Hi readers! My African adventure is underway! However, here is a small disclaimer from me to you:
Due to spotty (and very slow) Internet access, my blog posts will not always be updated as often as I’d like or even the day I write them. I will be dating all posts so you know when they were originally meant to be posted. Also, pictures will be uploaded to Facebook and to the blog page, but probably not until I have returned to Israel, because the Internet in the Village simply cannot upload large images. Thank you so much for your patience – I promise to keep all of you as updated as possible!
Here’s my first actual post:
January 30-31, 2011
It’s hard to believe that 24 hours ago I was asleep on my top bunk in Arad, waiting for my alarm to go off so I could take a shower, do one last load of laundry and get on the bus to Ben Gurion Airport. Now, I’m awaiting our connecting flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Kigali, Rwanda. To say that I’m nervous would be an understatement; leaving my friends, and Israel, for a month seems scary. While it is only four weeks, and I know time will pass quickly with our nonstop schedule (6 AM to 10 PM every day, seven days a week!) the prospect of the unknown, and of such huge change, is frightening. I know I’m going to love the Village, Rwanda and its people, but adjusting to a new environment is never easy. Luckily, I am surrounded by friends who are all in the same position: none of us know what to expect.
The flight to Ethiopia was actually great. Turbulent and announced in Swahili, but great. We arrived around 5:30AM Ethiopia time (after leaving Tel Aviv around 12:30) and have spent the last hours sleeping on ridiculously upholstered chairs (they look like they belong in a movie theater that could have been on the set of Aladdin), having some breakfast (once again, like an idiot, I said “Toda” to the waiter who brought me my coffee, and then proceeded to take out shekels to pay.) I now need to get used to speaking English, using American dollars, and soon, Rwandan francs. We boarded the flight from Addis Ababa to Kigali (we thought), and then it was announced that we would be stopping in Nairobi, Kenya, which added about 2 hours to the trip. After our little pit stop in Kenya, we arrived in Kigali, made it through passport control, and claimed our bags. So really, in the last 24 hours, I’ve been in four countries and two time zones. I didn’t think of this until much later; the rest of my day, as you’ll soon read, was quite packed, and I was already exhausted.
We boarded a van sent from the Village; our driver, Ebimak, was awesome; and went to Ndoli’s convenience store and change place. We exchanged money, purchased Rwandan cell phones and SIM cards and headed to the Village. Arriving at the Village was unbelievable. The red dirt road winding up the mountainside which leads to the front gate of ASYV is surrounded by incredible views of the mountains and green valleys below; when the view becomes slightly blocked by red tiled roofs and green and brown buildings, we had reached the entrance to the Village.
Upon our arrival, we moved into our guest house and toured the Village. It is truly an amazing place. Not only do the kids spend hours in school, learning history, English, French, chemistry, math, they also take part in endless enrichment programs (yoga, music, technology…) and they work on the Village farm, which spans over 70 acres and includes vegetable and fruit patches (some of the most DELICIOUS pineapple in the world comes from Rwanda – we tried some), a chicken coop with about a thousand chickens and several cows. The Village is very much about sustainability; becoming independently funded to feed, clothe and provide for every student (which will eventually be 500 at a time). The farm is an avenue they are exploring to achieve this sustainability (exporting pineapple and fruit, selling eggs, etc.)
After completing our tour (which involved a minor thunderstorm, but the rain felt nice since none of us had showered) and meeting the director of the Village, an Israeli man named Ilan, we got ready for dinner. I decided to take a shower. This is much more involved than you would think. First of all, running water in the Village comes and goes, so what is done in Rwanda, and in the Village, is called “bucket showering.” To do this, you turn on the water (which is about a trickle) and place a bucket over the drain so the water collects in it. This way, should the water turn off mid-shower and you still have shampoo in your hair, you dump the bucket over yourself and you’re essentially clean. Luckily, the water didn’t shut off, so I was able to avoid the bucket madness. Also, since my hair is relatively short, washing it is easy even in showers with negative water pressure. Unfortunately, my roommates cannot say the same.
This brings me to my next topic: I am living with four other girls, one of whom is Brinley, and the other three are British (Tanya, Talia and Lucy). Even in the past few hours, I’ve picked up some fantastic new terms. The word of today is “mare,” as in short for a “nightmare.” An example would be: “Lucy is having a bit of a mare in the shower since she cannot wash her hair.” Unfortunately, this was a true scenario. I’m hoping that each day I can learn a new term and share it with you.
We had dinner with the entire Village; I sat with a group of girls who only wanted to know what I thought about all the “black peoples” in Africa, as if I had never seen anyone of color before in my life. They wanted to know if I was scared of them; they thought this question was hysterical. I, on the other hand, had no idea how to respond. Of course I wasn’t scared! Do I explain to them that I went to school with people of all races and ethnicities? I chuckled along and luckily, they moved on to asking me about what I like to study in school, if I have a boyfriend (when I said “yes” they all responded “ooooh!”), where I’m going to college. They are incredibly forward-thinking young women, and I am so excited to get to know them over the coming weeks.
I need to be up VERY early tomorrow, so that’s all for now. Wish me luck on the newest chapter of my year! More soon!
Lots of love from the Eastern Province of Rwanda,
Elana
Monday, January 31, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
"Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive that is youer than you." - Dr. Seuss
The last few days of my time in Arad have been some of the most unbelievable in my life. Let me tell you why this is anything but hyperbole:
At the beginning of the week, I returned to Home Center (they now know me by name there… they call me “American”) to buy colored paints, brushes and, as we would later learn, extremely awful-smelling yet necessary paint remover. Many thanks to Bubbie and Oggy for their generosity in donating these materials to the gan; we completely revamped the outside walls! When we arrived in Arad, and started volunteering at the gan, these walls looked like they were about to collapse and would have been better built out of Legos and Elmer’s glue. Well, seven weeks, three buckets of spackle, fifteen liters of white paint, four cans of colored paints, six paint rollers and three sets of brushes later, the gan looks like a new place. I smell like paint thinner and I’m pretty sure I’ve had paint in my hair for at least two consecutive days, but I can honestly say that I don’t care. There is an incredible sense of accomplishment when such projects are seen through; accomplishment, and now, somewhat of an emptiness. We worked for seemingly endless weeks and hours, doing everything we possibly could to make the gan a more beautiful place, and now that our work (and our time here) is done, I’m not sure what I’m going to do on Sunday when I don’t get up and run across town to play with the kiddies and sweep dust piles away from drying paint. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ll be packing. Oy.
Not only were the past days incredible because of our work, we were also invited for dinner last night by one of the fathers (Ring Deng) whose three children (Yosef, Aboulati, and Akot) are at the gan. Yesterday afternoon, we gathered at the gan and went home with his wife (I carried the baby, Akot, who is about seven months old now and chewing on everything he can, my hair included). In addition to making us the most delicious Sudanese feast (two types of chicken, plates of rice and salad, vegetables, and a heart-shaped cake!) she refused to allow us to help in the kitchen because it would simply be “not African” to allow guests to help with a meal. As we were sitting down to dinner, there was a knock at the door, and to our surprise, Aboba joined us! We were all screaming, so excited (and shocked) that she was there, having dinner with us and Ring Deng’s family. Perhaps my favorite part of the night was hearing their story; before arriving in Israel, Ring and his family spent five years in Egypt, where he owned a bakery and where their oldest child, Yosef, was born, and have been in Israel for three years. However, in six months, they will return to South Sudan permanently; Ring Deng has sisters and more family still in Sudan, as does his wife. The entire night left me in awe: people who have struggled so much and who have so little opened their home and their hearts to us and were some of the most generous and welcoming hosts I’ve ever had the opportunity to meet.
In keeping with the theme of selflessness, today was our last day at the gan, and after all these weeks, I finally realized what an unbelievable person Aboba is. She spends her days caring for children, none of whom are her own, feeding them, soothing them, drying their tears. She puts their needs before her own, always. Aboba is a true example of endless compassion, of sacrifice and love and kindheartedness. Of course, when necessary, she disciplines them and puts them in their place, but she is, most of all, an incredible woman and mother figure to children who would otherwise spend their days parentless and unoccupied.
To celebrate our time at the gan and to thank Aboba for everything she does, we threw the kids a mesiba (a party), in true American style, complete with pizza, music and dancing! The kids, to say the least, were quite overwhelmed. The idea of eating pizza from the “pointy end” first was quite foreign, as was eating your pizza and then drinking your Coke (they were all dipping the pizza in the Coke and thought it was culinary genius).
We also made a food basket for Aboba, filled with bags of rice and pasta, cakes and crackers, juice and other goodies we know she would never buy for herself. Upon receiving it, she sang at the top of her voice in Dinka, danced and held up the card we made for her, so excited she could barely contain herself. Though the language barrier always made things difficult, it was clear that Aboba appreciated our gift and was sad to see us leave; I’ve learned that thankfulness (and happiness) are universal and are understood in any language. When I gave her a hug goodbye, I saw her eyes tear (as did mine) and the kids wrapped themselves around my legs, one last time, as I struggled to get out the door. The rickety front door slammed behind me a final time, and I heard the lock latch to prevent any potential escapees from fleeing. Waiting outside was the “gan cart,” a shopping cart I had “rescued” from Home Center that we used to schlep paint and supplies from the mall to the gan (it’s a very hilly walk), but this time, it was filled with empty paint cans, fraying brushes and trash bags stuffed with paper towels and other evidence of our project. I’ll miss that shopping cart; it served us well in its time, but I’m pretty sure the weight of the paint, Aboba’s gift and other necessities we piled into it forced it into gan cart retirement.
On one side of the gan’s new and improved yard, we painted the Dr. Seuss quote: “Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive that is youer than you.” I think that this group of girls who changed the gan, and the lives of the people in it, is truly unique. We worked through miscommunications (in English, Hebrew, Dinka and Arabic. Yes, all at once), juice spill disasters, relentlessly screaming, crying children and reaching our wits’ end only to find that loving those children was inevitable. We fell in love with a single room and the woman who lives there, with the people and a place so foreign at the beginning it was scary, only to have it become a place filled with laughter and warmth, where we could walk around with no shoes on (plus, the kids loved “hiding” our shoes at the end of the day, when they knew it was time for us to leave, so we would stay for another ten minutes pretending to be utterly confused as to where our shoes had disappeared) and hands full of paint. It was a place to feel at home, to feel a part of something much larger and more important than ourselves. We made a change in the gan, and I can say with little doubt that the gan changed all of us.
Saying goodbye is never easy, but knowing my time here was well-spent, and that (hopefully) Aboba will always remember the six American girls who painted the walls and played with the children, I leave with a feeling of accomplishment. While that accomplishment is certainly accompanied by that same emptiness, I know that the void will soon be filled by a new adventure and new challenges awaiting me in Rwanda.
As always, thank you for reading. I promise to post pictures soon, in between packing for Rwanda and picking the paint out of my hair.
Love always,
Elana
At the beginning of the week, I returned to Home Center (they now know me by name there… they call me “American”) to buy colored paints, brushes and, as we would later learn, extremely awful-smelling yet necessary paint remover. Many thanks to Bubbie and Oggy for their generosity in donating these materials to the gan; we completely revamped the outside walls! When we arrived in Arad, and started volunteering at the gan, these walls looked like they were about to collapse and would have been better built out of Legos and Elmer’s glue. Well, seven weeks, three buckets of spackle, fifteen liters of white paint, four cans of colored paints, six paint rollers and three sets of brushes later, the gan looks like a new place. I smell like paint thinner and I’m pretty sure I’ve had paint in my hair for at least two consecutive days, but I can honestly say that I don’t care. There is an incredible sense of accomplishment when such projects are seen through; accomplishment, and now, somewhat of an emptiness. We worked for seemingly endless weeks and hours, doing everything we possibly could to make the gan a more beautiful place, and now that our work (and our time here) is done, I’m not sure what I’m going to do on Sunday when I don’t get up and run across town to play with the kiddies and sweep dust piles away from drying paint. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ll be packing. Oy.
Not only were the past days incredible because of our work, we were also invited for dinner last night by one of the fathers (Ring Deng) whose three children (Yosef, Aboulati, and Akot) are at the gan. Yesterday afternoon, we gathered at the gan and went home with his wife (I carried the baby, Akot, who is about seven months old now and chewing on everything he can, my hair included). In addition to making us the most delicious Sudanese feast (two types of chicken, plates of rice and salad, vegetables, and a heart-shaped cake!) she refused to allow us to help in the kitchen because it would simply be “not African” to allow guests to help with a meal. As we were sitting down to dinner, there was a knock at the door, and to our surprise, Aboba joined us! We were all screaming, so excited (and shocked) that she was there, having dinner with us and Ring Deng’s family. Perhaps my favorite part of the night was hearing their story; before arriving in Israel, Ring and his family spent five years in Egypt, where he owned a bakery and where their oldest child, Yosef, was born, and have been in Israel for three years. However, in six months, they will return to South Sudan permanently; Ring Deng has sisters and more family still in Sudan, as does his wife. The entire night left me in awe: people who have struggled so much and who have so little opened their home and their hearts to us and were some of the most generous and welcoming hosts I’ve ever had the opportunity to meet.
In keeping with the theme of selflessness, today was our last day at the gan, and after all these weeks, I finally realized what an unbelievable person Aboba is. She spends her days caring for children, none of whom are her own, feeding them, soothing them, drying their tears. She puts their needs before her own, always. Aboba is a true example of endless compassion, of sacrifice and love and kindheartedness. Of course, when necessary, she disciplines them and puts them in their place, but she is, most of all, an incredible woman and mother figure to children who would otherwise spend their days parentless and unoccupied.
To celebrate our time at the gan and to thank Aboba for everything she does, we threw the kids a mesiba (a party), in true American style, complete with pizza, music and dancing! The kids, to say the least, were quite overwhelmed. The idea of eating pizza from the “pointy end” first was quite foreign, as was eating your pizza and then drinking your Coke (they were all dipping the pizza in the Coke and thought it was culinary genius).
We also made a food basket for Aboba, filled with bags of rice and pasta, cakes and crackers, juice and other goodies we know she would never buy for herself. Upon receiving it, she sang at the top of her voice in Dinka, danced and held up the card we made for her, so excited she could barely contain herself. Though the language barrier always made things difficult, it was clear that Aboba appreciated our gift and was sad to see us leave; I’ve learned that thankfulness (and happiness) are universal and are understood in any language. When I gave her a hug goodbye, I saw her eyes tear (as did mine) and the kids wrapped themselves around my legs, one last time, as I struggled to get out the door. The rickety front door slammed behind me a final time, and I heard the lock latch to prevent any potential escapees from fleeing. Waiting outside was the “gan cart,” a shopping cart I had “rescued” from Home Center that we used to schlep paint and supplies from the mall to the gan (it’s a very hilly walk), but this time, it was filled with empty paint cans, fraying brushes and trash bags stuffed with paper towels and other evidence of our project. I’ll miss that shopping cart; it served us well in its time, but I’m pretty sure the weight of the paint, Aboba’s gift and other necessities we piled into it forced it into gan cart retirement.
On one side of the gan’s new and improved yard, we painted the Dr. Seuss quote: “Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive that is youer than you.” I think that this group of girls who changed the gan, and the lives of the people in it, is truly unique. We worked through miscommunications (in English, Hebrew, Dinka and Arabic. Yes, all at once), juice spill disasters, relentlessly screaming, crying children and reaching our wits’ end only to find that loving those children was inevitable. We fell in love with a single room and the woman who lives there, with the people and a place so foreign at the beginning it was scary, only to have it become a place filled with laughter and warmth, where we could walk around with no shoes on (plus, the kids loved “hiding” our shoes at the end of the day, when they knew it was time for us to leave, so we would stay for another ten minutes pretending to be utterly confused as to where our shoes had disappeared) and hands full of paint. It was a place to feel at home, to feel a part of something much larger and more important than ourselves. We made a change in the gan, and I can say with little doubt that the gan changed all of us.
Saying goodbye is never easy, but knowing my time here was well-spent, and that (hopefully) Aboba will always remember the six American girls who painted the walls and played with the children, I leave with a feeling of accomplishment. While that accomplishment is certainly accompanied by that same emptiness, I know that the void will soon be filled by a new adventure and new challenges awaiting me in Rwanda.
As always, thank you for reading. I promise to post pictures soon, in between packing for Rwanda and picking the paint out of my hair.
Love always,
Elana
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
American in Israel gets FAMOUS!
Hello everyone! I've recently discovered that portions of my blog have been published on the Young Judaea Year Course Website! To view one of my blogs on the YC page, follow the link:
Different Perspectives:
http://www.yearcourse.org/2010-2011/arad/different-perspectives/
Different Perspectives:
http://www.yearcourse.org/2010-2011/arad/different-perspectives/
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Garfield and Guns
Hello readers! It has officially been three blog-less weeks, and I realize that is unacceptable. So, here is an update:
I arrived back to Arad ten days ago and needless to say, America was weird. Everything was in English, everyone spoke English; I even tried to say “todah” a few times and people were very confused. It was wonderful to see family and friends, but everything that once felt “normal” and that once felt “mine” seemed very foreign.
Despite the jetlag, returning to Israel was wonderful. I came back with a second suitcase, filled with (thanks to my grandparents, Poppy and Grandma, and Aunt Amy) stuffed animals for the children at the gan. I opened the bag, emptied its contents onto the floor and I honestly thought their eyes were going to pop out of their heads with excitement. Immediately, several kids sprang for a Garfield doll, which became “chatool sheli” (my cat). However, there were a few too many “shelis” and only one chatool. So, Garfield had to take a little chofesh (a break) so the arguing, screaming and crying over him could subside. Unfortunately, attention turned immediately to a giant stuffed money whose mouth makes a “squeak” sound when pressed. This did not bode well for the monkey, or for us. Like Garfield, the monkey was also forced into “chofesh;” he is now tied around one of the gan ceiling supports, out of the reach of tiny hands to avoid any and all bickering, pulling and spitting (the competition for this monkey was major).
Last Thursday, we went on a group siyur (trip) to a local army base. This particular training base is for combat soldiers; they are some of the hardest working and most rigorously trained soldiers in the IDF. We had a complete tour of the base, and to finish the day, we got to shoot M-16s! One of the buildings on the base is a room that looks very much like a movie theater; huge screens along one wall, and a projector at the back with someone controlling it from a small room connected to the larger one. Well, this is not a place to watch Titanic, although I’m sure the picture quality would be excellent. Instead, a combat scene is simulated on the screen; different locations and enemy fire are projected, and I had to point and shoot the gun (it doesn’t shoot live rounds, but instead, small laser beams) at the targets on the screen. The soldiers instructing us kept screaming to change our positions as we shot: stand up, down on the ground, sit, reload! It was insanity. However, I must say, my aim was pretty decent. Another conclusion? Don’t wear rings on your trigger finger. It’s very, very painful.
Me, shooting my "M-Shesh Esreh" (M-16) at the base.
This week has been yet another of GCL (Gan, cook, laundry; slightly similar to the TV show the Jersey Shore’s abbreviation GTL, which stands for gym, tan, laundry. At least the laundry part is the same…)
The countdown has begun to my departure for Rwanda. Takeoff is in 18 days.
That’s all from here! More soon!
Love,
Elana
I arrived back to Arad ten days ago and needless to say, America was weird. Everything was in English, everyone spoke English; I even tried to say “todah” a few times and people were very confused. It was wonderful to see family and friends, but everything that once felt “normal” and that once felt “mine” seemed very foreign.
Despite the jetlag, returning to Israel was wonderful. I came back with a second suitcase, filled with (thanks to my grandparents, Poppy and Grandma, and Aunt Amy) stuffed animals for the children at the gan. I opened the bag, emptied its contents onto the floor and I honestly thought their eyes were going to pop out of their heads with excitement. Immediately, several kids sprang for a Garfield doll, which became “chatool sheli” (my cat). However, there were a few too many “shelis” and only one chatool. So, Garfield had to take a little chofesh (a break) so the arguing, screaming and crying over him could subside. Unfortunately, attention turned immediately to a giant stuffed money whose mouth makes a “squeak” sound when pressed. This did not bode well for the monkey, or for us. Like Garfield, the monkey was also forced into “chofesh;” he is now tied around one of the gan ceiling supports, out of the reach of tiny hands to avoid any and all bickering, pulling and spitting (the competition for this monkey was major).
Last Thursday, we went on a group siyur (trip) to a local army base. This particular training base is for combat soldiers; they are some of the hardest working and most rigorously trained soldiers in the IDF. We had a complete tour of the base, and to finish the day, we got to shoot M-16s! One of the buildings on the base is a room that looks very much like a movie theater; huge screens along one wall, and a projector at the back with someone controlling it from a small room connected to the larger one. Well, this is not a place to watch Titanic, although I’m sure the picture quality would be excellent. Instead, a combat scene is simulated on the screen; different locations and enemy fire are projected, and I had to point and shoot the gun (it doesn’t shoot live rounds, but instead, small laser beams) at the targets on the screen. The soldiers instructing us kept screaming to change our positions as we shot: stand up, down on the ground, sit, reload! It was insanity. However, I must say, my aim was pretty decent. Another conclusion? Don’t wear rings on your trigger finger. It’s very, very painful.
Me, shooting my "M-Shesh Esreh" (M-16) at the base.
This week has been yet another of GCL (Gan, cook, laundry; slightly similar to the TV show the Jersey Shore’s abbreviation GTL, which stands for gym, tan, laundry. At least the laundry part is the same…)
The countdown has begun to my departure for Rwanda. Takeoff is in 18 days.
That’s all from here! More soon!
Love,
Elana
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