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