Two Months and Counting

Well, today marks the anniversary of my second month in Rwanda. Rwanda now just feels like home and the days go by just like they do when I am in America, so I didn’t realize it was my second month until I saw the date as I went to post this. In some ways I feel like I have been here much longer and in others I feel like I just arrived. 

Our kids had exams this week and I’m grading for both my classes and Lionel’s since he left Monday. It was really hard for me to see him leave but it was also exciting to see him wrap up his ministry and prepare to go home. It made me think a lot about how much I will grow and change during this year and what I will be like as I pack up to leave. That being said, I am really coming into my own here in Rwanda and I’m not looking forward to leaving any time soon. I feel very settled into my new life. It’s only been two months but I already feel like a different person.

Grading has been monotonous and long (I’ve already spent at least 15 hours grading and I’m still not finished) but sometimes the kids’ answers make me laugh. In my computer class, I talked to the kids about computer viruses and how those can be brought into the computer through flask disks, CDs, DVDs, etc. For my exam, one of the questions was: “Name 3 or more things that can cause viruses.” Here was a student’s response: “HIV, AIDS, syphilis, gonorrhea.” I gave him half credit. 

As much as I laughed at first, the response made me grimly aware of just how different life is here. This student can’t even spell his own name (many of the children cannot spell their names correctly) but he can spell syphilis. And HIV and AIDS are constant fears. Rwanda actually has a pretty low HIV rate for Africa (although it is double, almost triple that of the United States) but during the genocide, HIV was used as a weapon against women so many of my boys lost their mothers or sisters to AIDS. 

On a happier note, my relationship with my boys has grown so much and I truly love each and every one of them and now I believe they truly love me. They are always coming to visit me and if something difficult is going on in their lives, they confide in me. They all call me Mary Elise or “Sista.” The marriage proposals from the boys have died down and now they treat me more like a big sister or sometimes even a mother, which is a really strange. I’m only 22 years old, but at times I feel like the mother of 150 teenagers! I spend a lot of time with them and they always have questions for me about faith or hard situations and sometimes even girls! It’s always funny when a boy tells me about the woman he loves more than life itself, because she’s usually one of my female students. I never know which of my girls are the heartbreakers, and I’m often surprised. 

Some of my older boys are getting close in age to marriage for Rwandans, so they ask me a lot of questions about marriage and picking a good wife. Although I always tell them they absolutely have to finish their education before even considering marriage, I also encourage them to spend time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament for guidance in picking their wives. I tell them that they have to prepare themselves to be holy husbands before they can find good wives. 

There is a big problem with domestic violence in Rwanda and with men leaving their wives and children, so it’s interesting to be with so many young men at the time in their lives when they are beginning to consider marriage. I hope that I catch them at the perfect time to guide them to be faithful and respectful husbands and fathers. Because I’m a woman they respect and even love, they take my advice very seriously and are always asking more and more questions. 

They also have many questions about God and faith. Some of the boys have some really bizarre or very sad ideas about God, so I always try to take the opportunity to set them straight. One boy confided in me that he knows that Jesus was a Mzungu American who had a lot of money! I almost passed out. When I told him that Jesus was from the Middle East therefor not white and by choice was certainly not rich, the child’s mouth dropped open. 

Just yesterday, another boy told me he wanted to get married or find a girlfriend. We had the standard “finish your education and prepare to be a loving husband first” discussion when he confided that he actually didn’t want to get married right now, but he just wanted someone that would love him. Then he told me that nobody loves him like I do and he asked what he will do in a year when I leave. Ugh. It was so hard to hear. I was glad to hear that he knew I loved him but it was heartbreaking to realize he believes I am the only person who does. It was even harder to realize that the few moments of time I give him a day are the only moments he feels loved that day, especially because I scold him pretty frequently. We talked for a long time about how God always has and always will love him, but the concept was difficult for him to comprehend. 

These ideas are a very common problem. The boys come to us after so much damage has already been done. Much of our time is spent trying to repair that damage these precious boys have experienced throughout their lives. What they have seen can definitely effect their faith. Some of the boys cling to Christ and bring him all of their sorrows. Actually, we have a lot of boys who end up becoming priests. However, others have a hard time picturing a loving God (or even loving people) and fall into depression. As Salesians, we have to be so patient and understanding with them. 

Some of the older boys having a good time in the classroom

Wednesday night I gave my first “Goodnight.” This is a Salesian tradition where every night one of us talks to the children about a spiritual or moral thought before they go to sleep. It stems back to when Don Bosco first started giving street children a place to stay. They would go to sleep and in the mornings, everything would be stolen and the children would be gone. Finally, Don’s mother decided to leave the boys with a holy thought before they drifted off to sleep. Her method worked and Salesians have been doing this ever since. 

I was so nervous to give my first Goodnight in front of all my boys, but it turned out really well. One of my good friends (also a Salesian Lay Missioner) sent me an e-mail and I used the contents from that. I pulled 5,000 francs (about $8) out of my pocket and asked the boys who wanted it. They all started screaming and going crazy. Then I wrinkled up the money and threw it on the floor. I again asked who wanted it and, of course, the boys still wanted the money. Then I stepped on it and the boys still wanted it. I asked them why they still wanted the money and one answered because he could buy a lot of things with it. Then I told them that this was true. Just because the bill had been crinkled and stepped on did not take away it’s value. All of their faces dropped and they got really quiet. 

As I looked into the faces of my boys who have been so wrinkled and so stepped on by the world, I started to cry. I just told them how much they are worth and how much God loves them. Rwandans are very uncomfortable around emotions, so I thought the boys would react badly when I cried, but they were not ashamed. Some were getting teary-eyed themselves and not one boy turned away. 

One of the Foyer boys lost his left eye at some point in his life and I noticed that he in particular was very emotional and so attentive. I could see the story clicking in his head. We then just talked a little more about God’s plan for our lives and about how to become saints. It was a really beautiful moment and I know I will always treasure this memory with my kids. They are becoming so much a part of me. 

Life with them is moving quickly and my days are very busy. I’ll use Thursday as an example. 

Thursday morning I had to give my last exam of the week and after the exam I was walking to lunch. On my walk, I saw a little boy who looked sad, so I sat down next to him and asked what was wrong. He said his stomach hurt and so I was trying to figure out if his stomach hurt from malnutrition or because he was sick. As I asked him to stand up (so that I could see if his belly was extended, meaning he was malnourished) he began vomiting. His vomit got on me and one other boy and I was just praying he wasn’t HIV positive. He continued to vomit for the next 15 minutes. Just then, school got out and so a group of kids gathered around to watch the spectacle. It was a total disaster. 

This child isn’t one of our students but had come to pick up his little brother who is one of the students. I had to go find his 5 year old brother and then found two of the older boys to help me. The sick one could not possibly walk home on his own and so me and the two older ones had to carry both of the little boys to their home up in the mountains. It was unreal. We were walking up hill in mud while we were covered in vomit, holding either an 8 year old or a 5 year old. At that moment, I felt like a missionary. I was also so proud of my older boys for volunteering to help. They had just finished their last exam of the week and were exhausted, but still carried and were so sweet to the little ones. 

After we got back home, I ate a late lunch and started heading back to my house. One of the pigs had just given birth and so some of my students who work with the animals made me come and see the sweet little piglets. After this, I was exhausted and smelled like sweat, vomit, and pigs and was really anxious to take a shower. 

I had plans with the Italian N.G.O. workers and so I had to shower quickly and then we went to the market. I had bought some material and needed to get measured for a dress. 

Many people have asked about the African dress I was wearing in recent pictures, so I should say that I bought the material at the market. The market is actually really cool. Before I lived here, when I pictured Africa, I was picturing this market. It’s really noisy and crowded and people are yelling and it smells terrible and you have to haggle for everything you buy. I love it. There are tons of fresh vegetables and beautiful fabrics and lots of little handcrafts that locals have made. It’s where all the Rwandans shop so I’m often the only Mzunugu there. 

Whenever I want to buy an African dress, I go to the market and look through tons of fabric until I see one I like. I haggle for the price in French and then sketch what I want the dress to look like and have a seamstress make it. I actually really love wearing African dresses. The material is beautiful and bright and my kids really appreciate when I wear them. They always yell, “Ohhh! Teacha! You look smart!” and give me a thumbs up. How can I not prefer African clothing with that kind of response? 

After getting measured for the dress, the Italians dropped me off at a hotel that will cut Mzungu hair and I had about 6 or 7 inches chopped off. My hair was just too long and was attracting a lot of attention. It was also difficult to take care of and was very hot and heavy. The new hair cut is fine, but I really miss my long hair. It goes to just above my shoulders so it’s the shortest I think I’ve ever had it.

The evidence

After I got back from the haircut, I became painfully aware that I only live with men. Not one of the priests noticed and after I told them, they insisted I must have only gotten a little bit off. Then they jokingly suggested I shave my head. Ugh. I told them it was a good thing they were priests and didn’t have wives or daughters, which made them laugh but I think they agreed. 

After that, I went to see all my boys at the Foyer before they went to sleep. Not one out of the 150 boys that I spend all my time with said anything about the haircut. I was attempting to fix the center’s broken digital camera and they had millions of questions about the camera but I don’t think they even noticed my hair… Men. 

At least I always have someone to chase away the lizards for me. The boys find it hysterical that I’m terrified of the lizards so they enjoy shooing them away to protect me. They also think it’s funny that I think all the “little meats” are cute (aka: the calfs, the piglets, the chicks, the bunnies). Whenever one of our farm animals gives birth, the boys get really excited to show me the baby animals because they know I find the babies so adorable, which is hysterically funny to them. What I see as a baby animal, they see as a meal one day in the not too distant future. So when I’m cooing over a little piglet, they are picturing me cooing over bacon…. I’m learning so much about the male psyche thanks to Rwanda. 

I think I’m learning a lot of things thanks to Rwanda. Truly, I love it here.  Hopefully I’ll be writing soon about my trip to Kibeho. You are in my prayers, please keep me in yours. 

The Teacha, Docta, and Heartbreaka

I know I have been promising to write more about my day to day activities. I am so far behind in explaining everything that has happened! I think I just need to try to do a few short updates this week to catch you up. We’ll see if that happens... Life has just been so busy.

Maybe I should give you the timeline for a typical day in the life of this Mzungu. I typically wake up around 5:40 a.m., go to daily Mass, eat breakfast, then teach classes until 1:15 p.m. I then eat a late lunch, have a French lesson, and then try to go to adoration (doesn’t always happen). After this, I usually stop by the infirmary (I’ll explain this later) and then go home for a brief rest. At 3 p.m. I try to go play sports with my boys. They have been giving me volleyball lessons, but they are so rough that my whole body has been sore! Since people are learning that they can find me at volleyball at this time, I am usually approached by someone with a medical problem and have to leave my volleyball game early to go back to the infirmary with the patient. After the daily medical emergency, I go home (usually around 5:30) for another break until dinner at 7:15. After dinner, I come home, check e-mails, pray my rosary then sleep. 

A view of my classroom and a couple of my students

My days have really been getting busy in the last two weeks. I had a lot more free time when I first arrived. The semester ends soon and I’ve heard rumors from the other missionaries that I will have much more free time after school ends. 

I’ve been meaning to tell you about my classes. Teaching has definitely been challenging. Some of my classes understand almost no English and my French isn’t quite sufficient to fill the gap. I actually have a few deaf boys so I have been learning sign language so that I can teach them. Luckily, my mother is a speech therapist, so I already knew a little from her and I can spell words very quickly. Whenever I don’t know the sign, I have to spell the word in French, which can be pretty interesting. 

I think the language barriers definitely have something to do with my boys having a hard time behaving in class, but I think most of the behavior problems stem from their backgrounds. Most of our boys at the center were street children and the majority are orphans. Even more sadly, some of our boys were child soldiers. The headmaster wanted to point out the former child soldiers, but I asked him not to. I think sometimes it’s better not to know. 

Anyway, the majority of my kids spent formative years of their lives without care and love. There are no laws on the streets and fewer for child soldiers. Just because they were moved into the Foyer and are now in a stable environment doesn’t erase the years of trauma. 

As a teacher, I have to understand that if I leave anything at all sitting out, it will be stolen (even totally useless things). Kyle and I have to be very careful not to give the kids an opportunity to steal, but if something is stolen, it’s not surprising. I don’t think the boys steal out of malice. They have been focused on their own survival for so long that for some of the kids things like stealing just come naturally. 

Classes are tough at times. I have about 4 classes that are pretty well behaved, but I have 3 that keep me on my toes. The boys in those three classes are all sweet kids but have a very difficult time not causing a ruckus. It’s funny because I spend a lot of time with all of these boys outside of classes and always have a blast with them; however, teaching them is an entirely different situation.

One of my favorite boys is nicknamed Hammer. He is 15 years old and a sweet kid (excluding the fact that he tries to pickpocket Kyle daily). He usually comes on my front porch to play Uno or Egyptian War with me a few times a week. I’ve heard from Kyle and Lionel that Hammer is quite smitten with me. He works for Kyle in the fields after school and at the end of work will always ask Kyle if he can come visit our house. Kyle will say, “Are you coming to visit me or do you just want to see Mary Elise?” and Hammer will blush. He is always asking Kyle to find me and bring me outside so he can talk to me, to Kyle’s annoyance. I never know about these times until afterwards because Kyle always refuses. He gets too annoyed. Lionel told me Hammer has asked him to bring me outside a few times before too. 

Anyway, in class the other day, Hammer led a group of boys in foolishness that escalated to the point of absurdity. To stop the situation, I made all the boys turn off their computers and take out notes. I made them write notes for 45 minutes until the class was over. I’m never actually mad at the kids, but sometimes I have to be pretty stern since that is the teaching style they are used to. While I was making them write notes I kept trying not to laugh. They looked like puppies who just got in trouble. It was really pathetic but very cute. 

Laying down the law for my
clearly terrified students

I kept Hammer and four other boys after class to talk to them specifically about their inappropriate behavior. I felt so sorry for Hammer. He looked so ashamed. Not only did he get in trouble with his teacher, but he was so embarrassed that his crush was upset with him. I could almost feel his teen angst. As sorry as I feel for him, hopefully this will discourage his feelings. 

In addition to teaching, I also spend a good part of my day gently turning down potential suitors. As the only woman on site and a Mzungu, I’ve become very popular with the boys. In Rwanda, most women get married at 20, so at 22 with no husband and no boyfriend, I’m bordering on old maid status. Several boys have volunteered to rescue me from possible spinsterhood. 

Some of my Rwandan marriage proposals have been more notable than others. One boy went so far as presenting me with a plastic ring. As he asked for my hand, he reassured me that he didn’t really love me, but I was a Mzungu and he wanted a white wife. What a charmer! 

I think my favorite proposal happened the day I got my visa. Kyle and I went to downtown Kigali and took one of our boys, John. After getting the Visas, we decided to take John for ice cream. We hadn’t had ice cream in a month and were really craving an American sweet. John had never tried ice cream and was really excited. 

As we were sitting outside eating our ice cream cones (which definitely tasted nothing like American ice cream), some Rwandan men started speaking to us. They kept asking Kyle and John all sorts of questions about me even though I was sitting right there. Finally Kyle told them to just talk to me so they asked where I was from. Before I could answer, they let me know that because I’m brown (Their words- this Rwandan sun is really beating my sunscreen) I couldn’t possibly be American like Kyle. (As a side note: I think many Rwandans have never considered the idea that not all Americans are white). Since they already made up their minds that I wasn’t American, I asked them what country I was from and they informed me that I was Indian. I told them I wasn’t American or Indian, but Rwandan. For some reason, they didn’t believe me, so I told them that John was my brother. The guys started laughing loudly and John took the opportunity to earn some money. He called out, “Yes! We have the same mother and father! So, who wants to buy my sister!?” Total chaos ensued and we had to leave immediately. 

John later informed me that he thought he could have gotten 10 cows and maybe a moto for me. I had never considered how many cows I’m worth, but the average Rwandan man gives two cows for his wife, so I was fairly pleased with my value. 

I want to say so much more about my boys, but this post is already getting long and I’ve been meaning to write about my new responsibilities. 

About two weeks ago, I was asked to take over the infirmary. I have no real medical training other than first aid, but unfortunately I’m the most qualified (mostly just because I know that bacteria and germs are bad and it’s important to wash hands). 

When I was first shown the infirmary, I was pretty upset. There was no soap in the entire building and when I asked the reason I was told that the boys might steal it. (Great excuse to have no soap in the building where we keep the sick…). I also found bloody medical scissors and equipment sitting out on tables and bloody gauze in open trash cans. Most of the medications expired in 2007. It was really disheartening. 

I didn’t accept the position right away, but asked for some time to pray and think. Running the infirmary is such a big responsibility and I’m not a nurse, but after talking to a good friend who is a nurse and talking to a fellow missionary in the region, I felt convicted to take the job. I knew that if I didn’t do this, nobody would. The infirmary had not been used in months. 

Spending an afternoon with two of my boys
(Hammer is on the left)

I made an agreement with myself that I wouldn’t do anything that was too advanced for me because I don’t ever want to feel responsible for hurting someone. If someone can’t be treated by me, then at least I’m now in the position to ask the priests to take the person to the hospital.
However, since I’ve opened the infirmary, there have been many rumors circulating that I’m a doctor or a nurse. For every person I treat, I let them know that this isn’t true. Still, I’m now able to help situations that have just frustrated me in the past. In my last post I wrote about the diseases of the street children and how helpless I felt with not being able to do anything. Well this week, a 7-year-old street boy came in with pink eye. Two weeks ago I would have been so distressed but couldn’t have helped. This week, I examined him in the infirmary and then was able to use an at-home remedy. I mixed warm honey water and put some in his eye. I just saw him again yesterday and his eye is 100% better. 

It’s really beautiful to be able to help in small ways, although I’m frequently just praying I’m doing the right things and constantly consulting with the notes my nurse friend e-mailed me. 

Well it’s getting late. I’ll have to write a few short updates later this week to try to catch up on everything else that has been happening. I am taking the day off tomorrow to go to the site of Our Lady of Kibeho. I’m really excited. This has been a dream of mine since before I even considered coming to Rwanda. You’ll be in my prayers!