Home Sweet Home

Hey y'all,

As many of you know, I've now been back in the States for almost 2 months. Sorry for not updating my blog recently! This is just to let you know that I will be soon. I kept a diary of my last month and I'll be publishing parts of that soon, plus telling you about my trip to Gisenyi, and most importantly, my last week in Africa and my trip with my father. I'll also give some details about the transition of returning to America and about my new job.

In the meantime, here's a video of Shema doing the hand motions to "Jesus Loves Me," while wearing Odile's wig. After he runs away, other students fill in. Not great quality, but very cute!

Mary Elise

Hospital Visit

To play further catch-up, I guess I should fill you on my illness last month. 

Some of my sweet little helpers

I had been feeling a little tired the first week of June, but was still working and teaching all of my classes. On Sunday June 5, I couldn’t get out of bed and couldn’t even go to Mass. I had a temperature of 104 and continued with a fever for the rest of the day. By Monday the sisters insisted I go to the hospital. By that point in the morning I had had a 104 temperature for 6 hours. I had a high fever, a headache, and my arms and legs were aching, so I was showing all the symptoms of malaria. 

I didn’t bring anything to the hospital because I wasn’t thinking clearly and was only expecting to be there an hour before coming home, but when I arrived at the hospital, they immediately put me on an IV. The doctors refused to even wait for a blood test for malaria before putting me on the IV because my pulse was 60 points higher than average. 

The doctors were suspecting either malaria or a bacterial infection (both have the exact same symptoms) so I had blood tests taken and had to wait a few hours for the result. Finally, the doctors decided I had a bacterial infection, but they didn’t know what kind of bacterial infection or how I got it. In the United States, they test to figure that information out, but the doctors here say it’s not necessary to know that information for treatment so they didn’t test for it. However, they did know I came to the hospital too late to be treated easily and I spent the next 3 days on IVs having the antibiotics delivered directly into my bloodstream. 

Being stuck in a Rwandan hospital is a unique experience. Just like the prisons, the hospitals don’t provide food, so friends or the sisters had to bring me food for each meal. Although my doctors spoke English, I rarely saw them and my nurses preferred French (although one nurse spoke very nice English). It was interesting being sick and in a hospital and being forced to speak to my medical professionals in French. Being Africans, my nurses (all men) were very chatty and weren’t opposed to even waking me up to start a conversation, which was very different from an American hospital. 

I’ve also learned that Rwandese really like to visit when friends are sick, so I was getting many phone calls from people asking to come visit me. All I wanted to do was rest and was definitely not in the mood to entertain visitors (especially when I would have to struggle to communicate), so I had to keep asking people not to visit and then would feel so sorry when/if they were offended. Even though I still felt extremely weak, I went to Gatenga a week after being released from the hospital because the boys would not stop calling until they could visit or at least see me with their own eyes. They are just so sweet and are always very concerned about me.  

Anyway, after the three days I was released and stayed on bed rest for another week. After almost a month, I am still needing about 8 hours of sleep a night (before this I was getting about 6 hours) and I am also taking naps every day. 

The whole ordeal just really messed up my body. I lost a lot of weight in the hospital and ended up medically underweight, which really upset the sisters. They absolutely have spoiled me in the following weeks and have even been keeping a stash of Nutella so that I could gain back some weight. It’s been nice. 

The IV was also put in my left hand incorrectly and even though it was only there for 3 hours before I complained strongly enough that they switched the IV to my right hand (where it remained for the next 3 days), I still can’t use my left hand properly. I went back to the hospital and the doctor said the nerve is inflamed and it may take awhile before I can use the hand easily again. 

Since we handwash clothes at my site (and believe it or not, handwashing clothing is very physically taxing), the children have still been washing my clothes for me. The girls have been unbelievable generous with their time and work. They like to play rough, but whenever we are playing they always shout at each other “Regardez-vous les mains de Mary Elise!!!!” Whenever they see me doing housework or trying to wash clothes, they also push me away and insist that I let them help me. It’s been really humbling to have to rely on 11 year olds to wash my clothes or help with chores, but I think they are also very proud to be able to help me in some way. They have such good hearts, and I’m so grateful for their love. 

While this experience isn’t something I would ever want repeated, I am grateful for all the love I’ve been shown. I think this has helped me to really realize how much I can rely on the friends I’ve made here. It’s going to be tough to leave in just three and a half weeks. I can’t believe my time is coming to a close. 

Odile's Graduation

Another post! I'm still trying to catch you up. More to come soon. 

I’ve been wanting to write a quick entry about a cool event I attended in April.

I know I’ve written a little before about Mamma Odile. She’s the head teacher of our pre-school class and definitely my best Rwandese friend, other than the sisters. My French has improved significantly thanks to her as has my understanding of African culture, particularly what it means to be a woman in Africa. I just love her. 

Odile is a mother of three, a teacher, and in April became a college graduate- a huge achievement.
She invited me to her graduation ceremony and her party afterwards. It was such an honor to go and I had a great time. I wanted to upload a few pictures for those of you who are curious about African university graduations.
The Rwandese really enjoy grand events and pomp and circumstance are very important to them so the ceremony was very formal. When I told the sisters I was invited to the graduation, they were worried about what I was going to wear because at that point I only had one formal African dress that I had already worn to several events, so I went ahead and had a second one made to wear to the graduation ceremony. Odile’s niece is a seamstress so I paid her to make it.  

The morning of the ceremony, one of Odile’s brothers-in-law, Joseph, picked me up in his car with Odile and then we went to get her sister Noella who is also a teacher at our school and was also graduating. It was a really big day for their family. 

The actual ceremony lasted almost 6 hours and I was the only Mzungu there. I sat with the oldest sister of Odile and Noella and took lots of pictures despite the cold, rainy weather. 

Just getting started

After the ceremony, Joseph picked us up again (there were only two tickets so he  didn’t come in) and we went to their mother’s house and the women began cooking a huge feast. Even though the party hadn’t started yet and no other guests had arrived, Odile and Noella kept sneaking me food and Fantas. I didn’t exactly put up a fight to refuse (they are great cooks!). 

Little by little, people began gathering until there was a huge group of Odile and Noella’s family, friends, neighbors, and just random people who wanted to stop by for the food. There was a lot of dancing, eating, drinking, and just general celebrating. 

At one point of the night people started making speeches. One older gentleman began making a speech in Kinyarwanda and suddenly I realized everyone was looking at me. The woman next to me (another sister of Odile and Noella’s; there are 9 sisters) told me to stand up and then people clapped for me. I still have no idea what that man said or why they clapped, but I felt very welcomed.

Not a great picture, but it's the only one I have
 of my seamstress,  me, and the dress. In our better
pictures,  I'm wearing a cardigan but I wanted to
show the dress. At that moment we had just snuck
 some fried potatoes from the grill. 

The next week I went over to Odile’s house because she was braiding Noella’s hair and wanted company. For those of you not familiar with hair braiding, it can take several hours, so Odile invited me over to watch French soap operas and eat while she braided. My new dress also wasn’t fitting quite right so the day after the party I asked Odile’s niece to fix it for me. I was planning on picking up the dress at Odile’s that day. 

As we were hanging out, Odile and Noella gave me the best compliment I have received during my entire time in Africa. They told me that their mother really loved meeting me, then Odile added, “She said you are not like a Mzungu. You came to our home and were a real African. You are now a part of our family.” 

Just then her niece brought out my new African dress and had embroidered it beautifully. I was shocked because embroidery like that takes at least 5 hours, but they said it was a gift to prove that I was now a part of their family. 

I was so touched and wore that dress for the beautification of Blessed John Paul II. 

Roma Continued

The week before the beautification pictures of JPII started
 showing up all over Rome. Pictured is Nia, Natalia and
 me in front of one of pictures in St. Peter's Square. 

The next night, we began preparing for JPII”s beautification. 

I was shocked by how many pilgrims came that week. By Saturday night, people were flooding the streets. Because all the hotels were full, there were tons of people camping right on the roads in big groups with sleeping bags. We somehow passed through them and went to a prayer service with the Emmanuel Community where Maria had been invited to give a speech in front of everyone about how Pope John Paul II had impacted her life. There were hundreds of people there and she did an awesome job. 

After that, the students at Nia’s school and a few others carried the World Youth Day Cross (a gift JPII had given to all the youth of the world). We were trying to return the cross to the Centro but were having trouble getting through all the gates to enter close to St. Peter’s square. We kept having to go through security points and were almost denied at most of them. It took us from midnight until about 3:45 a.m. to reach the Centro. After putting the cross back, we prayed then slept for about 45 minutes. Around 5, we woke up, dressed and went outside to join the crowds. 

Carrying the World Youth Day
Cross to the prayer service the
evening before the beautification. 

I’ve never seen anything like that crowd. I felt like the air had been replaced by people. There was no room to move and I couldn’t even turn from side to side. My shoulders were pushed tight against the shoulders of total strangers also there to celebrate our beloved JPII.

The guards opened the gates to St. Peter’s Square at 5:30 a.m. My feet were actually lifted off the ground as the crowd rushed forward. My toes only touched the ground every few seconds at certain parts of the rush. People were singing and cheering and actually one old woman growled at me! Somebody stepped on her foot and I got the blame for it (possibly rightfully but there was no way to tell).

Finally, we got inside and crashed right there on the ground and slept for a couple hours. 

The actual beatification was beautiful. The day has been really cloudy and sort of cold and all the weather forecasts predicted rain. When Pope Benedict appeared people began shouting and chanting his name until the Mass began. Perfectly, just as the Mass started, the clouds left the sky and we were left with brilliant weather. As Pope Benedict revealed the photo of Blessed JPII, people began cheering and the applause lasted at least 20 minutes. Balloons were released into the air and people were waving bright colorful banners against the perfect sky. 

Just waking up after sleeping on
the floor of St. Peter's Square.

I just have to be sappy for a moment: 

I think one of the best things about going to a place like Rome, especially for the beatification of a saint, is that the universality of the Catholic Church sort of smacks you in the face. Now, I know there are Catholics in every country in the world, and some of those Catholics live in great danger because of their faith. I know that the Masses I went to in Texas are the same as the ones I attend in Rwanda and these are the same as those said in Germany, Egypt, India, and Cambodia. Still, knowing this information, and then suddenly being in a situation where millions of people you have never met and never will meet are all shouting “Papa Benedicto” for your shared pope, and then “Papa Giovanni Paulo” for your new saint, and realizing that each of the people with you is in love with Jesus Christ and is on the same journey as you, is an experience I, at least, am not eloquent enough to describe properly. But when I called out our pope’s name, surrounded by friends from all over the globe, and the two million strangers there for Blessed John Paul II”s beatification, I knew I was surrounded by the closest of family. I knew I was home. And I know this sounds sentimental and schumcky, but unless I’ve expressed those feelings, I haven’t explained my experience of Rome, because that is by far the biggest impression I am left with.

The beautification

The next day was my last full day in Rome. Nia, Natalia, and some of the others from the school went with us around the city. Nia wanted me to meet her friend who had been a Swiss Guard. When we met him, he asked if we wanted to go to the Vatican and pray in front of the tomb of JPII. We told him the lines were lasting up to 6 hours and we just weren’t interested in waiting so long, but he said he could pull some strings and took us down. 

We walked straight through the back of the Vatican and the Swiss Guards let us pass. We then got to pray right beside the tomb of JPII for several hours. All the pilgrims who waited in line had to file past quickly, but we were able to kneel on the floor and pray as long as we wanted. Tons of photographers were taking our pictures, I think, because we were the only young people able to do that.

Praying in front of the tomb of
Blessed John Paul II

That night, Nia and I were upstairs with her community when Matthew came up and said Dannielle wanted to talk to us. I had a sneaking suspicion what she wanted to say and sure enough when we entered Dannielle’s room she was sporting freshly painted nails and a brand new diamond ring! Matthew did a great job picking out a beautiful ring (and an even more beautiful fiancee) and his proposal was very sweet and romantic. I won’t be able to tell the proposal story the way they can and it’s their story to tell anyway, but for all of those curious he proposed to her in a chapel after washing her feet. 

We all screamed and cried and laughed and then talked way into the night. Danni and Matthew left early the next morning and I left around noon. Nia and I thought we were going to be late for my train because we were picking up my last Western meal at McDonalds (french fries and a milkshake, obviously) so we ended up sprinting through the train station only to be early for the train. 

I was worried about the flights back because of things going on in the news at that time. Osama Bin Laden had just been killed the day before and I had to fly through Nairobi, where he had staged an attack on the American embassy in 1998. I was worried about revenge attacks; however, my embassy emailed to give me traveling tips and I checked the CIA website and made it back just fine. The girls were all really excited I was home and even more excited when I gave them the prayer cards with a picture of Blessed John Paul II Matthew had bought for them. 

Needless to say, my trip to Rome was very blessed, as was my return to Africa. 

Roma part 1

I’ve been promising to write about Rome, so here it is! I’m going to break it into two entries because it’s a lot to read all at once. 

Nia, Matthew, Dannielle and me walking
in to Easter Sunday Mass. 

Not surprisingly, Rome was a great experience. I stayed with one of my best friends, Nia, at her mission school and got to spend a lot of time with her community. I really loved the Emmanuel Community and it was such a gift to spend Easter and the beatification with such wonderful Catholics. I really learned and grew through their examples and friendships.

I’ll admit that my first day in Rome was a little difficult. It was my first time being back in the West since arriving in Africa. When I got off the airplane, I felt sort of nauseous. From the moment I arrived at the airport there were a lot of flashy advertisements, huge stores selling expensive clothing and perfumes, plus everyone was white. It was pretty disorienting, but I’ve heard from other missionaries that it’s a normal reaction. 

I somehow navigated the trains in Rome to arrive at Nia’s hotel, but she was at a papal Mass so I had a couple of hours to wait before she came back. I was actually relieved because in that time I was able to calm down and relax a little. Plus I got to take a hot shower and use fast internet! 

It was great seeing Nia and we were sure to scream and jump around and then a few hours later our friends Dannielle and Matthew (Dannielle’s boyfriend and our college friend) arrived, which resulted in more screaming and jumping. I’m sure Matthew would appreciate if I clarified that he didn’t jump. It was just so wonderful to all be together again.

At the same time, however, I kept wishing our friend Maria Mitchell could come (This is foreshadowing). Maria has a really special connection with Blessed John Paul II. She had seen him in person many times and on one occasion had even spoken with him. She was in St. Peter’s Square on a school trip the night he died, so she was one of the thousands of mourners praying for him during his last hours. As she prayed, her picture was taken by a journalist and she ended up in Time Magazine. 

It just didn’t feel right being there for his beatification without her. One night I even had a dream she came and was with us, but the next morning when I told Nia and Dannielle about the dream they acted uninterested. After that dream, I kept wishing even more that she could have come, but Nia told me Maria was taking her finals. 

That Saturday night we had the Easter Vigil with Nia’s community and it was really beautiful. It was my first time hearing Mass in English in 9 months! That night we celebrated with everyone in her community and the next morning went to the Easter Mass with Pope Benedict! It was my first time to see a pope and I’ve always loved Pope Benedict’s writings (especially from when he was Cardinal Ratzinger). Going to Easter Sunday mass with him was a huge gift. 

The week continued with a lot of sight seeing. I got to go to a Wednesday audience and saw Pope Benedict again there. That was the closest I got to him. I was maybe 70 feet away. It was really exciting and I joined with everyone there chanting “Papa Benedicto!”

The man of the hour

During the rest of the week, Nia took me around on running/sometimes panicked- late to something else- tours of all the normal places to see in Rome. The hard thing about Rome is there are so many historical and spiritual sites and on a short vacation like this, it’s just not possible to see everything, but also I sort of felt an obligation to try to see the most famous sites. I think next time I’ll drop the frantic tourist act and just spend more time in the places I really loved or where I have a true interest, but I’m glad I can at least say I’ve been to the major spots. I hate to admit it, but I’m a terrible tourist and kept needing Nia to tell me again and again where we were or what we had seen earlier that day.

We were actually running when I took this. 

Also, although I thought she did a great job, apparently Nia is not the best of tour guides. A couple of times during our sightseeing, Nia would say “Oh and that’s (fill in the blank)” and someone else would say, “no… no. That’s not right,” and then would take over the explanation. Characteristically, Nia had a good sense of humor about her lack of Roman sites knowledge and one of my favorite moments was when she told Matthew the name of a river she apparently passes somewhat frequently and we later found out that river is in France, not Rome.

The week was passing quickly, and one night, Nia, her classmate Natalia (who will soon be my housemate in NJ!), and I wanted to make dinner for a priest. We had been sightseeing that day and so we were all heading back to cook, but Nia insisted I go out shopping with another friend. Confused, I went shopping for the first time in 9 months. We went inside some of the high end stores before finding an H&M. I was totally overwhelmed by the experience and only bought a plain t-shirt in the wrong size. Not my best effort.

I came back right as dinner was about to begin and saw Nia and Natalia in the hallway. As I started talking to them, Maria Mitchell walked down the stairs! I was so shocked I didn’t scream or even smile. I just stood there like an idiot as she ran down and hugged me. I’m not even sure if I hugged her back. Everyone teased me about my lack of reaction later. Apparently the entire group had been planning Maria’s surprise visit for a couple months. 

Danni and Nia apparently were really confused and concerned I was onto them when I talked about the dream, so Nia just made up Maria’s exams to throw me off. I absolutely believed her, although in retrospect, obviously Franciscan wouldn’t give final exams during Easter week. I was fooled and it was such a great surprise. 

I think all the good pictures of
Maria and me are on her camera
so this blurry picture will have to
do as evidence that she was there. 

The next day Maria (who should be given a degree in Roman tour-guiding) took me to the catacombs and after to St. Paul’s Cathedral where we met up with Nia and Natalia. This was one of my favorite days because going from catacombs to cathedral was like examining a contradiction that was suddenly explained and organized. I hope that makes sense, but my English is getting rusty and I’m having a hard time finding the right words so I’ll just explain further. As I stood in St. Paul’s after just having been in the catacombs hours earlier, I was struck by the contrast. I wondered if St. Paul or any of the other early Christians who buried the martyrs or performed secret Masses in the Catacombs would believe where we have come if they could see the grandeur of St. Paul’s. I was just amazed that our tiny early Church survived persecutions and continued to grow and build until today. I couldn’t believe that here I was 2,000 years later praying in the same places and a member of the same Church, same faith, and living for the same God for whom they sacrificed everything. 

I’m getting overly sentimental, so I’ll just wrap up this post by saying I feel so grateful to have had this opportunity. 

My next post will be about the actual beautification. 

Different Perspective

The family (Dad was taking the picture) and one of
my students after Christmas mass. 

As a little change from posting my experiences, I asked my family to write about their time in Rwanda. My mom was the only one to complete the assignment but I know that my brothers really loved the trip too. They are always messaging to ask about the kids they met here. I’m the most certain that my dad loved his time in Rwanda because he is coming back to visit again in July!

Here is what my mom had to say:  

Mary has been wanting us to write about our experience in Rwanda to add to her blog and I apologize for the delay.. However, our trip to Africa is still as fresh in my mind as the day we returned and probably always will be. It was an incredible adventure and I was totally overwhelmed by the beauty of the country as well as the spirit of the people. Rwanda is so gorgeous, it is hard to believe that anything bad could have ever happened there. 

I was very impressed by the friendliness of the people, especially the children, of which there were many. I recently read that at least half of the population is under the age of 20, and I can believe it. All we had to do was smile or wave and they immediately came over and wanted to touch us and talk to us. My boys felt like celebrities! The children seem to be independent and take on responsibility at an early age. We saw them getting water for their families, caring for animals and younger siblings, and walking along the sides of the road carrying crops. They are very beautiful and regard shoes as a very valued possession. We brought clothes with us and distributed them to some of Mary’s students, but shoes were the most sought after items. 

The independence of the children even carried over to church. We attended Mass twice while we were there and each time we noticed a big section of children who had come to church on their own without their parents. It was really wonderful to see children wanting to be in church without being forced to be there! After participating in Mass there, I could understand why they would want to come. A wonderful thing about the Catholic religion is the universality of the Mass. It was a very spiritual event and even without understanding the language, I could feel the faith. I especially enjoyed when they sang and danced in Kinyarwanda, because it was so heartfelt. 

One of the harder experiences was going to a branch of Mother Theresa’s orphanages. We spent most of our time in the toddler area. I was so impressed by one 3 year old girl who displayed the most amazing musical talent. She and a small group of kids sang a native song while she beat the tune on the bottom of a plastic bucket with a stick. They were absolutely incredible! In contrast to them, there was another group of needy children who just clung to us and wanted to be held. I was so proud of Matt and Brian while watching their interaction with the kids. They each held children and didn’t shy away from the ones who were dirty or who had sores on them. We had to leave some of the children crying which was very difficult to do. 

I had one of the scariest experiences of my life when we traveled back and forth to Kibeho in a rented car with a native driver. Once we got off the highway we had to travel quite a distance on dirt roads around very steep and winding mountains with no guard rails. To add to the terror, the roads were lined with a constant stream of people walking with children on their backs or produce on their heads. I was just terrified that we were either going to fall off the mountain or run over one of the people. It was hard enough doing this during the day, but we drove home in the dark, which was even worse! Of course Mary didn’t tell us anything about the perils of the trip. She was either afraid that we wouldn’t make the trip or she was oblivious to the danger, which knowing Mary, was probably the case!

Giving Daniel clothes, Fantas and sweeties. 

I was very impressed with Mary’s level of independence while we were there. She knows her way around the city and was communicating effectively with the native people. It was funny to see the great pleasure she took in haggling over prices at the market or cab and moto fare. The Rwandan people seemed to be amused by Mary and her antics. Overall they are a reserved people and Mary is anything but reserved! In spite of taking pride in Mary’s independence there and seeing how wonderful and welcoming the Salesian community is, it was still very hard leaving her there when we returned home. Out of my whole family, I probably felt the most discomfort in being in a foreign country, and while some of my fears for Mary’s safety were eased, new ones were raised after being there. It did make me deeply appreciative of my life here in the United States, and when I returned home, the bathroom I’ve been wanting to remodel didn’t seem half so bad! I will always keep the Rwandan people in my prayers and am grateful for the opportunity to experience part of their culture.

Hospital Visits and Princess Parties

Note: I wrote this blog before my trip to Rome but the internet wasn’t strong enough to post it. This was written April 27. 

My classroom

So it’s been a couple months and I think my longest time between writing. Hope everyone had a great Lent and is looking forward to Easter. I actually have some big plans for Easter- I leave tomorrow for Rome! I’m going to be staying with two of my best girlfriends from college, Nia Hunt and Dannielle Stevenson, and Dannielle’s boyfriend Matthew. I’ll be staying for almost two weeks and will even be in Rome for the beatification of Pope John Paul II. 

To fill you in on life since I last wrote, actually a lot has been going on. Towards the end of February I got really sick; unfortunately, around the same time my director from the United States came to visit. I had been really excited to show him my site, but when he came I was stuck in bed. I got to show him a few things and it was so great to see him, but my health kept getting worse. 

The day after Adam left, a friend from college came to visit from Kenya where she is doing mission work. I was still feeling really sick and right as I was leaving to meet her at the airport, I passed out. When I got to the hospital, I was tested for everything from malaria to diabetes. Finally the doctors just told me to eat more sugar and released me. They didn’t know what was wrong. I’m starting to suspect I had mono because I had a terrible sore throat and I’m still tired. 

Christie and I had been planning on going to Kibeho but I wasn’t sure if I would have the strength. Our Lady must have been praying for me because I woke up the next day significantly better. Christie and I traveled to Kibeho and made it in time to go to Mass and confession. 

The rest of Christie’s visit we spent seeing sites in Kigali. It was so great to see her; I was only sorry I didn’t feel stronger.

After the two visits, my schedule was as I’ve described before. We had a chicken pox outbreak, and about half of our girls got sick. One of our 4 year olds, Inshuti, got chicken pox and was so excited! We had to put some sort of medicine on the infected kids that dyed their skin purple and Inshuti was the only child happy about it. Every time I saw her (constantly throughout the day) she would scream “Malie Eleeze! Regarde!” It was so funny to see her that excited. 

My pre-school students have been just as fun as ever. We are really started to suspect that Shama is somewhere on the autism spectrum, but there are no doctors who can diagnose him in Rwanda. His parents are somewhat wealthy so they have been saving money to take him to Kenya in the hopes of a diagnosis. I’ve been working with him individually and he is really improving. He can now say four words: “bye,” “les scissors” (the scissors), “Amen,” and “merci”. 

Shama enjoying the attention of
Adam's camera

I taught the kids in my class the song “Jesus loves me” complete with hand motions. We practiced for weeks but at first even the most intelligent kids in the class were struggling with the hand motions. Shama sort of wandered around during each of the lessons (which is pretty normal for him. We’ve been working with him on staying seated). I didn’t think he was even aware that I was teaching the song, but one day as the class and I began practicing Shama performed all the motions perfectly. He had never even attempted to participate before. 

Mamma Odile (the head teacher of the class) was so excited that she started screaming. We called in teachers from different classrooms and had Shama show everyone. That little child had the biggest grin on his face as he did the motions again and again for different audiences. I think it was the first time he realized he was succeeding at something. It was such a great teaching moment and I’m sure I’ll always treasure that memory. 

Life continued on and as the children neared exams I wanted to reward them for all their hard work, so I asked my mom to send me the new Disney movie “The Princess and the Frog.” My mom agreed and then suggested that I throw them a full princess party. I ran the idea by the sisters who loved it. 

I think I’ve mentioned before that the girls are obsessed with princesses. It’s just such a fantasy for them. They live with us because they can’t live with their families (either they are orphans, the families are too poor, or the family is abusive). Plus, they work so hard and without the conveniences of washing machines or lawnmowers much of our housework is very physically taxing. I think the idea of being a princess and having the queen and king love them and servants do their difficult chores is something they like to imagine as an escape. 

Some of my little princesses. The one with the open mouth
is Florence and Julu is next to her. Blandine's head is in the
background. They are all 5 years old. 

We were all so excited to give them that little escape, even if it was just for an afternoon. My mom sent stick-on earrings from Claire’s and tons of glitter. The sisters even baked a huge cake (more like sweet bread) and killed some chickens for the occasion. Christie had brought popcorn from Kenya so we cooked that too. We threw the princess party on the Feast of St. Joseph. 

The children were covered from head to toe with glitter and even the sisters wore the stick-on earrings and glitter. After our feast of cake and popcorn, we went down to the movie room and watched “The Princess and the Frog.” Princess Tiana was a huge hit for my girls, who had never seen a movie with an African princess before. (To clarify, Princess Tiana is not African but my girls thought she was). 

They thought she was so beautiful and couldn’t believe they were watching a princess movie where the princess wasn’t a Mzungu. Disney, thank you! 

The girls also felt so pretty in their glitter and stick on earrings. Those earrings usually only last a few hours, but my girls stretched wearing them into days. They’ve been begging for more glitter and I think we will do it soon. 

There is more to write, but I’ll have to catch you up later when I’m back from Rome. 

Princesses and Poppets

Hello everyone. I hear that winter in the U.S. is raging and that even Texas has had several snow days; meanwhile, I’m still burning up in Rwanda. It’s been strange to hear about the cold and see pictures of friends and family in big winter jackets. It makes me very aware of just how far away I am, although I can’t say I miss the cold. 

Life seems to be passing at light-speed. I never have free time and have gotten really behind on messages and emails. I also consistently have a baby on my hip and two or three children pulling on my dress. I think my body is in the best shape of my life just from lifting and running after children all day. A week ago, I actually won a foot race against some of my older girls and I’m getting better and better at “football”. 

If I’m going to be perfectly honest though, I’ll admit I’m a bit run down at the moment. I’ve been working every day from 5:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. and my only break is six hours on Friday afternoons. Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been giving so much of myself that there isn’t much left. It’s bothers me that I don’t feel like I can offer as much as I could when I first arrived. 

Then even though I’m working so much, I also always feel like a slacker because the sisters work longer hours than me and don’t take any breaks. Whenever I go for my break on Fridays, I actually feel sort of guilty. Every time I think that I’m too exhausted and need to ask the sisters to give me a free day every week (I think all the SLMs are technically supposed to get one, but it really just depends on your site), I’m reminded that I’m not working as hard as they are and feel like I’m not pulling my weight. It’s discouraging at times but I’ve been praying about Mother Teresa’s quote: “I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no more hurt, only more love.” Every day I’m just trying to love more.

Luckily, there is a lot to love about my new site. The kids are absolutely amazing and I’m definitely starting to feel at home. 

When I first arrived, they threw me in with the 3 year olds in the mornings after I’ve gotten all the girls ready for school. At first, I thought working with the 3 year olds was a torture specifically designed for me. They all just cried and hit each other. I really love children but I had never really been around 45 three year olds at one time. It was very overwhelming. One of the boys, Derek, had a very special skill of being able to pinch the other children in the eyes. I’ve never seen that done and I have two brothers. Another child, Oxen, routinely says (in Kinyarwanda) “I will accuse you to my father and he will beat you!” 

I really wasn’t sure how to care for the children at first, but now I can clearly see God’s graces at work. I started to figure out how to organize and calm them and have begun to learn each of their personalities. I now feel very comfortable with them and time with my nursery class is one of my favorite times of the day. 

Some of the kids have some very sad situations. Derek, my little eye-pincher, lost his mother in childbirth. He was extremely aggressive when he first arrived, but after I heard about his mother I decided to hold him for about 20 minutes a day. He was so angry and mean-spirited when he first arrived so I was shocked the first time I tried to hold him. He immediately nuzzled his head against my neck and began sucking his thumb. The other teachers were amazed and so now we take turns holding him and he is beginning to have excellent behavior. He hasn’t pinched anyone in about a week and seems much happier.

My new house where I live with the girls

Another special case is my good friend Shama (pronounced Shay-mah). I’m not quite sure what Shama’s situation is, but I do know he is at least developmentally delayed. I really love kids with special needs, so I just wish we had some of the programs in Rwanda that public schools offer in the U.S. 

Shama does not speak although he likes to talk gibberish and seems to be in his own world most of the time. He is on the smaller side of the kids in the class but will go up to the biggest and strongest kids and start fights. He reminds me of a small dog that thinks it’s a german shepherd. We have this old Cabbage Patch doll with red hair that someone must have donated years ago and he loves that poppet. He holds it all day and won’t let the other kids play with it, so I thought he had a special attachment to that doll. Then this week we brought some new toys in including an Ariel the Little Mermaid poppet (also a red head). He actually threw his Cabbage Patch doll in order to get to the new redheaded doll more quickly.  

He constantly keeps me laughing and has really become my little baby. He only lets me hold him and, for that matter, forces me hold him most of the day. Sometimes this causes interesting situations.

The other day I was pouring some milk to give the kids and had them all sitting down at their seats. Shama was refusing to sit and kept coming up and licking the cups I was pouring the milk into. I kept having to chastise him and would shoo him over to his seat. Each time I shooed him away, his feelings would get hurt and he would begin sobbing. Then, I guess, he would realize he was sobbing. Since I’m the only person he allows to comfort him when he is sobbing, he would begin frantically searching the room for me until he found me (I never moved positions) and would run towards me. I honestly believe he forgot each time that I was the one who made him cry in the first place. Then, I would then have to stop pouring the milk and comfort him. After that, he would feel better and realize he was by the milk table and start licking all the cups, so I would shoo him to his seat. This little cycle must have happened 4 times in what should have been the 10 minutes it takes me to pour the milk. 

So I really love the kids in my class, but my main job is spending time being the house mother for the girls and I am really loving that job. Many of the girls call me “Momma” or “Ineza.” These girls keep me very busy but they are just so funny and lovable. 

They are always telling me that I am “soooooo beauty”… except for my nose. I guess I have the exact opposite of an African nose and the girls are very vocal about their disapproval. They are constantly asking where “such a nose came from.” When I explain that my family origins are from the Mediterranean and I have a very typical nose from that region, they just frown and shake their heads. So, the girls keep me laughing and keep me humble. 

My work ethic is improving even by their standards. At this site, we have to wash clothes by hand. If you’ve never had to hand wash your clothes in Africa, it’s actually a lot more difficult and physically taxing then you might think. I have to get three huge buckets and then go fill them with water before carrying them back to the washing site. Then I squat down and bend over the buckets for at least an hour or an hour and a half while scrubbing. We scrub the clothing with our hands and so my hands crack. My arms also have to scrub very hard so they are always sore the next day (in addition to my legs from balancing).

The first time I tried, one of the 10 year olds just shook her head and took over. Two days ago, however, I began and one of the girls who had never seen me wash before said in Kinyardwanda “I want to see the Mzungu do this.” (While I can’t speak Kinyarwanda I’m beginning to really understand certain things to the chagrin of the teenagers who love when I can’t understand what they are saying). I didn’t say anything but just continued to scrub. After a few minutes she said in French: “oh. Well, she can do it” and wandered off. No laughing or disgusted taking over. I felt so triumphant! 

There have also been some upsetting experiences. Two weeks ago, one of the girls got a really bad infection in her foot. We tried to treat it with antibiotic creams and soaking the foot in warm water, but one Saturday it had become so bad that her leg was swollen and her foot seemed to be rotting. Everyone was shocked because just the evening before it looked like it was improving. I was really concerned that if we didn’t get her to the hospital she was going to lose her foot. 

Some of my little princesses

One of the sisters tried taking her to the hospital that morning, but it turned out that the hospital was closed for the day. Finally the sister decided to take care of the foot herself. We cleared all of the kids out of the room and the sister and I stayed in. The sister had some nursing experience in her background and my job was to hold Patience. We then burned a razor and a needle to sterilize them and the sister began removing the rotten parts of the girl’s foot. It was possibly one of the worst experiences of my life and I thought I was going to vomit. Patience was in so much pain. Finally I ran and put on the movie “Hairspray.” Patience immediately stopped crying and said “What is this?” The singing and dancing distracted her through most of the procedure and by the time the hospitals were open the next day, the doctors said the sister did a great job and saved Patience’s foot. She is now even running on it. Truly a miracle. 

I guess the biggest day to day challenge of this site is the teenagers. We have 10 girls between the ages of 11-14 and they are rough and very moody! Constantly there is at least one of them not speaking to me and I usually don’t know why. Last week, one of the girls refused to speak to me for three days because when I entered a room full of girls I said “hello girls” instead of “hello students.” I’m not sure how I could have been so insensitive… 

During one of my phone conversations with home, I was telling my mom about the frustrations of raising teenagers when she reminded me that I can’t possibly be cool; I’m playing the role of their mother right now, which means I am automatically really lame. I then remembered another girl who used to feel that way about her mother and apologized for pretty much everything I said and did between the ages of 12-17. 

The Gatenga boys may have stolen and fought and lied, but at least they didn’t give the silent treatment. However, I’m learning quickly and really growing in patience. 

Still, the silent treatments are not the biggest difference between my two sites. I am constantly amazed at just how much time I now spend talking about princesses. When I learned I was going to a site in Rwanda for teenage boys, princesses were the last thing on my mind, but now I spend a good portion of everyday telling princess stories or talking about how princesses might dress or behave or even princess movies I have watched. I don’t know who introduced the girls to the idea of princesses but they are obsessed. 

It’s definitely been an interesting and blessed experience. I’m coming up to the halfway point of my mission next week and can’t wait to see what the next 6 months have to offer.

Some Big Changes

Ok so I guess it’s time for a new blog post. I think it’s been a month and a half or so. Sorry about that. So much has happened and I want to update you. Also, sorry for no new pictures. I haven't had the time, but they are coming soon. 

First off, please excuse any English or grammar mistakes. I am really beginning to lose my English but at least my French is really improving.

My family came to visit me for Christmas and I really want to write about that (and thank everyone who gave awesome donations for my boys), but I’m going to save that for my next blog entry. I also asked my family to each write a little blurb about their experiences and I’ll post those next also. 

For this post, I want to focus on some recent changes to my mission. 

The week after my family left, I received the news that my site was changing and I had to leave the boys. After school had ended I didn’t have much to do for two months and did not like feeling useless. I wanted to have a set routine and set work, so the priests began trying to find me a job to do during the day so then I could come back in the afternoon to be with the boys at Oratory and hang out with them at the Foyer at nights. While they were putting out feelers, the Salesian Sisters told the priests that they actually needed a full-time volunteer and asked the priests to give me to them. I found out 48 hours before I was expected to move. I had to pack, finish working out sponsorships, say goodbye to the boys, and move in less than two days. 

It was so hard. I cried for about 60% of the two days and was in shock for the other 40%. I was expecting to have at least 8 more months with the boys and was even seriously considering extending my contract so I could be with them longer. Finding out I had to leave them so quickly and without time to prepare them or myself for my departure was very painful. I made a promise of poverty, chastity, and obedience with the Salesians, so I just kept trying to be very obedient. I kept trying to trust that God had a reason for this and that this is all in his plan. I’m sorry to say though that inside my heart and head I wasn’t as joyful or obedient as I now wish I had been. 

When I told the boys, some were angry, some were sad, a couple cried, but I got permission to return every Friday afternoon to visit, so that was a huge comfort for everyone involved. I’m so glad I will at least get to see them weekly. They have also been calling me every day.  

I arrived at my new site last Tuesday. It’s a school for gifted children so most of the kids are very wealthy, however I don’t work with these kids too much. My main job is to be the “House Mamma” for 50 girls who live here. They are between the ages of 3 and 13. These girls are extremely gifted but too poor to afford an education. Because of their intelligence, they were accepted to the school and get to live here so they can get 3 meals a day and study. 

I'm sorry to say that when I first arrived I had a hard time being open to the situation. I tried to disguise my feelings as best as I could, but I called my mother than night and actually said “these are just some random kids! They aren’t my kids.” Well, it didn’t take long for me to regret those words. These girls have already completely won me over. They are just beautiful and so lively. I’m constantly laughing. They all speak Kinyarwanda, English, and actually French, which is unusual. Usually children their ages don’t learn French since it’s being phased out. 

They constantly keep me on my toes and are always challenging me in new ways. They also keep me laughing. 

I’m the “House Mamma,” so I’m responsible for caring for their daily activities. I’m with them all the time. 

I guess I should explain the typical day in my life: I wake up around 5:20 because I have to wake the girls up at 5:40 (except one day a week I wake up at 4:30 and get the girls up at 5 so we can go to Mass). After waking the girls up, I bathe the youngest ones and make sure the older ones are washing up. Then I check their teeth to make sure they brushed. I then go and examine rooms and help them make their beds. Whenever one of the younger ones wets her bed (at least one a day) I pull out the sheets and put them to the side so we can wash them later. Then I help all the little ones get dressed and examine all their uniforms to make sure they are ready for school. Then I send them on to breakfast and I eat with the sisters. After eating with the sisters, I watch that my girls go to their classrooms and then I go to the nursery. I watch 45 three-year-olds until noon and then go eat lunch with the sisters. At 1 p.m. The girls get out of school and I send them along to lunch. When they finish eating, I help them with their assigned chores and scold them for whatever crazy thing they are doing. Then we do homework until about 4 p.m. After each girl finishes her homework, I have to review it and then sign it to show I reviewed it. After that, I go to the gym with the girls where they style my hair and we play clapping and dancing games. At 5:15 we pray a Rosary and then go to the Chapel for about 15 minutes to pray. Then we go back to the gym until 7 when all the sisters and me eat dinner with the girls, which is always beans and rice. After dinner, the girls go back to the gym and we play some more and then we go back to the Chapel for their “Goodnight” talk. The “Goodnight” is a Salesian tradition and is usually a story or small talk on morality. After the “Goodnight,” I take them up to our house and wash their feet, mop the floor, and then make sure they are all in bed sleeping. I try to stop by each room to tell the girls “Maro-tay Manna” (not sure of spelling so I just wrote it how it sounds). This means “dream of God.” Then I come to my room in the same house as the girls for my first break of the day, usually around 9:30 p.m. Lights off by 10:30.  

It’s a really busy schedule and I work 7 days a week. My only time off is Friday afternoons when I go visit the boys. 

Still, the girls are a lot of fun. They are always touching my hair and constantly braiding it or styling it in strange configurations, which they insist are beautiful. Whenever I wear an African dress or take the time to style my hair, they always go “Wow!” whenever they see me. It’s so cute.

I’m learning quickly how little my college education means here. Before moving to Africa, I would have thought a theology degree would be useful to a missionary. I was wrong. Instead of spending four years studying, I should have taken cleaning courses, because that’s the way I spend a majority of my time and I’m terrible at it! I was trying to mop the floor the other day and one of my 9 year olds, Assumpta, walked up to me and said, “You’re not working; you’re playing!” She then proceeded to show me how to "really mop" a floor.  

I've also had some difficulty about my skin color. For two of the three year olds, I am the first Mzungu they have ever seen and they react to me with raw fear. I always try to speak very gently and play with them but my efforts are futile. Finally I found out why. One of the 3 year olds told an older girl that “Mzungus like to eat babies!” 

For the rest of the day, all the girls and the sisters tried to convince the two that I’m not a cannibal, but they won’t have anything to do with me. Hopefully in time they will warm up. 

In the U.S., if someone is from way out in the country, other people say, “they’re from the boonies.” Yesterday, after trying to convince the two babies I wouldn’t eat them, one of the sisters goes, “These small children are ignorant. You are the first white skin they have seen.” Then she snorted and goes, “They’re from the Bush.” I don't know why I thought that was so funny but I still laugh about that. 

It’s actually sort of sad that we have three year olds here. It must be so hard for them to be away from their mothers and on top of that, they are forced to live with a Mzungu who could eat them at any moment. The poor little things have been very traumatized, but the older girls have been so kind to them.

 Each of the three year olds was given to one of the older girls and she is responsible for the child. The older girls refer to the little ones as “my baby.” The babies share a bed with the older girl and she has to clean and feed and care for the baby. It’s not an ideal situation, but it is reality. All of the children have to share twin size beds. It’s two girls to each bed. 

I brought the girls two dolls (in Rwanda, we call them “poppets”). They were all sooooo excited to get new poppets but there were only two and all 50 girls had to share. Instead of fighting, they developed a system where each poppet sleeps in a different room every night so everyone will get a turn. They didn’t need an adult to negotiate this system. They did it on their own. They are truly the complete opposite of my Gatenga boys. I think I mentioned before that I had to break up an almost fist fight because two boys were arguing over whether I would become a sister or get married. I think only two poppets for 50 girls is a much better excuse for a fist fight than whether your teacher will become a nun, but the girls were very mature. I was so proud of them. 

After being there for 5 days, some of the girls told me for the first time that they loved me. Actually, about 10 of them told me that today. It was so sweet and so moving. Then, they did something that I am still beaming about. In Africa, everyone has two names: a “Christian” name and an African name that is based on a personality trait or virtue. The girls decided it was time for me to get an African name, so they held a little meeting amongst themselves and decided to name me “Ineza.” Roughly translated, it means “She who does good works where she is.” I was so touched. 

I still don’t totally understand what God’s plan is for me at this new site, or why I had to leave the boys, but I am definitely starting to feel settled. As my mother told me, one of the greatest miracles in life is how our hearts can never run out of love. 

I never thought I could love anyone as much as my Gatenga boys but it didn’t take a week for me to be proven wrong. Now I get to have both my Gatenga boys and my new Kiyovu girls. How can life get any better?

Ha. Just as I was typing this, I received this text from one of my Gatenga boys: “Hi Mary Ellice. I wish you a good night and a good job for tomorrnw. I am happy be couse on 1st May Pape Benoit 16 [I think he means JPII] he shall in the 1st part of saint. Be happy be couse you are good like him befor me or every one. Thank you Mery Ellice.”

So much love and so many blessings.