February 1, 2011
Today was an unbelievable day. We woke up at 6 (this was unpleasant, to say the least) and attended breakfast with the entire village. Breakfast, you should understand, is a piece of bread and “porridge.” This, I’m afraid, will soon need to be supplemented by my peanut butter and protein bar collection. At breakfast I sat with a group of girls who asked me a question I’ve gotten a number of times in the last two days: “Do you have parents?” This is often accompanied by “Do you live with your family?” “Where does your family live?” “Do you have siblings?” Answering these questions in this environment is tricky. If I were to ask them in return, I would already know the answers. They’re here because they have no parents, and their siblings and extended family members are limited at best. Every day we have a kevana (Hebrew for “theme”), and today’s was remembrance. As you continue reading you’ll find why this was particularly appropriate, but hearing these questions reminds me to appreciate having an entire family only a phone call or Skype chat away. This is not the norm in the village, or in Rwanda, and I know I take it for granted.
After breakfast we boarded the world’s smallest and ricketiest van to Kigali. Today was Heroes’ Day in Rwanda, so most places are closed, but they opened the Kigali Memorial Center specially for us. The memorial is split into three parts: the first and largest in underground and tells the history of Rwanda before, during and after the 1994 genocide. The second part is upstairs and devoted to child victims; this was probably the most difficult part for me. The third part of the memorial is devoted to other genocides and mass killings in history, most namely, the Holocaust, Bosnia and Cambodia. Outside the main building is a mass grave, which includes multiple parts, where nearly 300,000 victims of the genocide are buried. Here we held a small memorial service for the victims of the genocide, some of the most heroic Rwandans in the country’s history, and we said mourner’s kaddish; no one properly mourned these fallen innocent lives, so we took the time to honor and remember them.
Once we concluded our trip to the Kigali Memorial, we went into the center of the city to go food shopping. First, please know that the current exchange rate from US dollars to Rwandan francs is $1 for 592 francs. So, this makes things like grocery shopping interesting. Unfortunately, last night one of my roommates discovered she forgot to pack her bag with her underwear in it. While this seemed disastrous at the time of discovery, we then realized it provided us an opportunity to purchase Rwandan underwear. But not underwear, knickers. She’s British, so she refers to underwear as “knickers.” This got extremely complicated when explaining to the woman who worked at the food store that she wanted “knickers.” Luckily, we found some, and suffice it to say that they are not exactly God’s gift to fashion, but they will certainly do the job. After this minor debacle, we purchased more tuna fish (I had to explain this in French, and was told to slow down. Never before have I been told I was speaking French too quickly. I was flattered) some crackers, hand soap and candy and chocolate for our families to which we were assigned. Piling back into the van (the engine had to be restarted by hand) with all of our purchases was a bit difficult, but we managed. Also, Brinley and I managed to rack up a 76,000 franc bill at the store. We then realized this is about $60 per person for a month’s worth of food, water and gifts. Wow.
We returned to ASYV for lunch and then went to watch the boys’ soccer (excuse me, “football”) and basketball teams play another school about an hour away from the village. Our guys were amazing; we cheered quite loudly and tried to teach some of the other sideline fans to scream “Defense! Defense!” Needless to say, this took quite a bit of coaching, but they’ll get the hang of it.
I then returned to the guest house with high hopes of taking a much needed shower. As I’m learning, such dreams are hopeless. There is currently no running water in the village. No toilets flush, no sinks, no nothing. So, we retrieve water from an outside faucet in huge plastic bins and use empty bottles and cups to “bucket shower.” Since I showered yesterday, and the water is now so limited (the water from the outside faucets is actually rain water collected in gigantic structures near each house) I used some wipes and Purell, and that is as good as it’s getting for today.
Seven o’clock was dinner, at which I received some of the same questions in terms of my family, who I live with, if I have siblings. Then the girls, Jaclyn and Asha in particular, started asking me about life in America. What kind of music I like (when I said Michael Jackson the entire table started screaming and clapping and of course, we burst into a small rendition of “Thriller”) if I have a boyfriend, how Rwanda and Israel compare. Their curiosity is truly insatiable; they want to know as much about the world outside of Rwanda as possible, and their questions are genuine.
This theme of questions brings me to the best part of my day which was family time. The kids in the village are split into families, by gender (16 boys or 16 girls per family) and by class (classes are done by the year in which the kids entered the village, not by age. So, kids who are 20 years old and kids who are 17 can be in the same class. Classes are Enrichment Year, Senior 4, Senior 5 and Senior 6. As of now, the first 3 years are full and by next year, the village will have all 4 classes and will be operating at capacity). I was assigned to Family 8 (since they are in Enrichment Year, they are newest to the village and must research and choose a name for their family. This will probably be done in the next few months). Family 8 also includes a volunteer from Kansas named Michelle, a counselor/therapist named Erica, who is Rwandan and translates for us, and a house mother who everyone calls Momma (house mothers are women from neighboring provinces who lost their families in the genocide). The girls went around telling us their names, what they like to study, what music they like and most importantly, their favorite food. Then the Spanish Inquisition began. They only wanted to know about life in America, about our families (we are assigned to village families in groups of 2, so I’m with my friend Hannah), and if we like chocolate. When they heard I speak French, they all erupted at once, asking me questions in French, telling me to answer in French… they were quickly instructed to revert back to English. The most difficult question we got was if we believe in Jesus. We attempted to explain that we’re Jewish, and we know Jesus existed in history, but we don’t believe in him as a religious figure. They didn’t quite grasp this. “Why don’t you love Jesus?” “Jews… like Jesus, no?” “Jesus is God, yes?” We then tried to explain there are many religions in the world, and not all of them believe in Jesus. They didn’t quite understand this (which they should, more or less, since about 5% of the kids in the village are Muslim), so we changed the subject. We had brought them chocolate and candy, and upon seeing our gifts, their eyes lit up and they began clapping and singing “We are so happy to see you! We are so happy to see you!” At this point, they brought out trays of pineapple, which they only wanted us to finish (I think there were about four or five sliced pineapples… I had two slices and it was more than enough). The girl sitting next to me, who was translating from Kinyarwanda to English, named Yvette, said, “You are a great human. Your heart, it must be so big. I am so happy to meet you.” Between my overwhelming fatigue and all of the emotions in the room, it was all I could do not to throw my arms around her and cry. She asked me, like everyone else, if I have sisters. When I said no, she said, “Now, you have us. You have sisters.”
I am now sitting in the front of our guest house, facing the mountains of Rubona. It’s completely pitch-black here; we walk around at night with flashlights, while everyone else walks around in the dark with no problem (we look like idiots and can be spotted from nearly any point in the village). Next to me, my roommate is explaining her new underwear purchases to her “Mum” on the phone, and I find myself completely in awe. I am in Africa. In east Africa. In Rwanda. In one of the most incredible places with some of the friendliest, most welcoming people I’ve ever met in my life. Granted, the food leaves much to be desired and the bugs may make me crazy, we have no water as of now (which is a problem given the current state of our toilet) and I’m so tired I can barely type, but I know the next weeks will change my life. In the best way possible.
Thank you for reading, as always. More soon!
Love,
Elana
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