished, I realized that my whole body was shaking. Sure, I had killed insects before but never something that was so obviously warm-blooded and breathing. I scooted it outside the house into my backyard. Afraid it would wake up and run inside again, I raised my squeegee high in the air, closed my eyes, and gave a good last wham on the poor thing.
I wish I could tell you this was my only incident with unwanted guests. Since that day, it seems like I have been inundated with various uninvited critters and I have been trying to get rid of them. Ants are a big problem in my house especially when I bring in pineapple and other such goodies. They don’t really bother me that much; they are just annoying. Spiders are also common but they don’t really bother me either. What really bothers me is looking into my latrine one day and realizing, oh crap, what are those white worms crawling all over my poop. Yeah, sorry to be so direct about this but if I have to deal with it, you, my reader, can deal with it too. Like an idiot, I had never bothered to cover my latrine. Therefore, flies decided to make it their main nesting ground and voila, hundreds and hundreds of fly larvae now live there. Yeah, I know. Gross, super gross. But what can I do about it. I can’t really relocate them. The first few nights, I stared in amazement at the colony. When they started trying to migrate upwards, I realized I was in deep trouble and I broke out my bleach. Like a sadist, I poured the bleach into the hole, watched the critters struggle for a minute and then covered the hole. Unfortunately, the larvae are tough and lived on. I have been pouring bleach into my latrine for the past few days but they still live! Maybe, I should just pour kerosene down the hole and set the whole shebang on fire. Haha. Just kidding, Mom. I would never do that, no matter how tempting it is.
A few days before the latrine incident, I decided to cook some pinto beans. Realizing I was out, I went to the store and bought a kilo. After I came home and opened my bag, I realized my beans were moving. Incredulous, I adjusted my eyes to see hundreds of these pinto bean termites crawling all over my beans. I had been invaded by one of the plagues of Egypt! At the time, one of my Rwandan friends was visiting. He took one look into the bag and asked me, “You didn’t check the beans before buying them?!” Feeling like a fool, I replied dully, “Noooo, I didn’t even know you had to check beans before buying them.” I poured my beans out on a platter and stared at the termites dredging tunnels through all the beans. Annoyed and embarrassed, I decided to boycott the store and storekeeper who sold me the beans; then, I realized it was probably the only store in town that sold beans. I finally exclaimed (like I had done several times before), “In the States, this would never happen!” To which my friend replied, like a real smart-ass, “Oh, I’m sorry the FDA didn’t have time to inspect that batch of beans before it was sold. Maybe, you should go back to the store and get your money back.” He then told me the beans I bought were about five seasons old so it would take much longer to cook than ordinary beans. Like I didn’t already cook my beans for about five to six hours, now I had beans that took longer!
Anyway, I guess that’s life, right. We make mistakes, learn from them and hopefully do not commit the same mistakes again. Granted, it is embarrassing when you first do them, but what can you do about that? In case, you are wondering what I did with the beans, I did not throw them away. We put the beans out in the sun so the termites would crawl away. After several hours, I threw away the beans that had termites still in them or that had more than two holes. With the rest, I just threw them in a pot and ate them that night. You think that’s gross. Just wait until I tell you what I do with my bread when I find ants on them. I blow and shake the ants off of my bread and then I eat it. I can’t throw it away, like I would in the States! If I threw all my bread away, I would have nothing to eat for breakfast and lunch. I lose enough weight as it is. So far, I have lost about 12 pounds and I have gone down two dress sizes. The Peace Corps diet, my friend calls it, and I’m on it. Don’t worry. I won’t starve or anything. I will just be a little thinner when you see me next time. Anyway, I guess my sister must have realized my situation because she sent me a care package. You know what she sent me through the mail?! She sent me chicken! I had never thought of chicken being sent in a package but it was. And I can’t even tell you the last time I ate chicken here. I’m going to save it for a special occasion because it looks really good.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
pictures from site, mostly about food
my dining room
laundry day
Colobus monkey
my view
Rwandan stove!
my first cooked meal
my birthday cake
my house
Pancakes!
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.
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