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!