"I am grounded; I am humbled..."

(p.s. this was writtem a day ago...)

“Why are you downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?”

I think I was a little (a lot) downcast when I wrote that blurb of a blog post yesterday…mostly because trying to snag a dorm room to live in come January went horribly. I was lamenting about it to my friends here, who were being so sympathetic, but then one of them joked, “Oh man…your rooming…sounds like an IDP camp!”

Oh.

Snap.

I immediately stopped complaining, because egads, I have no right to whine at all! Yes, I’m currently living in the basement of a dorm no one wants to live in, with a random roommate, separated from all my friends, la la la…but really, how far away from my friends will I be? Five minutes max. And, I’ll have hot showers. And a snacks-shelf in my room. And a bookshelf, come to think of it. With books. And more clothes than I will ever need. And more pillows than I will ever need (did I mention my floor-mattress in the Mzu wasn’t accompanied by a pillow?). And heating and AC. And so so so so many more things that I so easily take for granted.

I feel really silly for being “downcast” about such a ridiculous thing as a dorm room when I’ve seen so many legitimately disturbing things this semester… When I get to that dorm room of mine, I’m going to plaster it with pictures and names and notes from this experience, to remind myself: You are blessed. You are privileged. You have no right to complain, and every reason to rejoice.

That’s the truth.

“Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him,

My Savior and my God.”

Not gonna lie, though, I’m a tad concerned about reverse culture-shock. We had a little debrief before we fled Kampala (well, we really fled Gulu…thank you, pneumonic plague), and we talked a lot about challenges we’re going to face when we get home. So, I’d like to take this moment to formally apologize to anyone who experiences Bitter Betty Mary back in the States. Bitter Betty Mary grumbles about materialism and NGOs and cultural insensitivity and ignorance and college kids who waste their money and educations…and probably comes off sounding very self-righteous and jaded in the process. I DO NOT want to be bitter about things in America, but so far I have seen a bit of that jadedness come out in conversations…and I sincerely apologize if that continues when I get home. Please be patient with me.

But you know what’s fantastic? I have hope that God is bigger than my bitterness. Seriously, if anyone had the right to be jaded and world-weary, it was Christ—but he met all of us ignorant, selfish people with absolute, undiluted love. I trust He’ll help me do the same (and that He’ll forgive Bitter Betty Mary when/if she strikes again). God is good.

Also, even though I’ll be back on American soil in 3-ish days, I’m sure I’ll still be blogging here. (Especially since I’ll actually be able to post pictures and videos!!!)

More things to expect from me when I get back:

Instead of nodding yes, I will be raising my eyebrows. I can’t stop it. It’s really sort of a problem.

I’m rather tan. Like, an ethnicity darker. Boda drivers in Gulu kept asking me if I was from Spain (score!). However, I’ve yet to discover if my “tan” is actually ingrained dirt, which is quite possible… I might be back to my normal Caucasian-ness after a vigorous shower. We’ll see.

After four months studying other things, I think I’ve forgotten how to speak Spanish and play piano. BOOOOOO Radley.

Friends and Fam—you will be receiving the biggest hugs ever in a very short while. These hugs will probably be paired with high pitched noises coming from somewhere within the very core of my happy soul…Consider yourselves forewarned.

Jmary

What?!

My life is a mess. A beautiful, but ridiculous mess.

Case in point: I'm in eastern Uganda right now (Mbale) trying desperately (and unsuccessfully) to register for housing next semester. I climbed a mountain today. And sat on top of a water fall. And I finished my research paper. It's 48 pages long. I'm supposed to be in Gulu, but I'm (obviously) not. Why? Unconfirmed ebola and confirmed pneumonic plague outbreak. Evacuation ensued. I was devastated.

Ayayayaii. I don't think I'm ready to return home in 3 days.

So much more to be said,
Mary

The Mzu*

At the moment, it’s 7:45 on a Sunday morning. I set my alarm for 6:00 so I could do some ISP work before church, but having successfully killed my alarm, that did not happen…and that setback in productivity has quickly spiraled into me writing a blog.

Have I mentioned that I love my house? I’m sitting on the back porch right now, and well, let me just show you:

Backyard!

I would love to do a little photo-essay of my house (and housemates) but alas, that might not come to fruition with the amount of research (and writing) that is looming on the horizon… But I’d love to show you the neighborhood kids who shimmy up our papaya trees to collect fruit, our Tweety Bird and Minnie Mouse mattresses that are arranged on the floor, the glorious amount of stars you can see at night, the huts across the way, the yellow flowers that dot our fences, and the meals we concoct (sans the stove, which broke!). Last night’s dinner was an assortment of vegetable samosas, pineapple and tomatoes. Other personal favorites of mine are bread and honey for breakfast, beans & rice take-away, and green apples—anytime.

Speaking of meals. Thanksgiving. Was. AWESOME. I have really gifted housemates who got inspired and whipped up the most amazing feast for all of us…on a charcoal stove no less! Our dear Ugandan friend, Paul, slaughtered two chickens for us (GIT IT), Jason made stuffing (BRAVO) and a group of chicas talentosas made vegetable soup, spaghetti, mashed potatoes, cow peas, garlic bread, fruit salad, salad salad, and meringue (BELLISIMO!). We all sat at a long table like one big fam, and sigh, it was lovely. And after that dinner, we won quiz night at a local bar! AMERICA FOR THE WIN. (juuuuuuust kidding.)

In other news: I love research. Well, maybe not so much research, but I love my research topic. I think I could spend a whole year—at least—digging my teeth into it, so I definitely know that my findings are going to be rather premature. I suppose what I love about researching dance (and dance therapy) though is that I’ve met some extraordinary people, and really fantastic kids because of it. Even people not directly associated with my research at all (like my beans & rice guy, Ibra, or my favorite boda-driver, Kenneth) I only met because my research caused my life to intersect with theirs. Bahhhh, it’s going to be hard to leave them all.

Sometimes, I wish I could live in the Mzu long-term, especially because I know it’s going to be really hard to go back to Wake. My work schedule here means making lots of little adventurous journeys to obscure huts to find contacts, building relationships with interviewees, and dancing. I’m sort of nervous about how I’ll do when work means memorizing facts and taking tests… Boo.

Ok, this is a strange turn of mood. I fully intended to just show you my backyard, because it’s beautiful, not get all mopey about leaving Uganda. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited to get back home soon. I just wish I could stuff a lot of things (and a lot of people) in my suitcase to bring back with me J

Fun facts to make this blog post worth your time:

I ate a grasshopper the other day.

I helped build a fire pit in our backyard to make ramen noodles. It was hard work. Irony, much?

Currently, my housemate is cutting the grass. With a machete.

And…uh…I was in a Ugandan music video. It was ridiculous. The link can be found on the lovely Chase Taylor’s blog: http://chasinguganda.blogspot.com/2010/11/welcome-to-uganda-shortest-post-yet.html

You’re welcome.

Much love,

Mary

*We have dubbed our house the Mzu—a play on the words Mzungu and Zoo—because lots of neighborhood chillens stand at our front gate and stare at us like we are particularly interesting animals. Hence the house being the Muh-Zoo. It is a wonderful place :D

A Brief Aside

I don't know if I mentioned this before...but I'm currently doing an independent research project. Formal lectures ended for me back in Kampala, and now, I'm exploring (wait for it)

"The Impact of Traditional Acholi Dance and Contemporary Breakdance on the Lives of War-Affected Youth in Northern Uganda""

Mouthful of a title, but it basically boils down to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPn6aM2slPw&feature=related

plus this:
http://vimeo.com/11938213

and a little bit of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUAxDAJa-ro

And what does me researching look like?

Like this.

Experiential learning, baby! Participant observation, what whaaaaaat!!!

:) mary

So, I'll walk with you in the shadowlands, till the shadows disappear.

 November. November?!

How in the world is it here already?! I couldn’t be more surprised about this Speedy-Gonzales-passage-of-time. I’m going to blame my ignorance of all-things-November on the fact that the weather hasn’t changed at all during my time here. It’s been a perpetual summer, and every day brings the same glorious thing: I wake up to sunshine and go to sleep with the rain. Sometimes, during dinner, we have remarkably monsoon-ish storms with wild spurts of pink lightning…which are fully capable of ripping tin roofs off of houses! My homestay house stayed intact, however. I’m pretty sure I heard a cat being flown off our roof once, though…Crazy.

Speaking of my homestay, my last day with them was on Tuesday…and I’m so sad to leave them. True, trying to do research whilst living with them would be near impossible, but if I was just living life in Gulu (rather than trying to live life in a studious manner), I would want to stay with them for much longer. But, my average day with the fam left no room to do schoolwork. Instead, I would arrive home from school around dinnertime, sit around the neighbors’ fires while everyone cooked (they gave up on teaching me to cook, although I did learn how to make a decent cup of African tea). Then, I’d eat with the fam until I thought I would puke (they got real hardcore near the end about making me fat), watch more dubbed over soaps, take my second bucket bath of the day, have some heart-to-heart time with Hedwig and then—as Hedwig says—sleep like a baby. [I actually moved out of my Mom’s house and into a room with Hedwig, which I loved. Every morning with her went the same way: I would be still sleeping like a baby, and before my alarm went off at 7, I would hear Hedwig’s voice break through my unconsciousness saying, “Marrrrrrria!? Good morrrrrning!”

“mumble mumble, good morning Hedwig! mumble mumble”

“Marrrrrrria? How are youuuuu?”

“So! Good!”

And the day would begin!]

 Highlights of the homestay that I really should expand on but lack the time/mental capacity to do so now include: the time I almost got married (apparently they were negotiating my dowry in the living room); the time I spazzed out like no other and dropped my cell-phone-as-flashlight in the latrine (OOPS); the time I went to church with our neighbor, Tata Arnold (Baby Eva’s dad); the time I taught the neighborhood how to pirouette; the homestay farewell party, etc. etc. And I will surely have more Gulu-Family stories; I’m moving into a house with 11 other SIT kids when I get back, (woo!!!) but seeing as my host-family lives two doors down from Coffee Hut, I’ll most likely see them every other day or so. For now, though, I’m in

KAMPALA!

Can I just say—getting here was a struggle. We started our 6 hour expedition from Gulu to Kampala in our two faithful matatus (i.e. four-row vans), Lucy and Gus. Lucy’s usually the Debbie-Downer of our trips. On our trip back from Baker’s Fort (Wikipedia it!), Lucy got stuck in the mud and we had to recruit a whole village (really, a whole village) to push us free… Then, Lucy just plain broke down and we almost had to pull her to the next town with the villagers’ rope. She’s such a drama queen of a vehicle. But, on the way to Kampala, Lucy was golden. Huzzah! However, GUS died a horrible, horrible car-death. Meaning, instead of taking the drive in two buses as planned, we had to strap our luggage to Lucy’s roof and cram 18 people into Lucy’s four rows. Please, take a moment to visualize this.... Can’t quite picture it? Well, at one point I was sitting/lying in a question mark shape (feet touching the roof of the matatu and legs in the air) because leg-room failed to exist, while Achsah, on my right, tried to alleviate the situation by sticking her feet out the window… And while trying to manage how to position elbows and knees with Achsah and David (on my left), I thought, “This must be what if feels like to be triplet…in the womb.” Or as Dani, sitting in front of me, said, it was “experiential learning: what it feels like to be an illegal immigrant.” But we made it to Kampala, and I’ve regained feeling in my legs. All is well J

The city seems so different from when I first arrived here—much more manageable and much more delightful. Also, since my first post, I’ve had seven marriage proposals so far (all in one especially auspicious day), I’ve probably heard muzungu about 2780932 times, and the traffic here is no longer intimidating. Also, last night I went clubbing with the SIT group and the Nicest Ugandan Man I’ve Ever Met. So fun. I was long overdue for some dancing, and the eclectic mix of music at the club (which ranged from Ke$ha to Blink-182 to the Killers [yes, we interpretive danced to “Human”]) was just the right amount of absurd to be enjoyable. Oh Kampala, I really do like you.

Kampala seems even livelier than usual at the moment, thanks to the up-coming elections. I think local elections are happening now, and the Big-Kahuna Presidential Election is happening in February, when the current President (Museveni) will go up against seven opposition candidates. In preparation for February, the streets are filled with cars plastered with political posters, all beeping their horns and making good use of their vuvuzuelas… They are also big trucks loaded down with people—all with stereos strapped to them—that serve the same purpose, and to me, they look like giant dance parties on wheels. On the one hand, I absolutely love this party-for-politics atmosphere, because everyone seems so enthusiastic and hopeful about the political process.

On the other hand, I have become completely, utterly, hopelessly disillusioned with politics since I arrived in Uganda. Seriously, I have no faith in the political system here, and I doubt many Ugandans do either. That’s the tragic thing about it: crowds of people are dancing on top of politically-themed buses, but then people are also shaking their heads, telling us that the election will surely be rigged…it is no secret that the current government has a strangle-hold on the power here, even if they do so under the guise of democracy. Seriously, Museveni will only step down if and when he wants to, and from the look of things in Kampala—where every spare surface is yellow-wall-papered with Museveni’s sunny campaign posters—he’s not planning on stepping down anytime soon…if anytime at all. Add to that the fact that people seem to be joining Museveni’s party just for the financial benefits and sketchy governmental handouts, and that northern Uganda (where I live) is still crippled by an ongoing civil war, one that Museveni’s government has consistently failed to end for a good twenty-four years, and Uganda appears to be in a very troubling place indeed.

The implications of all this are staggering to me. What happens when someone comes to power, loses favor, and refuses to relinquish their once-elected position via questionable means? Scary things: coups; corrupt back-room deals; blood-on-hands. Uganda’s never had a peaceful exchange of power, and the most terrifying thoughts in my head are about what will happen in 2011, and then, in the election after that. If Museveni doesn’t step down in a (miraculously) free and fair election, then that means he will either puppet-master one of his pals into his old position (i.e. corruption wins again) or there will be a coup. There will be fighting. There will be people dying. And I hate that. If Museveni—or any other political force—takes/keeps power through violence (whether that manifests itself through explicit fighting or covert intimidation) I will interpret that move as thus: the people in power care more about said power, and therefore themselves, than they care about an entire country. They’d rather silence the opposition than give up hearing their voice parroted back to them by their people; they’d rather have “relative peace” and their own security than a real, lasting stability in their country. In that case, greed, fear and individual selfishness would win out over truth, justice and the common good. And while that sentence sounds very vague and theoretical, I know it means very serious, tangible things here—radio stations and newspapers being shut down, censorship causing people to lose their jobs, disgruntled constituents rioting, the government retaliating, and inevitably, people getting killed.

I’m not okay with that.

And the saddest thing is, Uganda’s not unique in this regard. Even Rwanda, which at first seemed like the Holy Land to me when contrasted with the blatant corruption in Uganda, is still rife with eyebrow-raising issues of governmental shadiness, and if I dwell on it for too long, I become amazingly bitter. I suppose I’m not just disappointed in the political systems here, though. It goes deeper than that. I think I’m disappointed in humanity—how we (yes, we, not just the Idi Amin’s and the Museveni’s, but all of us) so easily choose our own safety and success over others’, even if that means doing horrible things in the process. Studying here has shined a spotlight on that awful human tendency for wrong, and it makes me want to shake the dust of this place off my shoes and make a hasty retreat.

But then, I remember—this place has gotten under my skin, and really, how can I wash my hands of it? For example, the other night Hedwig and I were watching Sometimes in April (a movie about the ’94 genocide in Rwanda which I definitely recommend), and I was slammed by just how much more personal the movie was to me now. The movie is set in Kigali, where I stayed, and everything looked so achingly familiar…And I kept picturing the faces of my Rwandan family and friends intermingled with all the actors’ faces, and I just started bawling. I was a hot mess. And I realized, I think I’ve been changed by being here more than I’ve even begun to comprehend. I think, when you’re planted in a place for a period of time, and come to know (and love) the people you find there, their problems become your problems in some way, and in a way that hurts much deeper than it would have if you had never established roots in their soil. Does that make sense? I’m not sure if I can really even articulate this, but all I know, is that there is no way I can survey the political scene in Uganda/Rwanda in a removed, “Oh, that’s really a shame; I hope they get a fair election” kind of way. I will be down on my knees crying for some kind of miracle, because I know their names, and I recognize these faces:

Baby Eva and Little Arnold

Nancy (rain-friend)

My sister Vanessa and my Mama

Hedwig!

My brother Morris

My pal Victor

"Let's make silly faces!"

 They make every cold shower, bug bite, cockroach battle, homesick moment, and inner tantrum over politics/human nature infinitely worth it. 

And I don't think I could forget about them even if I wanted to.

Mary

(p.s. This post was written throughout several days as I procrastinated yet another ten pager. Now, I'm back in Gulu, having just moved into my new HOUSE! I'm in love. Stay tuned for me waxing poetic about its spacious rooms and papaya trees.)

Feast for the Eyes--Rwanda!

green tea and coffee at Shokola.

Oh yeah, we ate lunch over a waterfall one day.

view from my window at Lake Kivu

Sunrise at Lake Kivu!

DA BATS!

View from Bat Cave.

Birrrrrrrrrrds.

My friends Allie and I hanging on for dear life on the bat cave.... Notice my hand clinging to the rock... If I wasn't...I'd be rolling down the hill into the water. SO FUN.

More soon!

Hallel-ooo…oooo…eeee-yah.

Friends, I’m in Uganda!!! Gulu to be exact—a small town that houses a ridiculous amount of NGO’s, free-roaming cattle and lovely, friendly Acholi-Ugandans!

BUT FIRST!

A moment of reflection on my last days in Rwanda and the transition to Uganda: Had some last-minute bonding time with the host fam…which means I didn’t get any schoolwork done. Am I sorry about that? Not in the least. But it is a challenge to balance living in a family and sucking out all the marrow of the culture that you can via that family—with writing a 10 page paper. Consequently, I spent my last days in Rwanda forsaking the paper, and instead went to “take a Fanta” with my family. We went to this restaurant, had some chicken and potatoes, watched people lip-sync and one-legged men dance…you know, the usual. My final day I took many, many videos of Kayvon dancing (videos that WILL be on this blog one day or another so that you can all appreciate his innate adorableness), soaked up all the little-brother hugs I could and tried convincing Morris to come visit me in Gulu. I think I was 78% successful.

THEN, I traveled on to Mbarara (Uganda) where in the midst of rosy “Aw, I love Rwanda” nostalgia that 10-pager finally caught up to me…annnnnnd I experienced my first all-nighter in Africa! Surprisingly, it was the best all-nighter I’ve ever had! Caitlyn (from the previous post) and I shared a room in the Mbarara hotel—the “no-sleeping room”—invested in some Red Bulls, and seriously, all was well. As the sun was rising the next morning, I felt fantastic! Usually, post-all-nighter Mary looks like she’s on crack, and ends up drooling everywhere, but post-African-all-nighter Mary took a quick cup of Star Café (instant coffee) and barreled through the next 40-something hours with limited looniness! And no drool whatsoever.

We left Mbarara the day after the all-nighter, and as we arrived in Gulu, we were greeted by grass-roof huts and baboons (THEY ARE SO BIG) frolicking on the road. Definitely not Kigali anymore! We had orientation etc. etc. and then moved into our homestays. I was extremely lucky and my house is in Gulu-town (rather than in “the bush” with the grass huts), and it's essentially two rooms connected to my new host mom’s dress shop. My new host momma is much older than my Rwandan one and all her children are grown and out of the house…however, the homestay coordinator failed to mention this detail… All he said was “She has six or seven children!” So when I arrived at our house, I thought that I was greeted by two of my host-sisters… It was pouring waterfall-esque rain at the time, and these two girls were running around our backyard in the downpour, excitedly inviting me to do the same. So, of course, I go join them! I’m then absolutely soaked in maybe 3.4 seconds. Like, I-just-stepped-out-of-a-lake soaked. Meanwhile, one of the girls is legitimately swimming in the rain on the ground, and I’m helping the other girl fill up jerry-cans with rain water….when I look up and see my host-mom standing in the doorway.

She looks very confused. Mouth agape. Tilted head. Furrowed brow. Not mad, but probably thinking she got the crazy mono (the Acholi version of muzungu), especially since those girls were not my sisters, but just random neighbors. Oops.

At this point, I figured I should at least embrace the crazy title; I grabbed a bar of soap and washed my hair with the girls. Shower in the rain = best beginning to a homestay ever. [Also, on account of my rain-escapades, all the neighbors know me! There are my rain-friends, Nancy and Lucy, Mama Esther and her three boys (Richard, Arnold and Hudson—who is almost a Kayvon v. 2), Baby Eva (who is scared of white girls) and my host cousins, James (who taught me how to play cards and always says, “Ah! You are waking the snakes!” when I win) and sweet Paul-Agape, who always washes my hands and irons my clothes. Note: In Acholi/Ugandan culture, the wife or daughters in the house usually kneel in front of the other family members before meals and wash their hands with hot water. However, my momma is just beastly, and in our house, the boys wash the girls’ hands. Word!]

Anyway, Saturday night, after an excellent birth-day filled with Acholi-lessons, Chinese food and the most amazing birthday surprises from back home, a new character arrived on the scene of my life: my host-sister/cousin/vague-relative-who-is-called-my-sister-but-isn’t-really.

Her name is Hedwig.

She is awesome.

[Fun fact: one of the SIT-ers’ Rwandan host-mother had a baby back in Kigali and the family let her name it. She chose the amazing name of Atticus, but she also seriously considered naming it Albus Dumbledore. So, when my sister said, “Yes, my name is Hedwig,” I nearly died with happiness over the sheer irony.]

Sunday, Hedwig took me to her church. Question: why do we not dance more in church in America? We are seriously missing out, letmetellyou. Hedwig’s church was a dancing, jumping, arm-in-arm-spinning happyhappy church—basically Nehemiah 8:10 epitomized. SO FUN. After church, I helped—meaning I watched helplessly—Hedwig cook lunch [cow intestines, greens, potatoes] and after eating [incorrectly with both my hands, rather than just the right one, leading my family to believe that I’m ambidextrous], my mother says, “Dinner is yours.” I thought this meant, “Dinner is yours, so you will eat” but it actually means “Dinner is yours, so you will cook.” Ruh-roh.

Panic ensued, and eventually Hedwig ended up cooking most of it, because I am utterly lame at cooking, especially on a charcoal fire without pot-holders. Also, 2 ½ year-old Hudson can cut tomatoes better than I can. According to the neighborhood, I also don’t know how to correctly wash clothes or take showers or file my nails. It’s incredibly humbling, for sure. If they all weren’t so nice, I’d probably sulk about it, but every time they exclaim, “Oh! You do not know how?!” it’s usually followed by one of their pet-names for me, my favorites being La Mono (“The White One”) and María—which is usually accompanied with Hedwig singing “No one can solve a problem like Maríaaaa” from the Sound of Music!

Furthermore, the neighborhood girls, Hedwig and Paul-Agape have devised a collective plan to fatten me up. When I get home from school before dark, everyone’s cooking on their own little charcoal fires in the courtyard, right? But what I love about the culture here is that while everyone is pretty poor, they’re still remarkably generous: everyone borrows everyone else’s sugar or cups or potatoes, and I’m invited to share everyone’s dinner before mine is ready. For example, last night I was trying feverishly to cut up green peppers [in the dark], when Nancy brings out posho (i.e. fluffy flour + water), beans, little fishies and avocado to share with me. Then followed neighbors’ potatoes, avocado/passion fruit juice (SO GOOD) and groundnut sauce (i.e. Ugandan peanut butter that I totally swear allegiance to). They also made me pet a live-turkey, but that’s another story. Anyway, whenever I would try to slink away to go inside to eat my own dinner with the family, my food-forcing friends would say, “Oh! Just finish this plate; then you go.” I’m an obedient girl. Hence, I might just gain 20 pounds in these two weeks here. As Hedwig told me last night, “We are going to make you fat before you go. Yes Marííííííaaaaaa, you must get fat!!”

A final word of praise regarding Hedwig: This week has been intensely stressful with financial aid, class registration and research-proposal things spilling into my otherwise delightful existence, and yesterday was absolutely feverish. I spent a mind-boggling time trying to sort things out at the café next to my house (where I am right now!) but instead just sort of burrowed myself into a hole of frustration. Wah wahhh. I went home hoping to rest; I greet my mother, comment on the approaching rain-clouds…to which she replies, “Yes, it’s going to rain soon, so you should go hurry up and cook the dinner.” I laugh, since obviously she’s joking, yeah? Wrong. She’s dead serious, and starts yelling, “No no!! Go cook! It’s going to RAIN!” And all I wanted to say was, “Lady, look. Wake Forest thinks I can get online and coordinate things with them when I really really really can’t, I have no concrete idea what I’m going to start researching in two weeks, and I’ve been peeing in a hole for the past week. AN LATIN KWON! I AM A STUDENT! Not a cook!”

Instead I just squeaked and threw up my arms in a very turkey-about-to-be-slaughtered way, and ran to the courtyard to “help” Hedwig with dinner. After a bit, she turned to me and said, “Mary, what is bothering you?” [This was impressive because I was pretty sure I was smiling at all the neighbors’ cute babies at this point]. I brushed off her question with “Oh! I am fine! I’m just a little hot. I think it’s just the weather.”

However, Hedwig heard “the devil” rather than “the weather,” (HA) so she said, “Ah, Mary, do not let him bother you! He does not want you to be happy; when you are happy, he will say, ‘Oh, that María, how can I wreck her joy?’ But do not let him disturb you. Do not be stressed.” I didn’t bother correcting her, because really, her answer was really applicable. I’ve been overjoyed to be here, and all the stress that’s distracted me from that joy is not God-sent for sure. I mean, it’s absolutely clear in Scripture that we’re called to rejoice always, do not worry about tomorrow, and cast all your anxiety on Him because he cares for you—rather than wring our hands. Hedwig added that, “God is your Maker, not the devil. So, the devil doesn't care for your peace and joy, but God does. And God is in control—and he loves you. He knows what you need before you ask him, and he works all things for your good—so let all of that worry melt. You do not need it.”

For Hedwig—who, by the way, is an orphan and has lost all her brothers and sisters—to encourage me was extremely humbling. My hurdles are really insignificant in comparison to her struggles...so if I ever start complaining on this blog, please replace my “wah wahhhs” with [Hedwig-style] “halle-loooooo-yahhhh!”’s! 

We are inconceivably blessed, friends, and we are not alone. 

“The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

:) Mary

"It's like being in an airport: running to wait; waiting to run."

....so sayeth my fellow SIT-er, Robbie, when describing how the academics of this program feel. I think he's so right--now, trying to juggle goodbyes and homestay presents and soaking up the last bits of Rwanda AND this now-seven-page paper, I feel like I'm running...but only to wait. Waiting = the long spurts of learning by experience, taking notes but not tasking tests, and general, delightful tomfoolery. But then BAM! HARDCORE WORK ALL UP IN THIS PLACE! Here's more thoughts on this subject, from two nights ago:

The Scene: 9:00 PM, Thursday night, attempt #2 at intense studying/paper-writing.

Motivational soundtrack?

Check. [Guster’s “Come Downstairs and Say Hello,” soon to be followed by an eclectic mix of The Avett Brothers, Liszt, Backstreet Boy classics, Hindi worship music, and of course, the Gladiator Soundtrack.]

Caffeine?

Not so much. Farida, our house girl, did just bring me a cup of her perfectly-sugared Rwandan tea (another thing I’m going to miss), but it’s decaf, I’m afraid.

Procrastination?

Welcome to this blog post.

Looks like tonight’s going to be awesome.

10:00 PM: Paper-writing has commenced! A sample (and by sample, I mean all that I’ve written so far): Straddling a dark past and a foggy future, present-day Rwanda occupies a unique position in history. Sixteen years after genocide unraveled Rwanda’s political, social, economic and judicial fabric, the country has begun to sew itself back together, but with seemingly mismatching threads. The reconstruction of their justice system, for instance, is an interweaving of almost incompatible solutions to Rwanda’s need for prosecution and peace-building: the “hybrid structures” of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), domestic Rwandan courts, and traditional gacaca gatherings, while very different animals, are nonetheless employed concurrently in Rwanda’s push for justice, reconciliation and national progress (Clark, 2007).

You know what? I’m sort of excited to write this paper [as I’m ironically not writing it] because really, how cool is it to write about something that’s so achingly relevant here? Por ejemplo, I was riding the bus to town yesterday, and a Rwandan university student sitting next to me asked me what I was studying…and when I said “justice systems in Rwanda,” he started excitedly bobbing his head, telling me how valuable that research is…and then proceeded to pay my bus fare, because I am “studying something worthwhile.” How motivating is that??

Edward, from Gikondo’s neighborhood bus, this paper is for you.

11:00 PM: I love Caitlyn Sass Jackson, fellow SIT-er and fellow all-nighter-er (?) We’re both dedicated to this sleep-deprivation/work-production schedule, and she’s faithfully sending me motivational texts every hour. So encouraging! In other news: I think it’s time for a mini-Clif bar break! “Nutrition for Sustained Energy”—let’s hope their slogan is right!

11:25 PM: Note—Clif bars—even mini ones—work significantly better than cassava in the whole staying-awake-department. In case you were wondering.

12:11 AM: Just had a Midnight Dance Party inspired by Caitlyn’s texts. Best long-nighter-party-from-a-distance ever! PS. Clif bars = such a win; my energy is so sustained right now, it’s not even funny.

1:00 AM: Energy still amazingly sustained. Studying Kinyarwanda. I think I might curl up in my queen-sized bed though (I need to fully appreciate its luxuriousness before the beds—and rats apparently—of Gulu) and just get up at 6:00 to go to school early.

1:12 AM: Queen-sized bed, you feel nice.

(Now, seriously, on to this paper)
Mary

So, I tried to pull a half-all-nighter last night.

Did not work as successfully as at Wake. Not by a long shot. I have a Kinyarwanda test tomorrow, and then a 10 page paper on Rwanda's justice systems due Monday...so I need to get hardcore reeeeeeeal quick! However, the night went like zis:

8:00 PM: Arrive at home and quickly consume rice and beans and cassava.
8:30 PM: Tell the kids I'm overwhelmingly tired and run to my room to begin the studying/writing process. Kids try to dissuade me because telenovelas are on. I stay strong. Head to room.
9:00 PM: Read lots of articles in preparation of paper; try to motivate myself with songs from Glee.
9:30 PM: Realize I've just been singing the Glee songs, and not really working. Switch to Kinyarwanda.
10:30 PM: Realize I'm no longer singing the Glee songs, or studying Kinyarwanda, but am, in fact, lying face down on my computer. Oops.
10:35 PM: Sneak into the kitchen to eat cassava, thinking that this will wake me up.
11:00 PM: Fall alseep with cassava all over my face. Wahhhh wahhhh.

11:00 PM??? Really?!?! That's not even AM status!!! But it's ok, because apparently Rwanda has Red Bull. All shall be well.

Anyway, once I reach Uganda next week (AHHHHH RWANDAAAA WHY DO I HAVE TO LEAVE YOU?!?!) I promise to write a more informative and interesting blog post..For now though, I'm waiting for my taxi home, so I'll keep babbling--Things I'll Miss From Kigali: how people hiss at you when they want to get your attention (note: I will verbally demonstrate this when I get home. It's fantastic); the eyebrow-raising for "yes" (I've started doing it actually!); the themed-buses (like, the Chris Brown bus, or the Jason Derulo bus that glows blue on the inside at night, or my favorite, the pink Justin Bieber bus that only plays Justin Bieber on its absurd sound system); the chapatti-lunch lady and her young men helpers (one of whom was wearing a Wake Forest basketball t-shirt today!!! AHH!); my host brother's swagger; the fact that everyone greets me on the street like we're best pals (case in point: I bought a banana from a young man today. Hours later, I saw said young man on the street, and we had a most enthusiastic hand-shake greeting! Like, "I bought produce from you! We are now friends!!!" Love it.); the noise Kayvon makes when he tries to tickle me, which sounds like "Glickglickglickglickgleeeeek!"; my sweet waitress friend Maria from Shokola, home of The Best Wireless in Rwanda; daily pinneapple juice from Shokola; and so so so so so much more. Taxi's almost here, so... more to come from Uganda!!

<3 Mary

DOUBLE BLOG POST ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE SKY!

[From 9/28]

Oh hey there, blog. Nice to see you again! I’ve suddenly been seized by the desire to attempt an update—a daunting and formidable task—because today was so lovely that it must be shared! First, the day started with a lengthy Kinyarwanda language class from our teacher, Jean-Pierre. While I’m not crazy about the language per se, I’m definitely a Jean-Pierre fan. That man never stops smiling, and after every class he says, “Ndishimye cyane!!,” meaning “I am very happy!!” Today Jean-Pierre taught us such essentials as “Uri mwiza”—you’re beautiful—“Imvura irimo kugwa”—it’s raining—and “hari ivumbi”—there is the dust. Urakoze cyane, Jean-Pierre; uri umwarimu mwiza!

After class, we took our usual chapatti-lunch break, and then bumped our way up to College Amis des Enfants, the high school my host-brother Morris attends with the other host-siblings of my fellow SIT-ers. We all met up with our host-sibs for a tour around the school, and egads—how much do I adore my host-bro? SO MUCH! Here’s why: upon our arrival, when all the other host-sibs were crowding excitedly around us, Morris swaggered—yes, he’s got swagger—up to us, with his usual bling-bling belt holding up his sagging pants and with his school uniform’s tie loosened in such a way that said, “Sure, I’ll wear this tie, but I’m so close to rebelliously taking it off”…but as soon as I saw him and gave him my usual head-nod-eyebrow-raise hello, he started simultaneously smiling, and trying to suppress said smile with every ounce of teenage-boy-coolness he had in him…ultimately failing with a huge grin :D Gahhh, nkunda musaza banjye!

 Next, Morris introduced me to all his friends and his girlfriend—who also has swagger letmetellyou—and by that time his whole “I’m gonna be cool and act like this isn’t a big deal and totally exciting” attitude was abandoned like a bad banana! We swaggered (well, he swaggered and I more likely traipsed) all over that school, shaking lots of hands and inspecting lots of dorm rooms (and by “dorm rooms” I mean one giant cinderblock hall with bunk-beds, with every two bunk-beds separated by a short wall…giving the illusion of many rooms, but really, a hoard of students just live all together in this hallway).

Then, after your standard second-lunch of rice and beans (during which I discovered Morris could roll his r’s like a pro, so I’ve made it my personal mission to teach him Spanish ASAP), the headmaster of the school dropped the bomb that we were apparently going to have a “cultural exchange” that afternoon. Translation: cultural exchange essentially equals dance battle. We’re having a huge host-family party before we leave Rwanda in two weeks, and apparently, we’re all supposed to dance in it like one big, cross-cultural talent show. Say what now? Of course, I was secretly excited, because this meant that the Rwandans would teach us their mad-awesome traditional dance! It’s got a lot of stomping and swoopy, graceful bird-arms, so I dig it. But then, the Americans were supposed to reciprocate with “traditional American dance.” Never have I felt so lame, because American dances basically boil down to YMCA, Cotton Eye Joe, or the Macarana. We considered Bad Romance, Thriller and Single Ladies as well, but still, those have nothing on the Rwandan centuries-old traditional dance…

However, after much debate, I was somehow appointed to be the Official Teacher of the Soulja Boy to the Rwandans. Baha!! Thank you, public high school prom! It was hilarious, because I don’t know the words to the song, but I was just shout-mumble-singing it while teaching them the moves in slow-motion—picture the “youuuuuu…youuuuuu” in slow motion for maximum humor—and Morris was all, “You dance? You danced!”

Post-dance lesson, it started to rain. I know I say this every time it rains here, but it seriously was the hardest rain I’ve ever seen! So, naturally, we ran outside to do the Soulja Boy in it…and by “we” I mean the muzugus, who are a little more fascinated with rain than Rwandans, it appears! But I have to say, dancing in the rain—and subsequently running in the rain to catch a bus that’s sort of floating away from you—is absolutely delicious.

[From 10/1]                                                                   

But lo! What is THIS?

Woah now! Another blog post!? On the actual day that I’m posting it?!?! What a grand notion!!!

I’ll be speedy: I have just returned from the most beautiful place in Rwanda. Ok, clarification—the most beautiful place in Rwanda that I have personally seen.

Meet Lake Kivu.

Oh yes, friends, that’s right; the past three days have been sweet vacation days for me! SIT is wonderfully kind and, having realized that we’re probably whooped from three weeks of culture shock, cold showers and genocide lectures, they shipped us off to the paradise that is Lake Kivu!

Listen. I had two hot showers. And REAL COFFEE. Even more exciting, I went swimming in the lake (parasite-free baby!), on a fantastic boat ride to “Peace Island”—where we lounged in hammocks—and to another island called “Napoleon’s Heart” where I proceeded to climb a mountain in my bare feet and be swarmed upon by a giant…flock?...of BATS. No big deal. I also watched Fantastic Mr. Fox, ate a lot of meat on a stick (SLURP) and spent 76% of my time there guffawing with my delightful roomies, Achsah and Whitney.

As I told Apollo, our assistant academic director this morning when he asked, “And Mary, how is your day?”

“Oh my goodness, I love my life.”

Seriously, if there's one thing that I really want people to think when they hear "Rwanda," it's how astoundingly beautiful Rwanda is. I've purposefully not shared about my past out of town trip to Butare (where we went to see Genocide Memorials) on this blog, because 1) I don't think I can adequately describe the profundity of my experience in Butare in one blog post (though I'd love to talk about it face to face with anyone and everyone upon my return) and 2) Rwandans hate that Americans (or foreigners in general) only think of death when they think of Rwanda.

On behalf of all the wonderful Rwandans I've talked to here, let me tell you: Rwanda is beautiful. It is hands down the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous place I've ever seen, and the people here are fascinating and loving and joyful, and while this place and its people have problems just like every other country, I can confidently shout from the hilltops that it is a blessing and a privilege that I am here.

WHOOP!

Depending on how my papers/tests pan out, there could be pictures on here soon-ish. Posiblimente! As always, thank you SO much for your prayers and thoughts--in Kinyarwanda, I love you all; ndabakunda!

Tuzongera!

Mary

Visual Aids! Visual Aids!!!!

Without further ado, I present you with:

A Day in Mah Life...in RWANDA!

6:00 AM--Wake up! This is the view from my window.

8:10 AM: Catch a bus with my SIT neighbor, Steven

1:00 PM: Chapatti Lunch....it's a Cha-party!

9 AM-3 PM: Class. Yeah, outside. LOVE IT.

4:00 PM: Attempt to get online. Epic fail?

5:00 PM: Or surprising success?!

8:00 PM: Dinner at home, with ADORABLE Kayvon.

Most days, I have a choice in the morning... A) walk to the bus stop...

...or B) get a ride with my host fam... Oh hey, Kenny and <3 Kayvon.

But every day, I get the immense privilege of seeing these beauties too:

"I lift my eyes to the hills--where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth."

:) Mary

I hate slow Internet.

For the past hour and a half, I've been trying to upload a sweet selection of photos, annnnnnd, only one has loaded.


Thank you, Rwandan wireless.


HOWEVER, I did find The Best Wireless in Rwanda yesterday--dare I say it was even faster than Internet back home?!?!--but today I'm in a different cafe...eating a bangin vegetable samosa, so I can't complain too terribly. Here's the one picture that worked---my morning view!

7:00 AM: Oh, good morning Rwanda!

I'll try The Best Wireless in Rwanda tomorrow...we'll see what happens.

so much love,

Mary