"But I think taking beer and urusenda are for married women" - when I had beer and urusenda

The presence of my mother in Rwanda helped me realize how incredibly awkward my daily interactions in Peace Corps Rwanda are. We used the phrase “Peace Corps is the name, awkward is the game” often. Daily. I’ve decided to share a few moments with you of ordinary interactions made awkward by language and cultural differences.

The Greeting

In Rwanda, greeting someone is of extreme importance and neglecting to formally greet someone is taken as an insult. The greeting involves some form of “hello” but also a handshake. The handshake takes on many forms: a handshake, a handshake where you touch your left hand to your right elbow, grabbing the wrist instead of the hand, doing this half-hug, bringing your head near their cheek three times and sometimes touching foreheads.  The problem comes in using that half a second to determine which physical greeting they are expecting and being able to smoothly return it. My poor mother, I threw her into the village without teaching her the greeting! Within a span of about 5 minutes, she greeted half a dozen people without knowing what to do. She did GREAT! Better than me.

An awkward greeting looks something like this: a little too much distance, hand placement must be corrected a time or two and when the one person goes in for a cheek greeting and the second person doesn’t, the second must overcompensate for this mistake by strongly jumping into the movement. My most awkward greeting to date was just like this last scenario. My female neighbor went in for the cheek/embrace but I did not. This caused me to belatedly jumped into it and, overzealous me, we essentially kissed.

The Cultural Taboos

There were a few cultural norms I learned in training that I forgot to share with my Mom before she came. Some of them are so irrelevant that I didn’t bother; however, I should have warned her about smelling food. When we ate at my colleagues’ house one night, she sat down and as any American would do, she picked up the dish, smelled it and said, “ah delicious!” before serving herself.

Imagine someone sitting at your dinner table and farting. Or insulting your cooking. This is what my mom accidentally did. I read my two colleagues for signs of anger or discomfort but they hid them well. And luckily she didn’t smell the ubugare.

The Sexual Advances

I’ll periodically have a conversation with a random male and my friendly, foreign nature is interpreted as an invitation. The conversation immediately turns from greetings and small talk to “I need you” or “I want an American girl but I can’t find one.” Though embarrassing, I do not let myself blush or get too angry. The interesting thing I would note about these sexual advances is that they only appear to me awkward FOR ME.

The Labeling

For an indirect culture, Rwandans sure like to label people. Everyone is either good or bad, serious or not serious, a girl or a woman, etc. They immediately label me a rich girl (never woman) and they laugh at any objections I make. This tendency to label gets particularly awkward when I am with other volunteers. Any Rwandan, a stranger or long time friend, will be quick to say who is fatter, skinnier, smarter, more beautiful or who has a richer mother. We’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt and laugh it off.

The Language Misunderstanding

This is an example of a language misunderstanding that occurred between my neighbor and I on the telephone. It was harmless, as they usually are. Italics indicate words spoken in Kinyarwanda.

Me (Penina): Hello Odille! How are you?

Odille: When are you coming?

Me: I will come tomorrow in the afternoon.

Odille: [something in Kinyarwanda that I in no way understand]

Me: I don’t know what you are saying.

Odille: Thank you. The same to you!

Me: Ok, see you tomorrow! Bye.

The Jealous Neighbor

I’m told by many Rwandans that villagers often poison people out of jealously and anger. This is supposedly a common practice in my district. Because of this fear of poisoning, it is customary to prepare, open and/or sip food and beverages in front of a guest to show that they are not poisoned. This is another thing I forgot to warn my Mom about.

Mama Devotha and her daughter came over for tea late one evening. We poured both their teas but the daughter’s had some milk chunks floating in it so my mom innocently took the cup to the kitchen to remove them. I ran after her while our two guests sat frozen, certain that death or at least painful stomach cramps were coming their way.

At this point, I started getting really flustered because I knew they thought I was poisoning the daughter. So I carried the cup out myself and before presenting it to her, I took a sip. My Mom was like, “what are you doing? That’s hers.” So I had awkward coming at me from both sides but I didn’t want to explain in their presence. It was so typically awkward. In the end, Devotha did not drink her tea.

The Unusual Maladies of White People

Rwandans have many questions about my health and let’s just say these conversations never make me feel comfortable. Sometimes, I will be asked if women in America have periods and if the reason I stayed home from school was because of “women’s problems.” Also, Rwandans do not have acne so not only do they notice acne on a white person but they routinely comment AND THEN PUT THEIR FINGERS ALL OVER YOUR PIMPLES TO TOUCH THEM. People also like to grab your arms, hair, etc. When a man is grabbing my upper arm to comment on how fat I am, he will usually remark on my rough skin and ask what I am sick with.

It’s pretty fun.

I usually diffuse an awkward situation with a smile. I frequently play the “dumb umuzungu” card. What else can you do? :-)

"Climbing lion trees": Our safari adventure in Tanzania

What a wonderful time my mom and I had on safari in Tanzania. (but who wouldn't?) We traveled with Wild Things Safaris and saw Tarangire National Park, Lake Manyara, Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater. The most beautiful place for me was Tarangire, which has one year-round river flowing through it where all the animals come together. Lake Manyara has tree-climbing lions, or climbing lion trees as our guide said, and the Serengeti is vast and wild.

We had a kind and knowledgable guide, Joseph, who was quick to correct our mislabelings and just as quick to laugh. He referenced the movies "Coming to America" and "Lion King" so he was alright in my book.

I particularly enjoyed seeing another East African country and found myself constantly comparing Tanzania to Rwanda. I found the culture very welcoming, peaceful and non-aggressive. They have STREET FOOD which meant I could buy grilled corn from street vendors and dance around like a child on Christmas. The village life looked very different from Rwanda as it was more tribal and the houses were more traditional. The country has around 121 tribes!! Tanzanians were very curious about my life in Rwanda and openly expressed prejudices they had about Rwandans.

This may not be interesting to you but it sure is to me: we ate so well on safari. Instead of rice, pasta, potatoes, repeat, we had meat, fish, spices and vegetables. The beef we had was the best I will ever have and it came from the most natural, free cattle you can imagine. Happy cows => happy Amanda.

Mom and I had wonderful talks and beautiful silences. One of our most spectacular nights was the night of the sunset above that was followed by dinner and white wine around a campfire. I have never seen the Milky Way so clear. I'd take "bushmen television" over real television any night.

"You are the best of the best"- Hotel Manager on us taking local transportation

Before my mom and I begin our once in a lifetime Tanzanian safari, I thought I’d share all the fun memories we have made in East Africa. Since the day my mom arrived, we’ve been playing a game of tallying who’s winning: America or Africa. “One point for USA!” my mom will say. Props to her because Africa sure seems to be in the lead.

America Wins Again:

To begin on a positive note, my mom has experienced and seen beautiful things in Rwanda. She’s seen new grains, climbed hills, seen the bases of volcanoes, the top of Kilimanjaro, drank lots of Fantas and tried Rwandan corn. She was serenaded to by my students and colleagues on two separate occasions. She has had outfits made and done so many Rwandan greetings, you’d think she was umunyarwanda kazi. She was successfully yelling at and scaring away the children that stalk my house by the second day. “Oya Oya!” she would yell at the top of her lungs, just like her daughter. She turned down some marriage proposals for me. She has ridden not one broke down, sketchy matatu van but several. She has dipped her toes in Lake Kivu and saw a caged Black Mamba snake. Mama Amanda has killed spiders and used a squatty-potty for days at a time. She has also mastered the whole Peace Corps routine:

-       heat a small amount of water

-       fill bucket with hot and cold water

-       use cup to pour over body

-       repeat as necessary

C’mon, how many moms do you know that could do that?

But Africa keeps winning:

Day one I got my mom on malaria meds but that didn’t stop me from constantly suspecting she had it and therefore scaring the crap out of her.* In English conversations, my mom commonly replies, “oh yeah”, only to remember that in Kinyarwanda that means no. She had to eat ubugare, a dish made from cassava which smells and tastes like “rotted, fetid horse flesh.” Mama Amanda experienced a smelly, crammed bus ride during which approximately 22 people were crowed into a van that seats 18. During this journey, Creepy McCreepster kept grabbing her hand and his partner in crime, Leann’ Unclean Dean kept invading her personal space more and more. On a later bus ride, a squealing puppy nipped at her feet and peed on the floor below her seat. She became violently ill one night in Kigali and had resulting aches and pains for 24 hours. She took so much pepto bismol that her tongue became black.  Our first night in Tanzania I removed an intact sac of chigger eggs from her foot.* Afterwards, she went at her mosquito bites with a Swiss army knife out of fear that they were also parasites.* On this same day, we were robbed on the bus (ok, just a dollar) and I burned my finger to the point that it’s covered in huge blisters. She’s suffering from mosquito, spider and flea bites while I have none.

I would say that in this epic battle of wits and nerve, it is neither America or Africa that is winning: it is my Mom. We have had a great time and she’s been incredibly supportive when my spirits were at their lowest. We’ve spent a few days in Kigali, we did the whole Peace Corps Rwanda thing in my village, we stayed with Tressa for a night and spent my birthday week in Gisenyi on Lake Kivu. She has been able to meet my exceptional Peace Corps buddies, most of my colleagues, Rwandan women who have been like family to me and lots of beautiful children.

Most important to me is that I have someone to share the day to day with and that is my mother. I can still feel crazy, frustrated and angry while she is heroically putting up with the terrors of a less developed country but at least we are together!

Goodmorningee finethankyouteachersitdown!

*Mom thanks Grandma for the valium and Zanax.

“You know, you are like Jesus”- HC when I served leavened bread

I want to familiarize you with all the transportation options we have in the land of 1000 hills. It has been a pleasure getting to know most of them. First of all, let me tell you that Rwanda has 4 classes of roads:

Class I: nice, paved roads. Like “damn, are we in a developing country?” nice.
Class II: paved but with potholes the size of Lake Victoria. A lot of these roads are in the south so at least every winding, bumpy journey promises a monkey spotting or two.
Class III: Nice dirt road. This is what I have at and around my site and is great except during the dry season.
Class IV: Say a prayer if it’s the dry season and you’re on this type of dirt road. Don’t even bother if it’s the rainy season, right Julie Ann? These roads are treacherous, bumpy and often steep. I’d rather walk.

So on these four types of roads, you have several transportation options.
1.    The white bus: these are nice, maybe 30 passenger buses that are common in Kigali and in between large towns. This is always your first choice. They only sit one person to each seat. This is a win-win-win situation for you Office lovers.
2.    The taxi bus or matatu: this is the most common form of transportation in Rwanda. They are small buses with sliding doors. The “seat” 19 but usually carry around 22. I like to count the number of people each time. These buses are extra special because they have unique messages painted on them supporting one team, singer or religion. Our favorites? Free T.I., Jesus is Caming, Jesus Cames, Thanks God, Why Clife, Michael Scofield and May God Befront Us. If I can incorporate math into this blog, I would say you have a 20% chance of riding a matatu with a screaming child. You have a 2% chance of every bag of potatoes being searched for grenades. You have a 10% chance of riding one with lots of smelly fish. I have a 50% chance of being seated in the front with the driver. And finally, a 5% chance of getting your phone stolen. Though I love matatus, I am terrified of dying in a fiery explosion while trapped inside a small metal cage with 21 other people. That’s why I pull the muzungu card and hop in the front seat. At least that way I can see what’s coming. It’s standard to text other volunteers and tell them how awful your matatu ride is. The other day, I had the matatu ride from hell during which I was in a matatu for 2.5 hours (for a 1 hour trip) with 16 people and:
a.    10 purses
b.    a dozen buckets
c.    approximately 20 boxes of food
d.    tin roofing
e.    sugar cane
f.    lots of toilet paper
g.    about 20 rubber boots
h.    a child
i.    about 50 lbs of peanuts
Then we got a flat tire.

3.    The green bus of death (see above): most of our towns are lucky enough to have their own Onatracom bus from Japan. It is much easier for me to remember it as the green bus of death. I fear you could tip one of these buses over like an oversized-green domino and down the steep mountain it would go. These huge buses probably roamed the earth with Gigantasaurus and T-rex: they are that old and that big. One time I was riding one of these with probably 100 other people. My body was touching 7 people at one time and the smiling man above me was literally dripping sweat onto me. During this journey, I attempted to have an out of body experience as to escape to my “special place”. Still, the green bus of death is a place of class and chivalry. Men will fight to get me on the bus and get me a nice seat. I appreciate that. It’s also really cheap and the expressions on people’s faces when they see a white person on board are priceless.
 4.    The taxi car or imodoka: You can often catch a sketchy ride in one of these sketchy cars for a decent price. It’s like low ridin’ with Snoop in one of those cars with hydraulic lifts (I’m not sure what they’re called) because it is so bouncy. This is a generally pretty fast method of transportation.
5.    The moto: Motorcycles are frowned upon by Peace Corps because they have caused many deaths and injuries. (Un)fortunately, my site is mainly accessible by moto so I ride motos when the green bus of death or a matatu are not available but I have to get to Kigali for a meeting, the doctor, etc. A moto, though prohibited for PCVs, is the best way to see this country. I would recommend it to all non PCVs. So before you get on a moto, make sure you have your own helmet. My Peace Corps approved helmet is aerodynamic, flashy and a hot item to steal because, believe me, people have tried. Some moto rides cause intense abdominal workouts, some drivers talk on their cellphones, some insist on talking to you. It really depends.
6.    The bicycle taxi: Rwanda, despite its hills, has an admirable biking culture. These men groom and treasure their bikes. Most are pretty tricked-out with lights, reflectors, pegs and colored tape. Bikes can be used to transport people (ladies ride side-saddle on the back) or to transport HUNDREDS of pounds of produce. I am not exaggerating. When one of these bikes tips over, the poor rider has to summon help from bystanders to right the heavy bicycle. I have only seen two women riding bicycles but I am told most know how to ride them.
7.    All other vehicles are reserved for government officials, foreigners, schools and the rich. It is difficult to catch a ride in one of these unless your last name is Figure Skating.*
8.    The last option is to go by foot. This is pleasant and standard for short distances. Rwandans are still amazed to see me on foot. Riding a car or moto is a status symbol and they expect someone like me to never walk anywhere. In Kigali, the women wear flashy heels because they do not walk anywhere.

*inside joke. I hope to be a part of one someday.

"Why is it the first time [since 1932] that USA is at this stage? They have much money. It is because they use their money fighting other countries?" - a colleague on the World Cup

This is a blog of my daily interactions, or what I like to call “bite se Penny we.” This is not pronounced “bite Penny” but rather “beetah say Penny way”. Italics indicate phrases translated from Kinyarwanda to English.

Scenario One:

Child to other children: Look the white person is coming.

Child: Good-a morning.

Me: Good afternoon.

Child: fine thank you teacher.

Me: um…

Child: when will you come visit us?

Me: where do you live?

Child: up there on the hill.

Me: (scanning the hill with dozens of houses). Oh. I will come.

Scenario Two:

Student and Jehovah’s Witness: Ah sister. How are you?

Me: I am fine. How are you?

Student: No matter, no matter. When are you coming to visit us?

Me: Where?

Student: There at the kingdom of Jehovah’s Witness.

Me: I am not coming.

Student: so maybe you will come?

Me: No. I am never coming. I am Catholic.

Student: So you will try.

Me: No. I cannot. Ok see you!

Student: Ok see you Tuesday at the meeting [of Jehovah’s Witness].

Scenario Three:

(Colleagues laughing and saying something about Amanda. They are either talking about me or bread but nine times out of ten it is me.)

Me: What?

Male colleague #1: They are saying that you cannot be late or your fiancé will find other girls.

Me: Yes, that is possible.

Male colleague #2: That is why you must have others in Rwanda like me or Gerald.

Me: ha ha (awkward… so I open my locker and expose the picture of my fiancé to the staff room)

Male colleague #3: This is your fiancé? Ah how he is big.

Male colleague #4: It’s psychology. Small girls like big men.

Female colleague: So you will have medium children.

Scenario Four:

Child: Something small for my wrist? *

Me: What did I say?... I said NO.

Child: Something small to wear?

Me: You’re not going to greet me?

Child: good-a morning.

Me: good morning.

Child: fine thank you teacher.

* think carefully before giving a Rwandan child a friendship bracelet

Scenario Five:

Rwandan boy/man: Good morning teacher. How are the news?

Me: The news are fine.

Rwandan: I have a question.

Me: Yes?

Rwandan: My English is very poor. How can one find English books*

Me: I do not know.

Rwandan: but what advices can you give me to find those things?

Me: Go to Kigali.**

Rwandan: ah but it is very expensive. One must first find money to go to Kigali.

Me: Sorry. It is not my job to help you find this. My job is to teach…

*can be replaced with learn English, school fees, scholarship, pen pals, computers or a plane ticket to America.

** listen to the radio, go on the school’s wireless internet, etc.

Scenario Six:

Rwandan woman: Look at the white person.

Rwandan woman #2: I see her.

Rwandan woman #1: She is wearing…

(Women stare)

Me: Good morning.

Rwandan woman #1: Yes.

Rwandan woman #2: eeEEEeeeh.

Rwandan woman #3: Eh! She knows Kinyarwanda!

Scenario Seven: (not daily but bi-weekly)

Construction worker at market: Hey look, it’s my girlfriend!

(Men laughing)

Me: Hello! What’s up.

(Men cheering)

Scenario Eight:

Old woman: (takes me hand) Muraho umukobwa. Hello girl.

Me: Muraho neza. A nice hello to you.

Old woman: Jesus save you.*

Me: Yes, thank you.**

Old woman: How is the news, how is the news?

Me: It is good.

Old woman: Are you strong?

Me: Yes, thank you.

Old woman: Strength strength.

Me: yes.

Old woman: May you have many husbands.

Me: I will accept them.

Old woman: (still holding my hand) May god save you.***

Me: Yes. ** Have a nice day.

* This is an approximation of some greeting about God.

**This is a culturally unacceptable response but I do not know the correct one.

*** Again, some approximation of a blessing

Scenario Nine

(Opening my locker, again my colleagues notice the picture)

Colleague: Amanda I think this is your cousin?

Me: No it is my fiancé.

Colleague: Ah! You must buy a strong bed!

Me: (too flustered to comment)

Colleague: And you are saying you only want two children? I am telling you you must have MANY children.

Penina, Kowabuze?

 This morning, while I was cleaning, I picked up some old letters lying around my house. Though all my letters are treasures, one distinct closing line turned my whole morning around. It contained the phrase, “ the possible is always better than the actual”, which was like receiving a slap in the face and $100 at the same time. I found this phrase liberating this time around, this particular morning, hung-over on sad thoughts and ready to shelve them for a while.

I think this phrase is very relevant for PCVs who may be suffocating in their ambition to do good while missing their homeland. For me, it is a reminder to be present and to be realistic. My daydreams of my past, others’ presents and our futures are not constructive but destructive. They are addicting, like staying inside and hiding from what I am afraid of. Today is my “dry season cleaning”, another Saturday at site that I will just love. This Saturday brings the market, laundry, sun, Tressa and time to observe my community and myself. Saturday is my favorite day of the week as it seems to shield me from the abrasive staring and instead bring me peace. I’ve let the dishes, stacks of letters and cobwebs accumulate: it’s time to take care of them.

(The dry season has replaced the wet season and sorghum has replaced all the corn)

At our recent In-Service Training (IST) in Gisenyi, my headmaster told me I was “umukobwa mwiza”, an endearing term meaning “good girl.” Along with this, he told me how every single headmaster that attended the training was happy with their PCVs. This was very reaffirming for all of us who struggle with lack of feedback and feelings of inadequacy. IST was the most fun I have had in a long time. During this week with my American colleagues, I found that freedom I have been craving at site. If I wasn’t laughing with other PCVs, my mind was brewing new ideas to take back to site. All the volunteers were able to share horror stories, common complaints, common struggles and teaching feats. We had trainings in teaching techniques, language lessons and presentations from outsiders including an incredible morning with the foundation Project Wet. A big topic of discussion was our secondary projects. Every Peace Corps volunteer is expected to initiate a sustainable secondary project apart from his or her primary responsibility. I have not settled on one yet but I have some ideas. That aside, these are some of the projects I will start/have started at site:

-       Weekly office hours

-       A “pamphlet project” where I use students in the English Club and the Anti-Aids/HIV club to make educational pamphlets in English and Kinyarwanda to pass out to villagers at the Saturday market. I would like to thank my Uncle Dave for sending me the paper to do this!

-       Using Appropriate Projects (check them out! INCREDIBLE RESOURCE!) I plan to install hand-washing stations at my school and the primary school.

-       Commit to teaching the Primary School teachers

-       A new Books For Africa shipment is also in the works

The last thing I want to share about IST and my Rwandan life is this: PCVs are the finest people in the world. I have been surrounded by outstanding people in my life but never have I been with a group of such kind, good-intentioned people. Their hearts are so big that I admire and adore everyone single one of them and adore beyond words. If you’ve caught my smiling recently, it was probably because I am so in love with my colleagues. Or because it’s 6:30 pm and children are screaming “Good-a morning teacher!”

1. My Rwandan boyfriend! just kidding I'm not a shuga mami.

2. My students marching through town during our school's Genocide Commemoration Week

3. This was the trench for installing a fiber optic cable to provide my village with wireless. Maybe next they can give the villagers electricity and running water. 

 

4. My students at our commemoration ceremony.

"He was going to hang his clothes to dry but he was short man." - Student

This is not a serious post. For heavier reading, see earlier posts. This is in fact a list of similarities between the lives of the infamous Robert Pattinson and me, a Peace Corps Rwanda volunteer.

Rob Patz and Penny We
1. We are known for and recognized by our pale skin.
2. We cannot go anywhere without being met by staring, pointing and sometimes shrieking. 3. This forces us to stay inside for hours at a time.
4. We are constantly approached by people we do not know.
5. We have problems with the opposite sex. Rob constantly has women asking him to bite them whereas I constantly have men asking for private English lessons.
6. Neither hats nor sunglasses do the trick: can’t disguise these faces.
7. Our careers are acting.
8. We have a new understanding of “freedom” since our entry into stardom/Peace Corps.

*If you are interested in seeing my facebook albums of Rwanda pictures, email me.