There is a tiny grove of coniferous
trees along a stretch of dirt road about a two hour walk into the heart of my
sector here in Rwanda. It is right after a village which I do not care for very
much, riddled with gawking men and the shouts of “muzungu” always announcing my
arrival. No matter how many times I correct, explain, scold, plead or ignore,
it is always the same experience. Right afterwards, however, I pass this grove
of trees, and momentarily it smells like what I remember home to smell like. It
has been two years since I stood amongst the pine trees of Oregon and oh how I
miss it. So I pass this grove, orange needles littering the ground beneath the
trees. For just a moment I am in a universal place, not Rwanda, not Oregon, I
am simply happy and associating this place with so many wonderful and happy
memories. The experience lasts only a minute each time I pass by, but it
consistently re-centers me and no matter how I feel, I am then happy, and more
ready to face whatever comes my way. That’s a pretty great sense memory, if you
ask me.
Recently I have spent some time
FINALLY visiting some other volunteers in other places throughout Rwanda. My
first trip was through the forest, to the other side. Being that I live right
on the edge of the forest, on the main road, it’s mildly absurd that it took me
almost two years to simply pass through it to the other side… but it did, and I
finally made it. I went to visit my friend Kate in a place called Nyamasheke
first. She lives by the district office, next to Lake Kivu. Her site was very
beautiful and very friendly. We went to the market together and walked around a
bit. It was beautiful although way too hot for me, although everything seems
that way anymore. I miss air conditioning! It was really wonderful to see how
another PCV, someone that I care about has integrated into their community and
made it very much a home. People love her in her village, and they outwardly
respect her. It was nice to see such positivity towards others in my group
after our almost two years here.
After a couple days, Kate and I
traveled south of her to a place called Mushaka, where two other volunteers
live (Claire from H4, the health group after ours and Tim from the Education 3
group, which is the same group as my site mate). We arrived and they fixed a
really awesome red curry lunch for us. Shortly thereafter we embarked on a 4
hour round trip hike to the border between Rwanda and Congo. It was really nice
to wander through their village, although somewhat strange to see how they
interact with their community versus Kate and I. There are consistent phases,
emotionally and otherwise, for PCVs and it’s always interesting to hear what others
(outside of your own group) say or see the things that they do. Sometimes even
talking to my site mate, I am rendered somewhat speechless because we are in
such different places mentally. But Tim and Claire, and Kate are all awesome,
so the trip was great.
We walked to the cliffs overlooking the
river that divides the two places, and it was so beautiful, although somewhat
saddening too. Congo, or DRC, is such a depressing place to me, a pained place,
and somewhat seemingly impossible to help. So sitting on the cliff side
overlooking the beauty that is Congo, it just made me sad that somewhere so
beautiful can have so much death, rape, and pain. The Rwandan perch overlooking
the river was so peaceful and satisfying though, and the walk there and back were
both so immensely beautiful, and it was done with great people.
From here, Kate and I traveled on to
Butare where we spent a few days and prepared for the PC regional meeting.
Finally, I made it back to my home and my village, and it was so nice. Although
I am happy to see other parts of Rwanda, it’s always nice to return to my home.
The following week I finally made it to Whitney and Jake’s site in the sector
just south of mine, Kivu. To get there, I walked the 22 kilometers to Shaba
cell, the furthest community in my sector. It’s a beautiful walk, and not too
strenuous. This trip to Shaba was amazing and so heartwarming. Lots of people
along the way knew who I was, were happy to see me and made me feel loved and
like I was home. It is such a strong reminder of where I was two years ago,
relative to where I am now, and how I perceive my communities value of me. Once in Shaba, I
caught a moto to Kivu, a short but seemingly perilous journey. I met Whitney at
their local secondary school, where I watched enthusiastically as she worked to
“fluoride” all 1,300ish kids in the primary school. This is just one of the
many amazing projects that Whit and Jake have done at their site, including soy
projects, and water tank construction. It’s amazing to see all the volunteers
engaging in their projects, and to relate them to my service and what I have
done, or what projects I would of liked to have done. Granted, if I could in
two years, I think would try to do everything. But, I got off to a slow start.
Without much direction, I jumped in and surprisingly, I still got a few great
projects in, and I became a part of a place, that seemed impossible to become a
part of. The following morning I mildly helped Whit with the fluoride project,
individually painting fluoride onto the teeth of 1,300 children… seems kind of
crazy right? It’s a pretty amazing project. 
Finally I returned home, just in time to
head off to another wedding. This wedding was between Desire, Nick’s roommate,
and Bibiane, a great woman who used to live in my sector, then moved. Along
with two other Canadians working temporarily at Kitabi College of Conservation
and Environmental Management (KCCEM), Nick’s School, I played a mild role in
the wedding, although I think we were mostly just window dressing (or however
the expression goes). As normal, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, but
we played along and everyone got a few laughs out of us. After the wedding, I
spent a few days with my host family, for the first time since my dad was here.
It was so great to see them and catch up, and be able to converse even more
than ever before.
As I get closer to the end of my
service, I find myself being more reflective than I seem to normally be,
drawing parallels between the world I remember to the one the I am in now. With
my host family recently, these parallels became relatively inseparable. I sat
in the kitchen with my host mother watching her fry French fries in oil,
sizzling as she drops a new batch in, watching her yank her hand away quickly
so it doesn’t get burnt. I remember this exact same experience with my mom back
in the states, granted the kitchen wasn’t a mud brick building and we weren’t
cooking the fries over a camp fire, but still the experience was the same. I
watch my host sisters get ready to leave the house, grooming themselves in the
mirror several times, before accepting their appearance, as teenage girls will.
And I sit in my room as my host parents wait in the living room, worried and
angry, for their youngest to return from a non-parent sanctioned trip to the
capital. All of this could be taking place anywhere in the states right now.
I often think of the irony of US
tourists versus the mentality of foreigners in our country. I see expats here
(and everywhere) that need the pampering of a very nice hotel, a driver,
amazing food. They do not speak the language or try to engage in the culture,
but they have no qualms stopping on the side of the road and taking pictures of
random villagers, seemingly expecting everyone to cater to them (granted this
isn’t everyone of course). Then I recall so many conversations I’ve had in the
states with people who claim “if people want to come to our country, they
better speak English!” How arrogant we can be! As much as I love my culture, my
state, my country, who I am, sometimes it saddens me that all the populations that
may look up to us, really don’t know how many failings we have, and we tend to
deny them all together. That being said, I think everywhere in the world could
use much better cross-cultural education and improved lessons in tolerance and
understanding. 
Although I disagree wholeheartedly and
vehemently with the people in the United States or anywhere who discriminate
against others because of their differences, I feel as if I’m misrepresenting
our country sometimes when I say “we are all people, we are all the same,”
because I know too many people who don’t feel that way, and it saddens me
immensely. That being said, I feel so unendingly fortunate that I have had this
opportunity and have made it a part of my ever-shrinking world. I sit and
listen to the radio with my sisters as they announce the contestants for Guma
Guma Superstar a Rwandan national music competition of mostly hip hop or pop
artists. I think about what I inadvertently expected from Africa, and I see how
almost nothing was right. These people and their culture are wonderful, and I
feel and see that they have accepted me into their world. It’s an amazing
feeling that I will probably never have the chance to experience in the same
way again. Don’t mistake me, I could complain for possibly days as well (as my
parents could probably attest to) and there are things I am not going to miss
in the slightest, but I do feel so lucky to have hadthe opportunity to experience this love/hate relationship, and come out of it positive.
Peace Corps is famous for being
something that changes you, and for being the toughest job you’ll ever love.
How much I hate to perpetuate clichés and to follow the norm, but unfortunately
I very much have to agree with these ideas. Although I don’t exactly know how
all my pieces fit together, I am scared and excited to move forward and see who
I’ve become because of my two years in Rwanda. I wouldn’t change this for
anything, and I feel so happy to have done it, but would I want to do it
again?… Maybe you should all ask me in five years when I’ve forgotten all the
challenges and only remember the good things, because right now, I’m very ready
to head into whatever comes next in my life, and also to figure out how not to
leave Rwanda behind. 
