February 26, 2011
Before I start today’s blog, here are a few things that in my exhausted stupor, I forgot to mention earlier:
1. Village Time is done all in Kinyarwanda, with the exception of Ilan’s speech in English and, last night, Anne also presented in English. However, the rest of the hour and a half is complete confusion to me, so I was sitting with some of the housemothers, who were translating for me. One of them translated from Kinyarwanda into French, and then I translated into English. They are such awesome women, and I will never forget them (not to mention their fantastic outfits).
2. During the birthday celebration last night, before the crazy dance party ensued, the people whose birthday it was in the past month or part of the year stood up on the stage in the dining hall and then everyone – I mean everyone, like more than 300 students and volunteers – dashed up to the stage to give them all birthday hugs. I made my way down the line, others doing their best to make a hole for me to sneak my way through while trying not to bump into too many people. I hugged everyone, wishing them a happy birthday and many more. They all thanked me profusely, shaking my hand, hugging me back, and I even got a few pecks on the cheek. Everyone was so excited that we were even there, that we were celebrating their birthdays, that it made me feel as though sometimes, simply being present is the best present of all.
Ok, now I can begin today’s entry:
I woke up this morning, one final time, at 5:30 to run Muchaka Muchaka with my family. There’s something amazing about waking up to blue mountains lit only by a rising sun behind fog and clouds. It’s a gorgeous sight, one I know will never be replicated. I walked to my family’s house and to my surprise, the first person outside the house this morning, waiting for the guards to start our run? Mama Hillary, dressed in one of her finest hand-printed fabric outfits, and her house slippers. I asked her if she was running; she told me of course, she loves Muchaka! I couldn’t contain myself. Eventually, the girls stumbled out of the house and we made our three-line formation to begin the run. Unfortunately, Mama Hillary didn’t actually jog along with us, but she did clap and cheer as we passed. About halfway through, I stopped because my stomach just didn’t feel right. Well, sure enough, I ran right back to the guesthouse and I’m pretty sure last night’s samosas were duking it out in my stomach. This did not end well.
Luckily, I crawled back in bed and woke up feeling much better. I then took up the grim task of packing my suitcase. I know I won’t want to deal with it tomorrow – I want to spend one final day relaxing and spending time with the girls in my family. I am donating my towels and bed linens to the village (volunteers are asked to do this since the village can’t buy hundreds of sets of sheets and hundreds more towels; they just don’t have the funds to spare) so that freed up space for my new African art acquisitions (they all fit, along with my clothes, which was a relief). So now I have a packed suitcase standing in the corner of my room, constantly reminding me that in less than two days we’ll be leaving ASYV to get on a plane and fly back to Israel. It’s not a pleasant reminder, but it’s a dose of reality that I know I needed. A month, I’ve learned is a very short time. In the course of my life, it seems like nothing. But these weeks were something. What I’ve done and experienced and lived in this month will supply memories and lessons for a lifetime; I know I will remember this month forever.
After lunch, I went to visit my family. The girls all came to greet Hannah and me, handing us more cards (one of mine has “Jose” written on the front. This was confusing for a while since I thought it said Jose as in “ho-say,” but it’s from Joselyn and she just ran out of room writing her name on the front of the card. Adorable). For a short while, Cadette showed me pictures of her family, including one of her father that looks like it was taken thirty years ago. She told me it was taken in Israel; he traveled there before the genocide, during which he died. We spent a while talking about America; the girls all want to go to college there. They were asking me how university “happens” (they meant “works”) in America, how they would be able to apply and then go there. I told them they need to work very hard in school now so they can apply and maybe, if they are lucky, got to college in the States. They all promised me they will; they said they want to go to an American university so they can see me and meet my family. I said that this was very thoughtful, but they should want to go to college to get the best education they can, that my family and I would love to see them, but it’s not a reason to go to college in America. They still seem to think it is.
The conversation then turned to after whom they are going to name their house. There’s been buzz around the village about naming houses after Benjamin Franklin; I convinced my girls out of this not only because it’s unoriginal, but also because there are so many other important people in history and they need to do more research. I started naming some of history’s remarkable women (who came to mind immediately): Rosa Parks, Golda Meir, Princess Diana, just to name a few (they had heard of none of these women). The idea of naming their house after a woman inspired them; they had only researched a few people, all of whom happened to be men. I told them that I’ll come back tomorrow with my laptop so we can research more prospective female namesakes together. They all clapped at this, and Mama Hillary opened a box of cookies for us. Then, to show me how prepared they are for school on Monday, they began reciting the French poem I helped them memorize for class, Le Corbeau et the Le Renard. They did very well, given their pronunciation troubles when it comes to “l” and “r,” and they were clearly quite proud of the progress they’d made. Before I left, they all stood up to give me hugs and tell me how much they love me and are going to miss me. I gave them my Facebook contact information so we can keep in touch; they hung the piece of paper I wrote it down on in the living room.
Later in the afternoon brought the dreaded meeting: what we do now that we’re leaving. I know that returning to Israel means going back to some semblance of “real life,” my friends and Roi, classes and volunteering. It feels impossible to give up this new life that I’ve made here with a group that, a month ago, was a bunch of strangers, from all different social circles, and now feels like a family. I’ve spent a month doing what I love to do, helping others, day in and day out, for fifteen or sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, for four weeks. There are so many small things that make this place special, so many people to miss and habits I’ll have to break. I’ll miss the MTN cell phone guy who sells minutes through the fence of the village, the guys with pineapples on bicycles that we can buy for less than 25 cents apiece, the people who make samosas fresh for us when they see us walking through the market, brown paper bags in hand, ready to order a dozen. I’ll miss the Mamas and cooking class, Ciprier and our endless translated conversations, the workers and our English classes together, the school and Aimable and Vincent, and of course, most of all, the kids. Leaving them will be the hardest.
Tonight was our cultural talent show. It was, to say the least, a very Rwandan production. This means it started 45 minutes and ran over an hour late, and featured presentations like traditional African dance, a fashion show of tribal wear, complete with spears and woven baskets, songs and speeches. We performed with the village’s culture club. Our “talent” came in several parts: first, we all did an African “dance” (swaying with strange-looking arm movements, really) while the village culture club sang a traditional song, then we did Ain’t No Mountain all together, followed by the Cupid Shuffle, an American line dance, and we concluded with Amahoro, a Rwandan song that means “Peace.” We got some laughs, lots of dancing and enthusiasm from the crowd, and a very nice round of applause at the end (probably because it was over). Several students performed, including the village’s acclaimed rapper, two of the dance clubs, and Momma Hillary even presented a speech and ended with a song! To finish the show, it’s traditional in Rwandan culture to drink milk, so the village culture club, along with the hospitality club, passed around pitchers of milk and mugs. On the stage (the talent show was held in the village amphitheater) was a traditional African “scene,” complete with a straw mat, woven baskets and small, dome-covered containers filled with milk. Two of the volunteers were invited up to the stage to take part in the scene, only unbeknownst to them, they had to actually drink the milk from the containers. In front of about 400 people. This was, of course, absolutely hysterical.
After the show, a bunch of us brought back the decorations – giant woven baskets (you could put me in one of them), wall hangings, spears and vases – to the dining hall, which is not exactly close to the amphitheater. Doing this walk in the dark carrying a piece of African art the size of me was not exactly easy. On the way from the dining hall to the guesthouse, I looked up and saw the most gorgeous night sky I have ever seen in my life. Amidst complete blackness is an endless patch of stars that seem to shine brighter here than anywhere else. Maybe it’s because of the altitude or the fact that the only light is coming from the stars and not traffic or buildings or streetlamps, but the simple beauty of the sky. They seem close enough to touch, as if I could reach my hand out and pull one down. I continued walking, listening to the birds squawk and the frogs croak, taking in the beauty of this place. It never ceases to amaze me, how unbelievably beautiful Rwanda is; it’s like waking up to a postcard, only it’s real (you realize this when the bugs start eating you).
Tomorrow is our last day in the village, and I know it won’t be an easy one. I’m waking up for church services in the morning, so I need to get some sleep, especially after my talent show efforts followed by schlepping giant baskets across the village. The next time I post from Rwanda, it will probably be my last until Jerusalem, so I’ll do my best to make it a good one.
Lots of love,
Elana
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