February 25, 2011
Saying goodbye is never easy, especially when it can be said in one of several languages. Today, however, began the long list of goodbyes that, unfortunately, lead to our departure on Monday. This morning I went to teach my final classes in the school – double chemistry. I walked into the classroom and was immediately bombarded with questions, “Teacher, question! Teacher, me! Teacher, please, help me!” Someone then explained to me that they were having an exam today, so they were all very caught up in their final minutes to study. I answered their questions, going around the room to make sure everyone had a chance to ask me at least one, and reminded them that they are all excellent students and should be confident while taking their test. Their teacher, Carissa (a man, who is also called Eugene by some, which is confusing, unless they are two different people and I’m the one who’s confused) had some trouble making copies of the exam, so instead he wrote all of the test questions on the board and had the students copy them down). Once the entire test had been written in chalk and recopied onto notebook paper, I had to leave the room because the kids aren’t allowed to ask me questions during a test. So, I went into the teacher’s lounge where I usually spend my breaks and all of the teacher in there came up to me, telling me how sad they will be when we leave in a few days; Rachel, one of the English teachers who is always wearing at least three inch heels, told me she will be upset not to see my face in school on Monday. I told them all not to worry, that we can keep in touch, so we exchanged email addresses.
At the end of the hour, I went to my usual class, Enrichment Year Class D (I teach chemistry to second year, Senior 4, students) to say goodbye to them. When I walked in, they all started clapping, and we took a class photo, with Aimable, of course. As I stepped into the picture, Emile, who was standing behind me, grabbed my hand and said, “Please, don’t leave. I will be so sad when you go.” Emile usually sits in toward the back of the class, keeps to himself and does extremely well in school. His English is very advanced; more than once, I’ve caught him reading Chekhov in the back corner. We’ve had a few conversations over the past month; he’s very curious about life in America and how it is different from Rwanda (where do you even start when asked that question?) He’s a very intelligent, curious and kindhearted kid, and I’m going to miss him, and the rest of the class, very much. On my way out, Assoumpta stopped me, making sure that I’ll come visit the family over the weekend. I told her a promise is a promise and of course I’ll be there; she said, “Ok, good, because we will miss you. We want to see you. And take more pictures.” They LOVE taking photos, especially being able to see them afterward on digital cameras. I told Assoumpta not to worry, that I’ll be at the house, with my camera, and we can take lots of pictures. As I left, I turned back, and she was smiling, giving me a thumbs-up.
One last time, I trekked back down from the school to the work site. I found the rest of the group cutting up pineapple Ido had bought from a passing bicycle; we got 34 pineapples, so for about 200 francs each, the guy selling them probably went home for the day since his profit from our purchase alone makes for a better business day than most. We all took turns cutting them open, taking off the outside, and saving the tops because tops of pineapples can be planted to grow more fruit, no watering necessary. After opening, coring and chunking 30 of the pineapples into pieces, Ciprier and Eric, the work site managers, gathered all 80 workers (some are building other houses in the village, but we’ve worked with all of them at least once, and they are our English students) and I gave a small speech, in French, on behalf of Social Action Rwanda, and Ciprier translated it into Kinyarwanda. Then, some of the workers wanted to say a few words (in Kinyarwanda, of course) so Ciprier translated into French and I translated to English. It seems like a much more laborious process than it was, but it was crazy hearing all these languages flying around a construction site that smelled of pineapple and cement, all at once. Finally, when the workers and Ido had all finished speaking (Ido joked about none of them taking advantage of our presence to find a Muzungu wife. They found this hysterical, as did we… sort of), the pineapple disappeared in record time (under five minutes, easily). We said goodbye to all of them; many of my and Ilyssa’s English students came up, saying “Teacher, miss you!” and “Thank you, teacher!” I’m going to miss them very much, especially Pelage. Who’s going to hand him bricks? I guess now that the warehouse is essentially done, the point is moot, but not seeing him and the rest of the workers every day for several hours, laughing (usually them laughing at us, but we laugh along anyway) and joking and making the time pass together, is going to be a rough adjustment.
After taking some pictures (including one with Ciprier. He was very excited about this) we washed our hands of pineapple juice and were getting ready to leave for the Rubona market when Ido stopped us. He told us we needed to have a short meeting. Ido began by telling us that the warehouse was built by moving bricks and cement from one place to another, from disorganized piles to neat stacks to the walls that now support a roof and are built on a solid rock foundation. He then said (and this was our surprise) that everyone who comes to the village should know who built it, who moved the bricks and the cement to make it into what it is. So, in front of the warehouse, the path leading to the door, is a cement patch on which we got to write Year Course 2011, put our handprints in the cement (this was a total mess, but lots of fun) and write our initials. There will forever be evidence of the hands that put that building together: our hands. Fourteen sets of hands, all different shapes, sizes and strengths, working together to build something wonderful. What we built doesn’t end with our warehouse; we built relationships, friendships, memories that will never be forgotten. We built a home here, and it’s going to be nearly impossible to leave.
When we had finally finished our handprints and washed off the remaining cement, we walked to the Rubona market. On the way, as usual, we were stopped by children running from their houses and the primary school, screaming, “Good morning, how are you?” It was unusually hot today, so the walk seemed longer than normal, but when we arrived at the market, kids, chasing after us in packs, watching our every move, swarmed us. I went to go look at the printed skirts (they’re in piles on tables made out of tree trunks and spare branches), and I found one! I tried it on over my shorts and the woman told me I could have it for 1000 francs (just under $2). However, it was a little long, so I took it to one of the several women who sit with sewing machines near the fabric stores, and showed her that it was too long. She spoke no English and no French, so lots of miming was involved, but she told me to come back in 15 minutes and it would be done. Well, sure enough, fifteen minutes and 200 francs (34 cents) later, my skirt had been shortened. This is a process that, in America, takes days or weeks and costs way more than 34 cents. I think we have something to learn from the seamstresses of Rubona.
I wandered the market, picking up some fabric (no surprise – it’s cheap and beautiful and packs easily. Triple win) a few mangos to snack on for the next few days, some brochette skewers (last ones for a while) and, for Shabbat, 50 potato and hot pepper samosas for us and the long-term volunteers (Talia and I split the cost of these). We loaded up our brown paper bags (recycled from Nakumatt) and began walking back to the village, stopping along the way for some nun wine. When we got back, I went to braid challah for Shabbat in the kitchen, where Hiram (the head of the kitchen) kept feeding us pineapple and fruit salad. Ido even came to make one with us (he made his challah in the shape of a giant croissant. We were ready to put them in the oven when he realized that there was no egg on top, so he went to go get us an egg and, I have no idea where he found it, a pastry brush). Between the samosas and brochettes, and all the fruit, I felt so full it was borderline nausea.
Later, we went back to pick up the challahs (which turned out delicious) and had kabbalat Shabbat at the guesthouse with all the volunteers. After a short service, we feasted on challah, tomatoes, pineapple (the four remaining after Ido’s morning purchase), bananas and samosas imported to ASYV from the Rubona alleyway samosa guy. After we finished eating, it was time to go to the dining hall for Village Time, the weekly all-village meeting led by clubs and village directors. There is also a weekly village “newscast” done by the ASYV TV club (it really is a cute video). This week, Ilan, the director of the village, after mentioning some world news, talked about saying goodbye to the Young Judaea volunteers. This, for me, made it real. We’re really leaving. In the next two days, we have to pack and leave for Israel. It won’t be easy or fun, but it’s happening, and there is no way around it.
Right after Village Time is always dinner, but Talia planned us a special group dinner – chicken soup! She brought us instant noodles in soup from Israel (she checked through several boxes of food, including one of peanut butter and another of granola bars), which we all had tonight for dinner, just us, at the guesthouse. It was a very nice way to start our last Shabbat together. We finished our group dinner and went back to the dining hall (there was a lot of schlepping involved this evening, but given my samosa and brochette intake, I need all the exercise I can get) for the monthly birthday celebration. Since there are so many kids in the village and some don’t know their birthdays, the last Friday of each month is a village birthday party for anyone born during that month or part of the year. The birthday celebration included cake and roasted nuts (they tasted like peanuts, but weren’t) and performances by several students. At the end, the celebration turned into a dance party on the porch of the dining hall, which is always a blast here because the kids are amazing dancers.
It’s now after 11 and I need to wake up very early tomorrow to run Muchaka Muchaka a final time (and perhaps get it on video… I’m going to need a way to practice my African chanting at home). 5:30 will be here before I know it!
More about my final days here soon, lots of love,
Elana
No comments:
Post a Comment