I can attest to the fact that no matter how much you may have hated exams as a student, they are a thousand times worse as a teacher. Especially in Africa. Apparently no one realized I had never taken, let alone given an exam in Rwanda so I have spent the last few days making a complete fool out of myself in front of the whole school. First mistake, I made a study guide, which the students thought was hilarious as did all the other teachers. On the study guide I wrote that all students had to bring their exercise books for me to mark, which backfired considering the students, are mixed according to student number not grade and bringing your exercise books to an exam is a serious offense. That was a fun one to explain to the Prefect of Discipline when he had a line a mile long outside of his office. I’ve also let exams run an hour too long or finished them an hour too early, made comments about the secretaries math skills when I thought I was short one exam for each grade only to realize that the paper folded around the exams was the missing link, tried to be authoritative (even though the students are totally on to me) and in the process SLAMMED in to a desk so hard that I bent over in pain and now I have a huge welt on my knee. Sitting in a classroom for three hours at a time staring at students write is like torture so I bring my iPod also I’m still really sick so I’ve been going to school in my sweats. Both things that I’m pretty sure are causing quite a scandal in the staff room. O well.
Fun teacher Claire really doesn’t translate well in this context and so I cannot wait for exam time to be over. And then there’s marking. O lord I hate marking. I was a genius and assigned a composition portion on the exam which is brutal to grade. An excerpt, “When we gone to visity my boyfriend in the way met a coach very longer than a taxis in the coach saw a beautiful girl had a small luggage.” How do you mark that? I don’t want to be discouraging but it’s just wrong on so many levels. So I get to come home every night to that 450 times over. Basically I hate exams but when it’s all over my Mummy is going to be here and we’re going to see the gorillas!
I’m really looking forward to her visit but even before that we are having a big party in Butare for Shira’s birthday and my German and Dutch friends going away party. So that’s getting me through the days. Last Friday, when I was really too sick to have been doing anything, I went with Elizabeth, Yves and Adrien to a Music Awards Ceremony. It was at the auditorium at the National University, which can comfortably accommodate around 300 people but there were over a thousand in attendance. People were climbing up the walls, literally, standing on the armrests, hanging over the balconies, and it was basically just mass chaos and SO HOT. I really enjoyed it though. My friend Ali is like the Rwandan equivalent of Ryan Seacrest so we were right in the front and I got to see my favorite Rwandan singer Kitoko perform my favorite song which was sooooo exciting, Yves and Adrien were jumping up and down in excitement for me which was sweet. I’ll post pictures, the “celebrity” fashion here is pretty hilarious.
I’m also working on pictures of my locale and school. Taking pics of my walk to school is proving to be difficult though since Rwandans are so sensitive to having their picture taken. Someone told me it is because they do not want to be put on a poster of some NGO in the west and then never receive any of the funds their image generates. I think that’s a stretch but nonetheless it is common to be asked for 100 francs if you get someone in your frame. No problem taking pictures of my fave neighborhood kids though, who, by the way, are completely obsessed with my garbage. I have created a monster. Every time I walk by its, “Poubelle? Poubelle?” I’m afraid they probably asked someone for the word for garbage in French because that is literally the only non-Kinyarwanda word they know which is mortifying.
I’ve had some major living alone follies lately. I’m getting used to living alone but I am still deathly afraid of the dark and since the electricity really only works when it feels like it I always have a flashlight with me. Last night I was walking through my really long really dark hallway on my way to bed. I was holding my ipod and flashlight in the same hand and the tangled mass of my headphones fell in front of the light projecting a horrific figure on my wall. In my rational mind I knew what it was but in my living alone scared of the dark mind it could have been any number of creepy crawly things so I screamed. I screamed so loud that moments later I got an urgent call from my very sweet neighbor who doesn’t speak a word of English but still comes over to visit and we just stare at each other very awkwardly. Anyway, I think I convinced her that I was alright because she didn’t come over but I’m sure she thinks I’m a total head case. Also having to do with intermittent electricity, I was unplugging my phone charger yesterday quite clumsily, my usual mode of operation, when the electricity all of asudden turned back on. I have never electrocuted myself before, surprisingly enough, but it really hurts! The jolt literally knocked me off my feet so not only is my right pointer finger still numb I also have a bruise on my hip.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Fingers crossed!
As if I am not already enough of a spectacle I now have the added bonus of having the worst Laryngitis ever known to man. I can barely even whisper. Naturally I want to curl up in a ball and sleep and drink water until my voice comes back but I can’t because it’s exam time. So I’ve been struggling through review sessions, which I’m really not sure of the benefit of due to my incomprehensibility, but I feel obligated anyways. Big momma (the school bursar) keeps insisting that I need to eat a mixture of raw eggs and lime-juice and I’ll be fine but I think I would rather be sick then ever taste that concoction, much less suffer the stomach consequences of the raw eggs! So now when I walk past all the primary school children and they say ‘Bonjour!’ or ‘Good Morning!’ I croak back some unintelligible word and they fall apart in hysterics and so they start again and on and on until my dignity sinks to levels I never knew possible at the hands of seven year olds. No not really I love those little rascals.
One thing that I think is so weird with this voice issue is everyone whispers now when they talk to me. A new teacher, who I think is pretty creepy, came up to me in the staff room and whispered, “Is your director single?” I answered, “Are you sick as well?” and he whispered back, “No. So is she?” I signaled back that I couldn’t hear him very theatrically and then walked away. I thought he was just being the weirdo that I already think him to be and then I started talking to other people and realizing they were all speaking so softly. I guess it’s kind of sweet in a way.
The director who the teacher was referring to is my director from WorldTeach who came to do a site visit for a couple days. Another awkward encounter in the staff room, one of the younger teachers marched right up to her and exclaimed, “O! Claire’s mother! You are welcome. You are just as beautiful as the pictures!” Jessi is barely thirty and doesn’t look a thing like my mother. Naturally I was mortified and signaled wildly behind her to shut up but he just kept going. She seemed to take it in stride but it made for quite an awkward couple of minutes.
I think the reason I’m so sick is because of my adventures with Jessi on her visit. Nyanza was home to the kings of Rwanda before Rwanda won it’s independence in ’62???? I should know that. Anyway, we went to see the King’s Palace which is really a very interesting reconstruction of the royal huts they lived in up to the early 1900’s. Rwanda really got the shaft with that whole Scramble for Africa, it used to be much bigger. Was that last comment in bad taste? Yves, who was born in Congo, loves to emphasize that he is actually Rwandan but the white people messed up the borders. So it was a nice, enlightening trip but for some reason we hopped on motos to go home without a second thought to the very dark clouds on the horizon. The weather, as I have mentioned, moves SO fast. I got dressed that morning in a tank top and left the umbrella and rain jacket that I always have with me at school in my haste to meet Jessi at the bus. Almost immediately after we got on the motos it started to rain. Not rain like I used to think of it, but the aggressive wall of water that seems to now thrash Nyanza everyday around three in the afternoon. It hurts really badly. I was literally buckled over with my helmet buried in to the back on the driver, praying that he wasn’t doing the same thing. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the Rwandans packed under the awnings of businesses pointing and laughing, also buckled over but for a different reason. When we finally got back we were soaked to the bone and so frazzled that we both darted down the hill to my house with our helmets still on. We couldn’t hear the drivers screaming at us over the pounding rain so when we reached my porch they were right behind us screaming at us for trying to steal their helmets. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time, well actually not since I went swimming in that puddle on my way to visit Elizabeth. So ya, now I have laryngitis and I’m thinking that’s probably why.
Fingers crossed it’s not Malaria or Typhoid!
One thing that I think is so weird with this voice issue is everyone whispers now when they talk to me. A new teacher, who I think is pretty creepy, came up to me in the staff room and whispered, “Is your director single?” I answered, “Are you sick as well?” and he whispered back, “No. So is she?” I signaled back that I couldn’t hear him very theatrically and then walked away. I thought he was just being the weirdo that I already think him to be and then I started talking to other people and realizing they were all speaking so softly. I guess it’s kind of sweet in a way.
The director who the teacher was referring to is my director from WorldTeach who came to do a site visit for a couple days. Another awkward encounter in the staff room, one of the younger teachers marched right up to her and exclaimed, “O! Claire’s mother! You are welcome. You are just as beautiful as the pictures!” Jessi is barely thirty and doesn’t look a thing like my mother. Naturally I was mortified and signaled wildly behind her to shut up but he just kept going. She seemed to take it in stride but it made for quite an awkward couple of minutes.
I think the reason I’m so sick is because of my adventures with Jessi on her visit. Nyanza was home to the kings of Rwanda before Rwanda won it’s independence in ’62???? I should know that. Anyway, we went to see the King’s Palace which is really a very interesting reconstruction of the royal huts they lived in up to the early 1900’s. Rwanda really got the shaft with that whole Scramble for Africa, it used to be much bigger. Was that last comment in bad taste? Yves, who was born in Congo, loves to emphasize that he is actually Rwandan but the white people messed up the borders. So it was a nice, enlightening trip but for some reason we hopped on motos to go home without a second thought to the very dark clouds on the horizon. The weather, as I have mentioned, moves SO fast. I got dressed that morning in a tank top and left the umbrella and rain jacket that I always have with me at school in my haste to meet Jessi at the bus. Almost immediately after we got on the motos it started to rain. Not rain like I used to think of it, but the aggressive wall of water that seems to now thrash Nyanza everyday around three in the afternoon. It hurts really badly. I was literally buckled over with my helmet buried in to the back on the driver, praying that he wasn’t doing the same thing. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the Rwandans packed under the awnings of businesses pointing and laughing, also buckled over but for a different reason. When we finally got back we were soaked to the bone and so frazzled that we both darted down the hill to my house with our helmets still on. We couldn’t hear the drivers screaming at us over the pounding rain so when we reached my porch they were right behind us screaming at us for trying to steal their helmets. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time, well actually not since I went swimming in that puddle on my way to visit Elizabeth. So ya, now I have laryngitis and I’m thinking that’s probably why.
Fingers crossed it’s not Malaria or Typhoid!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Small World
It is a small world after all. While on an impromptu trip to Kigali I figured out just how small. My cravings have moved east to Indian food and so Elizabeth and I went to the capital for a curry dinner. We decided to stay at the same place we had stayed for orientation but upon arrival the nuns who run the hostel were nowhere to be found. While we were waiting a group of Peace Corps volunteers arrived who also needed to get in to the office. As we stood around chatting I was struck by the realization that I knew one of the girls. I turned to her and said, “Did you do Semester at Sea?” and she said, “Ohmigod we went to that beach in Brazil together!” SO WEIRD. Here we are, literally on the other side of the world, and we run back in to one another. She also went to university with a girl I used to row with in high school and is good friends with a friend of mine from Prague. All this we ascertained while on the ship and even then we thought it was weird and small worldish but this was just creepy. Also really cool at the same time. We had a class together on the ship which was by far my favorite class I ever took in college. It was Third World Development and I guess my current situation illustrates just how big an effect it had on me! Anyway, it was really great to see her, we decided we were just destined to have weird parallel lives so we may as well be better friends.
I have been cooking some impressive meals if I do say so myself. All from scratch and all organic. On Friday I made really good pasta sauce, tonight I made Chicken noodle soup sans chicken and on Thursday I made curried rice risotto with tomato, onion and garlic all without a cookbook. Considering my diet in San Diego consisted mostly of restaurant food, mac and cheese, and cookie dough (my roommates can attest to this) I’m pretty proud. So I’ve been doing pretty well with the cooking, but Elizabeth says job creation is important, or at least that’s how I justify it, so now I have a girl who comes on Saturdays and Sundays to help me clean and do laundry and whatnot. Instead of calling her my housegirl I call her my housefriend since she is the same age as me and lives alone as well which is apparently really unusual. I tried to explain this to her but she doesn’t speak a word of English and my Kinyarwanda is about as terrible as my French so when she comes to visit we basically talk to each other exclusively in a language the other does not understand and then burst out laughing. It’s fun for the first couple minutes. I am so happy with the job she does. She even cleans my shoes! The Rwandese foot/shoe obsession is a little weird to me but hey I can’t complain about clean shoes. The only problem is she is stealing my condensed milk. Here, condensed milk is called Nido and oddly enough I love it. Also it’s a status symbol to drink it which is opposite from the ‘west’ but this ties in to the fact that its pretty expensive relatively. I’m not sure if she sees it as a perk of working for the local Mzungu or what but my big tin of Nido I bought a week ago is almost gone! I think I will have to lock it away next time. I’m locking away condensed milk from my ‘housefriend’. Sometimes when I read back my blog I think my life is really weird.
I was talking to my favorite little sister in the world (shout out!) last night and for some reason I got to thinking about how strange my life really is. According to my friend Dan all good writers are self-absorbed tools so I’m going to test it out. Unless the whole starting a blog thing…..? Anyway, I am constantly walking here. Whether it be to school or to the bus or to the store or what have you. And it’s a weird thing this whole white skin deal. If not for the constant “mzungu” or “seestah” I really sometimes get in a zone where I forget how much I stick out. Every once in a while I see another American, there are a zillion of them in Butare, and I think wow I stick out as much as that person. It’s a very weird and out of body thing. I’m not naïve enough to say that skin color does not matter in America but obviously the degree to which one sticks out is significantly less since we are one big happy melting pot. SO it is really strange to be living in a town and constantly be a spectacle solely based on the color of my skin. Yes I officially feel like a tool I don’t think I’ll be doing much more of this self-indulgent stuff.
Speaking of self-indulgent I have a new one for the therapy couch, I tried to take my Senior 1’s to the computer lab on Friday as promised but the other teacher took the lab before I could find a key! I was livid. He then proceeded to tell me, in French, that I didn’t have class that hour because he had erased it off their schedule on the blackboard. After all that threatening in the class before and then I couldn’t even follow through! It all felt a little too Kabarore for me so my turrets took over and I started berating him in very rapid English and then stormed off to a thunderous applause from his class of Senior 3’s. I’m not sure they would be applauding if they had any idea what I said but I find this method to be very therapeutic if not slightly psychotic. I also have given a lecture on karma to one of my neighbors who yells at me in Kinyarwanda literally every time I walk by and then laughs hysterically. I let him know how beautiful the furniture he makes is and how I would never buy a piece of it and there must be a reason why no one else buys it either. Is it bad if my coping mechanism is the exact same as the reason I have to cope in the first place?
One last note: Yes Kate, rapport! That’s the one☺
O and P.S.S My bff little sis got in to TWO UNIVERSITIES! I’m so happy. Is that enough of a shout out to get you to read my blog now you little brat/cuuuuute?
I have been cooking some impressive meals if I do say so myself. All from scratch and all organic. On Friday I made really good pasta sauce, tonight I made Chicken noodle soup sans chicken and on Thursday I made curried rice risotto with tomato, onion and garlic all without a cookbook. Considering my diet in San Diego consisted mostly of restaurant food, mac and cheese, and cookie dough (my roommates can attest to this) I’m pretty proud. So I’ve been doing pretty well with the cooking, but Elizabeth says job creation is important, or at least that’s how I justify it, so now I have a girl who comes on Saturdays and Sundays to help me clean and do laundry and whatnot. Instead of calling her my housegirl I call her my housefriend since she is the same age as me and lives alone as well which is apparently really unusual. I tried to explain this to her but she doesn’t speak a word of English and my Kinyarwanda is about as terrible as my French so when she comes to visit we basically talk to each other exclusively in a language the other does not understand and then burst out laughing. It’s fun for the first couple minutes. I am so happy with the job she does. She even cleans my shoes! The Rwandese foot/shoe obsession is a little weird to me but hey I can’t complain about clean shoes. The only problem is she is stealing my condensed milk. Here, condensed milk is called Nido and oddly enough I love it. Also it’s a status symbol to drink it which is opposite from the ‘west’ but this ties in to the fact that its pretty expensive relatively. I’m not sure if she sees it as a perk of working for the local Mzungu or what but my big tin of Nido I bought a week ago is almost gone! I think I will have to lock it away next time. I’m locking away condensed milk from my ‘housefriend’. Sometimes when I read back my blog I think my life is really weird.
I was talking to my favorite little sister in the world (shout out!) last night and for some reason I got to thinking about how strange my life really is. According to my friend Dan all good writers are self-absorbed tools so I’m going to test it out. Unless the whole starting a blog thing…..? Anyway, I am constantly walking here. Whether it be to school or to the bus or to the store or what have you. And it’s a weird thing this whole white skin deal. If not for the constant “mzungu” or “seestah” I really sometimes get in a zone where I forget how much I stick out. Every once in a while I see another American, there are a zillion of them in Butare, and I think wow I stick out as much as that person. It’s a very weird and out of body thing. I’m not naïve enough to say that skin color does not matter in America but obviously the degree to which one sticks out is significantly less since we are one big happy melting pot. SO it is really strange to be living in a town and constantly be a spectacle solely based on the color of my skin. Yes I officially feel like a tool I don’t think I’ll be doing much more of this self-indulgent stuff.
Speaking of self-indulgent I have a new one for the therapy couch, I tried to take my Senior 1’s to the computer lab on Friday as promised but the other teacher took the lab before I could find a key! I was livid. He then proceeded to tell me, in French, that I didn’t have class that hour because he had erased it off their schedule on the blackboard. After all that threatening in the class before and then I couldn’t even follow through! It all felt a little too Kabarore for me so my turrets took over and I started berating him in very rapid English and then stormed off to a thunderous applause from his class of Senior 3’s. I’m not sure they would be applauding if they had any idea what I said but I find this method to be very therapeutic if not slightly psychotic. I also have given a lecture on karma to one of my neighbors who yells at me in Kinyarwanda literally every time I walk by and then laughs hysterically. I let him know how beautiful the furniture he makes is and how I would never buy a piece of it and there must be a reason why no one else buys it either. Is it bad if my coping mechanism is the exact same as the reason I have to cope in the first place?
One last note: Yes Kate, rapport! That’s the one☺
O and P.S.S My bff little sis got in to TWO UNIVERSITIES! I’m so happy. Is that enough of a shout out to get you to read my blog now you little brat/cuuuuute?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Larium Sucks.
There’s nothing better than waking up in the morning to, first, a HUGE cockroach caught by my quasi cockroach trap which is really just the bucket of water necessitated by my leaking sink and then, second, reaching for my toothpaste and instead grabbing the head of a lizard. I’m a little shaken to say the least! O well I still love Nyanza (minus the cockroaches, the lizards I can deal with). The cast of characters I have come to know are very entertaining and on the whole everyone is very welcoming. My favorite is the little primary school kid with no teeth who comes up to me whenever he sees me and very earnestly says, “Good morning Care! Howayu? I’m fine sanks!” I love that little guy. Also, the bursar’s son Bruno who knows every single dance move from his bootlegged music video CD and performs very confidently (he’s five) but whenever he sees me can barely make eye-contact he’s so shy but smiles proudly at his friends when I give him a big hug.
I’ve also had the pleasure? of meeting a man I’ve coined Malaria man. Apparently the government has given up on mosquito nets since people are resistant to using them and has now decided to spray for mosquitoes. The spray is so toxic that you have to bring your mattress outside while they spray and stay outside for four hours. Personally, I am not at all resistant to using my mosquito net, even if it does make for a very awkward foray into bed at night as I attempt not to disrupt the perfectly taut tucking. Also I’m taking Larium, which is punishment enough without the added toxic chemicals so I really don’t want them to spray. But Malaria man’s resolve is unwavering. He’s everywhere! And always full of excuses. First they were supposed to come on Thursday and came instead on Wednesday when I have school and then we decided they would come on Saturday morning. So I dutifully woke up at seven put everything of value in my wardrobe because it locks and then sat and waited. Finally at two I gave up and went to the market. Of course as I’m walking to the market I see all the sprayers, masks and all (very similar to ghost busters) lying under a tree barely conscious. Malaria man comes running toward me and asks why I wasn’t there they came to knock twice. I started laughing and told him he was lying, I sat in front of the door all morning. So then he was going to come Sunday night, but it rained, so naturally why would he keep an appointment? Whatever. I haven’t heard from him for a while so that’s encouraging at least his stalking isn’t vicious.
What are vicious though are my crazy Larium nightmares. Larium is a weekly malaria medication that, in theory, taking is a no brainer. But then there are the dreams. O man the dreams. Last night I dreamt that every friend I have ever had in the world came to Nyanza to visit the King’s palace and I saw them walk past my house and I kept yelling and no one would answer and then everyone started to run away! And it just kept happening all night long and it is way more vivid than any dream I have ever had. I woke up drenched in sweat multiple times, but my mind just wouldn’t let go of the image. So my recommendation to anyone considering taking malaria meds is go for doxy or malarone. Larium sucks.
Another side effect of Larium is balance issues. Or at least that’s my excuse. This weekend Yves, Adrian and I went to visit Elizabeth in Save which is very near Butare. Usually, I am the only Mzungu in Nyanza but this time there was another girl trying to figure out how to get to Butare. I giggled along with Yves and Adrian as she tried to figure out which bus to get on but play it cool at the same time. I sat between my two buddies feeling very smug and well adjusted. When we arrived in Save I went on to show just how well adjusted I really am. I got off the bus and began to walk down the dirt path but it had just rained (big surprise) and there were many puddles to avoid. Literally the first puddle we got to, which was more like a pond, I lost my footing on the walk around and slid fully in to the puddle. Totally immersed. And then Yves tried to help me but the bottom of the puddle/pond was so slippery that I could not find my footing. It was awful. And to add to all that I had the audience of the entire minibus, all the bike taxi men who give rides into town, and about twenty townspeople. All of which simultaneously started to scream Mzungu as if that would help. When I finally found my footing the three of us were in fits of laughter for about an hour and now everytime I walk around a puddle they make some joke about being careful. As most of you know I am normally the picture of grace, so, again, larium sucks!
Luckily Larium has not affected my teaching. However, with my 7th graders my accent definitely has. I was painstakingly drawing all the elements of the desktop on the chalkboard in ICT and a group of six students in the back would not stop talking. I mostly teach 10th, 11th, and 12th graders who are more or less my age so we always have fun and respect each other. Teaching 7th graders is like babysitting, or I guess most of them are around 16 or 17 so I guess it’s like actually teaching high school, but I do not have as strong a repoire with them since I only teach them two hours a week. So anyway I told the students if they did not keep quiet they would not be allowed in the computer lab on Friday because going to the lab is mass chaos when the students are on their best behavior so I try to keep the bad ones in check by being strict during theory. The students looked at me smiled and then went right back to talking. I was livid. I went to the back and said listen I expect your respect but if you want you can go see the discipline master. They just kept smiling. So I said do you understand? And they said yes teacher! And I said so do you want to go to the lab? Yes teacher! So will you stop talking? Yes teacher! Or should I send you to the prefect? Yes teacher! You want to go see the headmaster? Yes teacher! Huge smiles on their faces and all. I looked around and said, “alright. Raise your hand if you understand anything I am saying.” No joke, five kids out of SEVENTY raised their hands. I told one of those students to translate for me and the students looked absolutely terrified and started saying sorry teacher! Please teacher! Sorry! They are just so gosh darn cute that I let it go and then I proceeded to explain turning on the computer eight different times in eight different ways/banging my head against the wall.
I’ve also had the pleasure? of meeting a man I’ve coined Malaria man. Apparently the government has given up on mosquito nets since people are resistant to using them and has now decided to spray for mosquitoes. The spray is so toxic that you have to bring your mattress outside while they spray and stay outside for four hours. Personally, I am not at all resistant to using my mosquito net, even if it does make for a very awkward foray into bed at night as I attempt not to disrupt the perfectly taut tucking. Also I’m taking Larium, which is punishment enough without the added toxic chemicals so I really don’t want them to spray. But Malaria man’s resolve is unwavering. He’s everywhere! And always full of excuses. First they were supposed to come on Thursday and came instead on Wednesday when I have school and then we decided they would come on Saturday morning. So I dutifully woke up at seven put everything of value in my wardrobe because it locks and then sat and waited. Finally at two I gave up and went to the market. Of course as I’m walking to the market I see all the sprayers, masks and all (very similar to ghost busters) lying under a tree barely conscious. Malaria man comes running toward me and asks why I wasn’t there they came to knock twice. I started laughing and told him he was lying, I sat in front of the door all morning. So then he was going to come Sunday night, but it rained, so naturally why would he keep an appointment? Whatever. I haven’t heard from him for a while so that’s encouraging at least his stalking isn’t vicious.
What are vicious though are my crazy Larium nightmares. Larium is a weekly malaria medication that, in theory, taking is a no brainer. But then there are the dreams. O man the dreams. Last night I dreamt that every friend I have ever had in the world came to Nyanza to visit the King’s palace and I saw them walk past my house and I kept yelling and no one would answer and then everyone started to run away! And it just kept happening all night long and it is way more vivid than any dream I have ever had. I woke up drenched in sweat multiple times, but my mind just wouldn’t let go of the image. So my recommendation to anyone considering taking malaria meds is go for doxy or malarone. Larium sucks.
Another side effect of Larium is balance issues. Or at least that’s my excuse. This weekend Yves, Adrian and I went to visit Elizabeth in Save which is very near Butare. Usually, I am the only Mzungu in Nyanza but this time there was another girl trying to figure out how to get to Butare. I giggled along with Yves and Adrian as she tried to figure out which bus to get on but play it cool at the same time. I sat between my two buddies feeling very smug and well adjusted. When we arrived in Save I went on to show just how well adjusted I really am. I got off the bus and began to walk down the dirt path but it had just rained (big surprise) and there were many puddles to avoid. Literally the first puddle we got to, which was more like a pond, I lost my footing on the walk around and slid fully in to the puddle. Totally immersed. And then Yves tried to help me but the bottom of the puddle/pond was so slippery that I could not find my footing. It was awful. And to add to all that I had the audience of the entire minibus, all the bike taxi men who give rides into town, and about twenty townspeople. All of which simultaneously started to scream Mzungu as if that would help. When I finally found my footing the three of us were in fits of laughter for about an hour and now everytime I walk around a puddle they make some joke about being careful. As most of you know I am normally the picture of grace, so, again, larium sucks!
Luckily Larium has not affected my teaching. However, with my 7th graders my accent definitely has. I was painstakingly drawing all the elements of the desktop on the chalkboard in ICT and a group of six students in the back would not stop talking. I mostly teach 10th, 11th, and 12th graders who are more or less my age so we always have fun and respect each other. Teaching 7th graders is like babysitting, or I guess most of them are around 16 or 17 so I guess it’s like actually teaching high school, but I do not have as strong a repoire with them since I only teach them two hours a week. So anyway I told the students if they did not keep quiet they would not be allowed in the computer lab on Friday because going to the lab is mass chaos when the students are on their best behavior so I try to keep the bad ones in check by being strict during theory. The students looked at me smiled and then went right back to talking. I was livid. I went to the back and said listen I expect your respect but if you want you can go see the discipline master. They just kept smiling. So I said do you understand? And they said yes teacher! And I said so do you want to go to the lab? Yes teacher! So will you stop talking? Yes teacher! Or should I send you to the prefect? Yes teacher! You want to go see the headmaster? Yes teacher! Huge smiles on their faces and all. I looked around and said, “alright. Raise your hand if you understand anything I am saying.” No joke, five kids out of SEVENTY raised their hands. I told one of those students to translate for me and the students looked absolutely terrified and started saying sorry teacher! Please teacher! Sorry! They are just so gosh darn cute that I let it go and then I proceeded to explain turning on the computer eight different times in eight different ways/banging my head against the wall.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Dirt!
Where I once used to dread returning home, I was very happy to return to Nyanza after a weekend in Kigali. Orientation took place in Kigali and those first few weeks I was so happy with the price of anything. I thought it was so cheap, now I am scandalized by the prices in the capital. I almost went in to debt in just three days! Which isn’t hard when you are only making two hundred dollars a month and the ministry, which is paying half of that, just hasn’t really gotten around to making the payment yet! So anyway, I gave in to my Spaghetti Bolognese craving and ate so much over two days that I think I gained about ten pounds. Not a problem though considering my eating problems in Kabarore had me looking pretty gaunt. Also my hair isn’t falling out in clumps anymore and I don’t sleep all day. Basically I am coming back to life. Man I sound like a wreck, I’m really doing great I promise.
It seems like every person has a different explanation for whether or not it is the rainy season yet. I have come to the conclusion though, that the seasons are definitely changing. On Sunday, when I was heading back home, it literally poured. Not poured in the sense we think of where it just rains hard, but the sky actually opens and a wall of water falls from it for about an hour. It’s the most intense rain I have ever experienced and it makes things REALLY difficult on dirt roads. I had to walk about half a mile on a dirt road in my Rainbows (flip flops) and it took me close to an hour. Every step was such an effort and by the time I reached the pavement my feet were completely covered in dirt. For being a very moist and dirt centered country Rwandese are so conscious of the presence of it. Everyone just stared at my feet for the next two hours but I really didn’t have any way of washing them, so when I got to Nyanza the first thing Yves and Adrien said to me was, “oh! My god. What is this? Why do you walk around like this? You are very dirty. My god.” I responded, “Alright. Good to see you guys too.”
There is a lot of dirt in Rwanda but Rwanda is not at all dirty. I would argue that there is much less trash on the streets than even the most developed countries. And not because there are crazy fines for littering, Rwandese just take a lot of pride in their country. While this is really great, it makes disposing of garbage extremely puzzling. Obviously there is no garbage service and in Kabarore I used to give my garbage to the houseboy to burn but here I am going sans houseboy. So what am I supposed to do with it? Everyone else’s just seems to disappear. So I brought my bag of garbage to school and the bursar looked pretty offended and refused to take it. Ugh awkward! She told me it would be better to just give it to a boy and tell him ingarani which is Kinyarwanda for garbage and give him fifty francs. I was all prepared to do this, and praying I would ask someone’s houseboy and not totally offend someone. How am I supposed to know who’s who? The street children who loiter near my house happened to be around when I returned home and I tentatively said inngaaaaraaani? To this, they literally rushed me grabbing the bag and sprinting away. I’m not really sure where they went or what they did with it and I didn’t even get the chance to pay them. Now they sit outside of my house yelling ingarani which is getting old but they are such cute little kids I can’t shoo them away.
Everyday when I walk to school I have to walk past two primary schools. Sometimes I love this and sometimes I hate it. Invariably the first kid who sees me starts yelling Mzungu and then all the other students stop what they are doing and start yelling Good Morning! It doesn’t matter what time of day it is they always say Good Morning, so does everyone so I am trying to introduce the idea of Good Afternoon and Good Evening to the population of Nyanza! Anyway, sometimes the kids are really cute and just want hugs but other times there is some little brat who starts the whole “give me your money!” (Did I mention there is no word for please in Kinyarwanda) and to this all the other otherwise adorable kids start chanting with him. Before you think I am too harsh it is important to note that even though school is free for the first nine years, the poorest families keep their children home to help around the house. Begging is definitely learned and I would love to know who taught them “give me your money” when they can barely say “What is your name?”. Anyway the other day I was fed up and I turned around and said to about fifty ten year-olds OYA! Which means no. They all stood in shock for a second and then turned and ran in the other direction. I don’t think those kids say Good morning to me anymore!
The students at my school are great. I really love my English classes and I’m warming up to the Computer courses although teaching ICT on a chalkboard presents a range of problems, also going to the computer lab with eight working computers and 55 students eager to look up Akon on the internet gets really out of hand. I’m working on it though. Also, trying to teach creativity in English is humorous at best. I taught a lesson on Comparative and Superlative adjectives and then asked the students to write a story incorporating two of each and five of the vocabulary words for the week. When talking about the story I said they could write about anything, a window through which they can see the future, their pet elephant with eight legs, or their trip to Uganda. Anything! When I graded the stories I got a few stories about the window, a few more about the elephant, and then the rest about their trip to Uganda. O well better luck next time. One student in particular was very interested in reading his story aloud. Today, when I allowed this he began to read a completely different story then the one I had graded. He began, “ I want to tell a story about the most beautiful teacher that ever lived from America. She is teaching me American English and I like the way she moves.” I was mortified. I interrupted him midsentence and said Thank you have a seat and then we had a little discussion after class.
Alright I’m all anecdoted out. I had a great birthday. Thank you to everyone who sent me cards, Shira brought them to me when we celebrated in Butare on the weekend. Also, if anyone sent me packages to Matimba, don’t worry Shira is stranded there so she can get them for me. When you eat really good food think of me!
It seems like every person has a different explanation for whether or not it is the rainy season yet. I have come to the conclusion though, that the seasons are definitely changing. On Sunday, when I was heading back home, it literally poured. Not poured in the sense we think of where it just rains hard, but the sky actually opens and a wall of water falls from it for about an hour. It’s the most intense rain I have ever experienced and it makes things REALLY difficult on dirt roads. I had to walk about half a mile on a dirt road in my Rainbows (flip flops) and it took me close to an hour. Every step was such an effort and by the time I reached the pavement my feet were completely covered in dirt. For being a very moist and dirt centered country Rwandese are so conscious of the presence of it. Everyone just stared at my feet for the next two hours but I really didn’t have any way of washing them, so when I got to Nyanza the first thing Yves and Adrien said to me was, “oh! My god. What is this? Why do you walk around like this? You are very dirty. My god.” I responded, “Alright. Good to see you guys too.”
There is a lot of dirt in Rwanda but Rwanda is not at all dirty. I would argue that there is much less trash on the streets than even the most developed countries. And not because there are crazy fines for littering, Rwandese just take a lot of pride in their country. While this is really great, it makes disposing of garbage extremely puzzling. Obviously there is no garbage service and in Kabarore I used to give my garbage to the houseboy to burn but here I am going sans houseboy. So what am I supposed to do with it? Everyone else’s just seems to disappear. So I brought my bag of garbage to school and the bursar looked pretty offended and refused to take it. Ugh awkward! She told me it would be better to just give it to a boy and tell him ingarani which is Kinyarwanda for garbage and give him fifty francs. I was all prepared to do this, and praying I would ask someone’s houseboy and not totally offend someone. How am I supposed to know who’s who? The street children who loiter near my house happened to be around when I returned home and I tentatively said inngaaaaraaani? To this, they literally rushed me grabbing the bag and sprinting away. I’m not really sure where they went or what they did with it and I didn’t even get the chance to pay them. Now they sit outside of my house yelling ingarani which is getting old but they are such cute little kids I can’t shoo them away.
Everyday when I walk to school I have to walk past two primary schools. Sometimes I love this and sometimes I hate it. Invariably the first kid who sees me starts yelling Mzungu and then all the other students stop what they are doing and start yelling Good Morning! It doesn’t matter what time of day it is they always say Good Morning, so does everyone so I am trying to introduce the idea of Good Afternoon and Good Evening to the population of Nyanza! Anyway, sometimes the kids are really cute and just want hugs but other times there is some little brat who starts the whole “give me your money!” (Did I mention there is no word for please in Kinyarwanda) and to this all the other otherwise adorable kids start chanting with him. Before you think I am too harsh it is important to note that even though school is free for the first nine years, the poorest families keep their children home to help around the house. Begging is definitely learned and I would love to know who taught them “give me your money” when they can barely say “What is your name?”. Anyway the other day I was fed up and I turned around and said to about fifty ten year-olds OYA! Which means no. They all stood in shock for a second and then turned and ran in the other direction. I don’t think those kids say Good morning to me anymore!
The students at my school are great. I really love my English classes and I’m warming up to the Computer courses although teaching ICT on a chalkboard presents a range of problems, also going to the computer lab with eight working computers and 55 students eager to look up Akon on the internet gets really out of hand. I’m working on it though. Also, trying to teach creativity in English is humorous at best. I taught a lesson on Comparative and Superlative adjectives and then asked the students to write a story incorporating two of each and five of the vocabulary words for the week. When talking about the story I said they could write about anything, a window through which they can see the future, their pet elephant with eight legs, or their trip to Uganda. Anything! When I graded the stories I got a few stories about the window, a few more about the elephant, and then the rest about their trip to Uganda. O well better luck next time. One student in particular was very interested in reading his story aloud. Today, when I allowed this he began to read a completely different story then the one I had graded. He began, “ I want to tell a story about the most beautiful teacher that ever lived from America. She is teaching me American English and I like the way she moves.” I was mortified. I interrupted him midsentence and said Thank you have a seat and then we had a little discussion after class.
Alright I’m all anecdoted out. I had a great birthday. Thank you to everyone who sent me cards, Shira brought them to me when we celebrated in Butare on the weekend. Also, if anyone sent me packages to Matimba, don’t worry Shira is stranded there so she can get them for me. When you eat really good food think of me!
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