Ducks and Cowboys

Well, I’ve been in Rwanda for almost a month now. One down, 11 or 12 (or more) to go. I’m not totally sure when I will be coming home but around a year and some change. 
     There is so much to say, so I think I’m just going to have to make a few different posts on different topics. Check back soon for updates. 

Proof of how tough I am

  I’ll just start by saying that I’m finally getting used to my new home! I’m a little homesick, but I really want to thank all my friends and family for your encouragement and love. I am truly enjoying all the e-mails and messages. You guys are so good to me and I know your prayers are working. God is really sending me graces to get through the harder parts. 

  I’m mostly all healed from the injuries I describe in the last post; however I have a pretty large scar from the Moto burn. At first I was a little bummed, but after thinking about it I have a brighter perspective. Whenever I'm back in the states and people ask how I got the scar I can say, “Oh this? I got it while riding a motorcycle... in Africa. I got a concussion the same day.” If asked for details, I can just say “What happens in Africa stays in Africa.” I already feel more rugged. 

  In addition to my body healing, my legal status is now cleared up. I finally got my visa Thursday; unfortunately, Kyle did not. We are going to have to go back to immigration again this week (this will be our 5th trip, I believe). I'm so relieved to have the visa and it is actually pretty neat. It has “missionary” stamped right on it. I feel just a little more official now that I have it. 

  My French is also still increasing although not as quickly as it was at first. It’s now progressed far enough that I am always frustrated. Before now, I knew I couldn’t speak French so I wasn’t bothered by things I couldn’t say. In fact, anything I could say was a major accomplishment. Now that I can say much more, whenever I can’t say something (which is often) I get a little frustrated. 

  I actually said something pretty embarrassing at dinner the other day. I can’t remember what the priest said, but it was something like “Why are you smiling?” (all the priests speak French so this entire conversation was in French) and I wanted to say because I was very happy. Unfortunately that isn’t what I told him. I said “Parce que je suis tres joli” (Because I am very pretty). He looked a little confused but then accepted my answer and we moved on with the conversation. Luckily, a different priest said, “I think she means ‘Je suis tres contente.’(I am very happy). Doh.

     I was talking to one of the cooks today and he is trying to learn English. He knows about as much English as I know French so we agreed to meet up after lunch and practice. We had our first dual lesson last week and it went pretty well. 

     Teaching Rwandans English can be pretty funny. Typically, Rwandans can hear absolutely no difference between L's and R's which leads to some funny moments. One of my students always signs her name "Lacher," even though her name is Rachel. Still, that doesn't stop the kids from making fun of my slightly-teeny-bit-Texan accent. The German N.G.O. workers tease me about my southern accent too! I just didn't realize that people who learned English has a second or third language had the right to make fun of a native speaker's pronunciations, but in this case it happens. 

  I think my biggest personal accomplishment of this month is getting more used to the altitude. I have just been constantly tired because of less oxygen from the altitude. I have already used my inhaler more this month than I have in the last 5 years (You didn’t know I had an inhaler? That’s because I never had to use it). Luckily, I’m starting to get a lot more energy. 

     Now that my body is feeling more acclimated, I’ve been going to play sports with the boys every day. Part of Salesian spirituality is called the Oratory. It’s where we play sports with the kids for several hours after school in order to 1. Keep them out of trouble; 2. Foster self-esteem and good morals. 

  I should clarify that when I say “play sports with the boys” I mean hang out while they play. These kids are amazing athletes! The older boys always try to get me to play basketball, volleyball, or soccer with them, but we both know they are kidding. They even smirk as they say it, the punks. 

  I usually just chat or cheer on the sidelines; however, I saw some 5 year olds playing “futball” last week and decided to go play with individuals whose skills I assumed were around my level. I was wrong. Even the five year olds were too advanced for me. I had no choice but to begin karate chopping them (without actually hitting them obviously). They loved it and we karate chopped for a couple hours until it was getting dark. 

  Another evening for Oratory, I began teaching some kids a hand slapping game. I started with three kids and the next thing I knew there were 20 kids fighting to join the circle to play. It was getting out of hand so I started doing the Hokey Pokey. The kids went nuts! They loved it. I never really liked that game even as a child, but these kids acted like it was the best game they had ever played. We then played “Duck, Duck, DUCK” for a while. I was trying to teach them “Duck, Duck, Goose,” but they couldn’t remember “goose” so they just screamed “DUCK” whenever they wanted someone to chase them. They also could not understand the concept of running once around the circle before sitting down in a seat so sometimes the two ducks would run around the circle for awhile before one leaped into the circle, often landing on other children. Next time we play, the kids may need mouth guards and shoulder pads. 

  Other than playing with the kids at the oratory, I teach every day. I’m finally getting adjusted to the earlier days. Mass is at 6:10 a.m. and classes start at 7:45. It’s hard because if I want to talk to any of my American friends then I have to stay up way past my bedtime for them to be off work or school. I’ll write about my classes in an upcoming post, but this one is already getting long and I want to get to the cowboy.

  My mornings usually have a strange start. Want to know why? I'll give you a clue.... 

Cows....

     The cows from our site get to graze on my driveway at about 7:30 every morning and I literally have to push past them to go to classes. In the spirit of solidarity, I like to imagine it’s the same thing New Yorkers have to do (except with other people).

  The cows are always getting loose, which brings me to who I've been wanting to talk about… Steven the Cowboy.

  Steven is our youngest boy. When I first arrived, I kept hearing all about The Cowboy. I was sort of picturing this 19 year old kid with a cowboy hat and boots. In reality, Steven is 7 years old, but he is the ring leader of a group of boys who are a bit older than him. His best friend is this sweetheart named Edmond. Steven is always bringing Edmond into his troublemaking. Whenever I see their little gang, I am sort of reminded of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan. Steven always orders them around and they listen to and obey him. 

The Man of the Hour

  This child has such a personality. All the boys who live in the Foyer are required to work so they learn responsibility. The rule is sort of “Don’t work, don’t eat.” Obviously, this does not apply to 7 years olds, but Steven marched himself up to the head priest and demanded a job, but not just any job. Steven wanted to be in charge of the cows! The head priest eventually agreed and has been regretting that decision ever since. 

  Steven regularly loses the cows. About once a week the cows will wander into my classroom or I will see them on the soccer fields. Whenever I see the cows wandering around unsupervised, I don’t need to ask who is supposed to be watching them. I know. 

  I don't really understand why Steven has gotten to keep his position for so long. When someone has a really short attention span, people joke that they have the attention span of a SEVEN year old. So why would you ever give one custody of 20 cows several times a week? It’s a terrible decision, but no one ever seems to learn. Still, it makes for great stories. 

  The other day I walked past the cows’ stables. Some of the boys were cleaning it out. Since they were ankle deep in cow dung, they were all wearing these thick rubber boots that went up to their knees, except... (you guessed it!). Steven was wearing flip flops. His feet and legs were covered with cow crap! I thought about making him put on boots, but I realized it would be a futile effort. He would have still found a way to get dirty, even with boots. 

  I think he just enjoys being covered in gross things. I found him in the sewer ditches with Edmond and another boy this morning on my way to Mass. I tried to get them to come to Mass with me and we walked together for awhile but when Steven saw the church, he and the other boy took off running. Edmond came inside but lost interest about 20 minutes in and ran out before I could catch him. 

  I have so many stories about Steven and his little gang and they always make me laugh. I’ll have to post more later. 

     For now, I need to wrap up, but I do want to thank everyone for reading. I never expected to have so many views and have been surprised at some of the people who have messaged to tell me they are keeping up with the blog. Actually several unexpected people wrote to me over this past week to tell me to hurry and put up a new post, so this is for you. Sorry it's been taking a while in between, life is busy here as I'm sure you can imagine. Still, it's great to hear your prayers and excitement for me. Please keep up the emails and messages. I miss you all.