October in Rwanda (while thinking of Georgia)

29 September 2012

No matter where I am or what I’m doing, even on the really good days of my life, when it’s the end of September/beginning of October, there’s no where I’d rather be than Rome, GA.  

Today I find myself in Musanze, Rwanda sitting in my little cinder block house with the doors and windows open to the beans and vegetables growing in my yard.  I just returned from participating in the cultural tradition of Umuganda with my Rwandan neighbors.  The last Saturday of each month everyone is required to participate in community work.  The projects vary month-to-month, but everyone meets in the morning and works together.  Well, usually, men and women do separate projects.  I spent the last hour and a half bent at the waste pulling up weeds with some old women discussing community service activities in America and why I’m not married.  And it’s just now 8:45 a.m.  We get started early around here.  The weather is such that it’s comfortable to wear a hooded sweatshirt and flip flops.  That, the sliced tomatoes I’m eating, and the Zac Brown band playing on my laptop brings my thoughts back home... to Rome.  

This time of year, and when the weather here matches the weather there, I can’t help but remember how much I love things like Mountain Day at my beautiful alma mater and the Chiaha Harvest Fair where it used to be, down by the river at Heritage Park.  I remember Heritage Holidays where each year of middle and high school I would stand on risers downtown, singing with my school choir, while my Nana stood in the audience clapping her hands to the music.  And I think of the trail ride that stops traffic all through town and then leave surprises that we’d find all over our school playground on Monday morning.  Mom would always tell us the story of how one time she was riding in that “wagon train” and her hand got caught in a rope that was tied to a spooked horse.

I always cherish my memories of the Coosa Valley Fair and feeling anxious, excited, and so very proud to represent my school at the cheerleading exhibition.  I say exhibition with emphasis because we were always reminded it wasn’t a competition, but we knew better.  It was the premier of our competition season where, after a long summer, we could finally see the routines of the other squads we rivaled so much. There were no trophies, but nobody forgot how each team performed at the fair.  Then there’s trips to Burt’s Pumpkin Farm, getting apples in Elijay, hayrides with church youth groups, trick-or-treating in Sherwood Forest and Maple Wood AND Celanese, football games, hiking and camping, eating dinner outside, bonfires, chilly mornings, flannel and jeans, and much much more with smells, tastes, and feelings that can’t always be captured in words or photos.  You know what I’m talking about.  

But, back to my little Rwandan village.  Soon today the equatorial sun will climb higher and higher and the temperature with it.  My thoughts of my home will ease to rest in the back of my mind while I visit friends in the village, hike to a waterfall, spend time at the health center where I work, and cook dinner over a hot plate on the floor, all the while speaking Kinyarwanda and trying to understand a way of life that still, after almost 5 months is quite foreign to me.  No matter how much I long for home, looking at pictures and listening to country music, right now, at least, I am here.  In Rwanda.  Serving this country and my own as a Peace Corps Volunteer.   And for that I am grateful.  

If there’s anything I’ve learned thus far in my service its that community and local culture are vitally important.  Nobody was created for or understanding of your own community quite like yourself.  Every day I walk past toddlers working in fields alongside their parents wielding machetes and I think of how we are molded and taught to function in our culture.  Were I in America, I’d run up and snatch that machete out of said toddlers hands and call the police (I can’t help it, I used to work for DFCS).  I often feel so lonely and like such an outsider when I’m the only one who shows up on time to work at 7 a.m. each morning or I don’t get the joke, I wear the wrong shoes, I find the local traditions tedious and boring, or they laugh at how in America, the work they do by hand we do with machines.  This happens all the time.  My Rwandan friends get such a kick out of asking, “In America, you have a machine for this?” about everything.  

So, I encourage everyone to travel, volunteer, serve in another culture, welcome foreigners to our own culture, and see as much of the world as you can.  I also very heartily encourage you to appreciate your community and your home culture.  If you find yourself at home this beautiful season, going to the same old football games, watching the same old parade, barbecue-ing with the same old neighbors, building the same old bonfire, or simply raking and burning the same old leaves that won’t stop falling, look on it with gratefulness.  People all over the world are doing their traditions in this specific season.  Hold tightly to yours when you get to do them, whether that be planting beans and praying for rain, or taking your kids to the fair.  These are the only days we get.  We are who we are and we live where we live.  There’s beauty in that.  Let’s look for it.  

Nana at Berry. this is where my heart is.

gusenga imana

 gusenga imana = to pray God

Have I talked about church in Rwanda yet?  Well, if I have, it’s such a part of life here that it warrants another post. 

The religion question in Rwanda isn’t, “are you spiritual?” or “are you religious?” Or, “do you go to church?”  No, it’s “where do you pray?” It’s a given that you pray and, obviously, you don’t pray at home alone. You must be praying somewhere with some group of people who have a title and a doctrine (and a keyboard, sound system, microphone, multiple choirs with dance routines, and possibly an electric guitar). 

The majority of Rwandans identify as Catholic while the rest are protestant (a large part of protestants are Seventh Day Adventists) and a few are Muslim.  Katier, I don’t know how many are Mormon and I haven’t seen any LDS churches around... perhaps you can give us that statistic???  

In my village we have a huge Catholic church with two Masses on Sunday, an even bigger Adventist church, a smaller Baptist church, a smaller still Pentecostal church, and the smallest, an Anglican church.  During training we discussed what we were going to tell our village regarding our religion.  Our training staff advised us that not attending church might be a barrier to integration.  At first, in my village, I thought I would try attending the Catholic church because Mass is a guaranteed short two-hour service.  But then I quickly remembered that I’m not Catholic and, for various reasons that probably won’t ever go on my blog for public discussion, I won’t become Catholic... at least while in Rwanda (never say never in one’s evolving spiritual awareness).  I still like going to Mass. I like it a whole lot, actually, but I had to find a different “church home” as they say.  I went to the Anglican church next because thinking that’s probably where I would most closely identify.  That service was about 5 hours long and I, unfortunately, sat beside the loud speaker which was apparently busted and had a terribly fuzzy sound so that, even if I could understand the rapid Kinyarwanda sermon, I could barely hear it and developed a nice headache from the volume, the dust from dancing with closed doors and windows, and the heat of the tin roof.  Praise be to God.

I finally found myself at the Baptist church, and like Goldilocks thought it “fit just right.”  Or as “just right” as Rwandan church can be.  It was actually fun.  There’s so much singing and dancing and the sermon, which I am now able to follow a bit, is only 20-30 minutes.  And I already told you that I’m gettin’ real good at sitting on a bench for 4 hours.  I’m also getting good at having a slow and peaceful Sunday morning at home with coffee, classic Caedmon’s Call, fresh fruit, my journal, and then going an hour late to church.  I’m only missing the first few choir performances... it’s not a big deal... right?  I still see at least 7 choir performances, greet everyone, and hear the sermon. 

The thing is, before I knew how much church was a part of culture here I wanted to take a break for a while since there probably isn’t a church in my village that I’d feel comfortable being a part of.  In Missoula, I had just found a church that I loved and felt like I could, with a clear conscience, identify myself with and tie myself to.  I’m a deeply spiritual person and I want my personal convictions to align with my public behavior.  This is something I always taught my youth group kids -- remember, guys? your behaviors reflect your priorities which reflect your values.  During adolescence my challenge with this was nonconformity to the more liberal morals all around me.  But then since college the pendulum is shifting and my personal convictions may be more liberal than many people I once identified with.  I’m striving to make sure the things I believe are really the things I believe because they are true and right and not because I like all the other people who believe them.  As a person who likes to be liked and to identify with a group and who is also wildly controlled by her emotions, lining my outward behaviors up to my inward convictions is a difficult thing to master.  I imagine this is true for many people.  Add all this to the idea of “cultural integration” that I’m working for wherein I have trouble finding the lines sometimes between accepting cultural norms and sacrificing who I am.  

A big part of Peace Corps is cross-cultural exchange.  In America, it’s totally ok to be a Christian and not always go to church.  Here, even if you are a church-goer in America, it’s a different experience here: really long, really hot inside the buildings, you get stared at, sometimes people behind you pluck your hairs for examination, you have to sit in a visible spot and introduce yourself to the whole congregation, they don’t speak your language and it’s difficult to catch everything... sometimes I find myself angry for being there, which is, I think, the opposite effect church is supposed to have.  

Ok, digression over.  On to my appreciation of Rwandan church culture...

Like I said, church, all of the ones I’ve been to, are full of dancing, singing, shouting, formal introductions, loud and long prayers, and some intense worship.  Rwandans really believe.  Or at least on Sundays they party like believers. 

One of the things I really love about Rwandan church is that, in the village, they have adapted Christianity to their culture instead of adapting themselves to a Western Christianity.   They sing Christian lyrics to traditional tunes, sometimes wearing traditional clothes, and always doing traditional dances.  And it’s best if they have a goat skin drum.  I mean, I know that Christianity is not their traditional religion, but nobody can really remember what there was before Christianity, only that they have always been monotheistic, and now, Catholicism especially, is a big part of Rwandan culture. Catholic Mass has all the traditional parts to it, but there’s definitely Rwandan flare.  The leader in front will sing the monotone Latin verse and the congregation will respond with unruly melodies, drums, and jumping.  Here’s a video of one of the more tame church services I’ve been to.  This is a Baptist church and it’s all I have right now, but you can see the traditional style of dancing: jumping while thrusting your knees into your chest and then swaying side to side with arms outstretched to resemble cattle walking slowly in a herd. There’s usually a group of women dancing like cattle and one man carrying a staff dancing in front leading the dance (like shepherding the cattle). Sorry this is so shaky; I was dancing too. 

And here’s the sweet family that took me to church with them that Sunday... 

gotta love the seriousness of having your family's picture taken

this girl is a pro at staring. she didn't even bother to act like she was paying attention to church. 

the staring was almost outdone here. i don't think she took her eyes off of me for an hour.

This past Sunday at church I was dragged to the front to join the mosh pit style dance party.  Laughing, jumping, sweating, clapping, and trying not to fall down, I think I just integrated a little more. :)

So I have more thoughts on church and Rwanda, but this is enough for now.  I’m still learning.  I know I barely understand the culture and there are many unanalyzed aspects of my own culture that are certainly influencing my perception of this one.  Please give me grace as I reflect and share.  And, please, I’d love to know your thoughts and be challenged by your questions.

my first guests

I am so blessed.  Most of the time I wallow in self-pity that all my favorite people live so far away from me.  Ok, maybe not most of the time; I’m not bad at enjoying what’s around me.  But when I think of all the folks I love so much who don’t live in this Rwandan village, it’s more than just a few people.  And I have a whole lot of love for them.  A few weeks ago, worlds collided a bit as two of my dear dear friends paid me a visit.  

Kim and I have been colleagues, housemates, roommates, traveling companions, and more for almost 9 years.  I love laughing at the fact that before I knew her she was a Camp WinShape legend I’d heard about since 2002 and who I was nervous to talk to when I finally met her on the ropes course at Wilderness.  It was, like, maybe, my first few weeks of being a facilitator and I was paired with Kim one day while she was visiting WinShape.  I guess we were short handed for that program and the Wilderness culture was such that “legends” could come back and work a day here and there any time.  (I haven’t forgotten that the same invitation was extended to me, by a one Mr. Harter not too long ago.) So 30 minutes before the program started Kim said something like, I’ll just stand back and let you take the lead today, ok?  What?! I was so new and didn’t yet know that facilitating groups would come so natural to me and here was this outdoorsy, campy, ropes course-y LEGEND going to just watch me! But, the day went off just fine and by the end of it, Kim had convinced me to spend the summer in Kenya working at her camp.  And thus are the pivotal life-defining moments of our lives. 

It is the gifted and smart Lexi, who by grace and mercy, followed God to Kenya in 2011 speaking life into me from the very beginning of our friendship, who is now the Director of Camp BlueSky, so very dear to my heart and to Kim’s, providing strong leadership that is really making camp better than it’s ever been.  Not only is Lexi a beautiful friend that I will always cherish and be grateful for, but she encouraged me when applying for grad school and danced in her bedroom with me at midnight the night I got my acceptance email.  I couldn’t have left Kenya and Camp if she hadn’t been there.  There’s so much more I could say... 

Anyway, they made the trek to Rwanda  few weeks ago, all the way out to my little village, by way of plane, taxi, bus, and dark, wet, and muddy motorcycle ride to sleep under a mosquito net and cook noodles on the floor.  And spend time with me.  How sweet it was!

We visited Kigali... 

Kim and me at the hotel in Kigali. I'm so happy!

Kigs is way calmer than Nairobi

greeted people in my village and shopped in the market...

um, can you say rainy season?

yes, the muzungu knows Kinyarwanda. it's truly amazing.

ok, we shopped at two markets

went out to Gisenyi to sit by Lake Kivu... 

I forgot the stats, but there's tons of methane beneath this lake.  Enough to electrify the whole country for a long time. It's just real hard to get out.  But don't worry, they're on it.

PCV's aren't allowed to swim here because we could contract schistosomaisis.  But, who's scared of schisto? 

climbed Mt. Bisoke, one of the volcanoes in the Virunga chain... 

we're so clean and happy pre-hike

please look at the trail. and this was NOT the hard part.

SUMMIT!

there's a lake beneath that mist.  half of it belongs to DR Congo.

                                                 

and here we are so glad to be done and wondering why we thought this would be fun. please note our feet.  this was a source of entertainment for our guides all along the way.

and we talked and talked and talked about all we’d missed in each other’s lives in the last year.  I know I’m so blessed to have such good friends.  I pray everyone can know friendship like this.  

Oh, and KARIBU MURWANDA (Welcome to Rwanda)!!! I will host you just as well. :)