I was given a hard time about my most recent (and shortest) blog post. So in order to give you the most thorough update possible, I thought I would share excerpts from my journal...Enjoy!
6/25/07
A couple nights ago a group of us went to a new club called Cadillac. The African guys couldn't believe I could dance. One of my Rwandan friends came up to me. He can't pronounce the g's in my name so he yelled, "Madgy! You can dance!" Two men told me I was beautiful, another Rwandan man whispered to me "I like the way you dance". It is odd and very uncomfortable for me to hold so much sway over men. What have I gotten myself into? When you're so unaware of your sexuality, it's overwhelming when it is thrust into your face. My dad was right - here in Africa there are 3 sexes: men, women, and white women.
Here in Rwanda, touching does not imply sexual interst of sexaul affection. People are much more openly affectionate to one another here than anywhere else I've visited. Walking down the street men often hold hands with eachother, or women, or both. People hug as they wait for a light to change. I love it. I love the physical manifestation of one's concern, kindness, and love for another. My first day in Rwanda, while I was walking down the street with Pasi, he grabbed my hand. My initial reaction was, "Wow, people are very forward here." But then I saw that everyone was holding hands around us. It will be hard for me to keep my hands at my sides when back in the U.S.
6/26/07
Tonight we are in Nyamata (place of milk), about an hour South of Kigali. We stopped at a church on the way into town. Five thousand people were murdered there in a single day - April 15, 1994. The perpetrators used hammers, clubs, and machetes to kill. Only 10 survived to recount the horrifying atrocities.
Inside the church were shelves of skulls and bones. Rows and rows of skulls and bones. The hardest ones to see were the small skulls of children. It is only chance privlege that gives me this vantage point. Along the walls hung clothing of the victims. They are all dirty now - and blood stained.
Yitgadal, v'yit kadash...
People saught refuge in a church hoping for thier G-d to protect them. But G-d did not stop the grenades from opening the doors for the killers. Do I believe in G-d? I keep asking myslef again and again on this trip. I believe in the human spirit. The strenght and the beauty of the human spirit. I believe it is that beauty which some label G-d and the strength that others call the spirit.
Leaving the church, I was drained and feeling guilty. How could Jews turn their backs in '94? And still today? But before my thoughts had time to settle, a band of school children came marching by. What perfect timing. As we left he ghosts of the past, we were greeted by the hope of the future. I know it sounds cliche, but my heart was truly strengthened.
After lunch we went to another church. Here 10,000 were massacred. The ceiling is spotted with holes from the shrapnel of grenades and the stains of bodies. The cloth on the altar is the same one that lay there that day.
In the basement of this church is a glass case full of skulls. Below the case is the coffin of a woman who was raped by men, sticks and poles, evenutally leading to her death. Her coffin stands as a tribute to her character.
Behind the church are two mass graves. You can walk below, among the coffins, but I chose not to. How many skulls can I see in one day? How can I walk among the dead so willingly?
On my way out, I signed zachor (remember) int eh guest book. Waiting beyond the gates, right on cue was a large group of young students. A coincidence? Perhaps. But either way, the juxtaposition was beautiful.
Walking back to our guesthouse, many kids kept us company. One little girl kept her eyes on my feet trying to match me step for step. It doesn't bother me being different here. Genuine curiostiy only leads ot genuine understanding. So I let kids pinch me to see that I'm real, or pat my hair and shake my hand. Each day we discover more and more of eachother's humanity.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
People here are very clean. Not only do they wash their clothes every night, but they also wash their shoes after each time they wear them. Every morning, people are sweeping the streets, the dirt roads, and the gardens. The government provides these jobs not only because of the cultural emphasis on cleanliness, but also as a type of social program - work for the unemployed.
In Kigali there is a lot of landscaping along the roadside and in the middle of roundabouts. Lots of greenery and flowers that are kept in extraordinary condition. This city is not as dense as ones in the U.S. It sprawls across the hills, stretching for miles. The countless hills provide many priceless views. Each is unique depending upon which peak you are standing. The house at my homestay would sell for millions in the U.S. because of the view out the back door.
In Kigali there is a lot of landscaping along the roadside and in the middle of roundabouts. Lots of greenery and flowers that are kept in extraordinary condition. This city is not as dense as ones in the U.S. It sprawls across the hills, stretching for miles. The countless hills provide many priceless views. Each is unique depending upon which peak you are standing. The house at my homestay would sell for millions in the U.S. because of the view out the back door.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Yesterday was the last day of our human rights workshop. We spent most of the day split up into groups creating action plans to implement in order to promote human rights here in Rwanda. I ended up speaking with one of the facilitators of the workshop who is in the middle of creating a program to counsel and educate the children living in a brothel in Butare. His passion was contagious and now I'm involved with his plans. As we discussed the project, I learned of his past. I don't feel comfortable sharing it on this public blog, but I will say that he has already lived one thousand lives, and has experienced things that no human being should. He was forced to grow up and become a parent to his younger borthers and sisters, yet he is not bitter. "If I broke down, then what example would I set for my brothers and sisters? It would hurt them." So instead, he has carved out an incredible model for his family. He has founded and runs several clubs, teaches young kids to dance, facilitated our workshop - all the while attending university. You would not believe the resilience of these people. I think that is why I'm so attracted to this country. You can feel the energy and strength of the human spirit.
Today was our day off, and a couple of my friends and I went to the market. On our way out (carrying bags of gifts) we were mobbed by a group of street children, barefoot and dusty. They held out their hands, but instead of asking for money they whispered, "amazi". They wanted our water. These children are truly desperate. We gave our water away and they shared it between themselves. But how terrible I felt that I had just spent do much money on meaningless wood carvings and they are starving.
There is a public school system here in Rwanda, but children like them cannot afford it. Technically it is free, but the schools impose fees that goes to the teachers to encourage them to actually teach. The teachers are also barely making it by. It is hard to see so many problems and know that you cannot take them all on. I've been reminding myself everyday of the Talmudic verse, "Saving a single life is like saving the world."
Time for me to go. On my way to this internet cafe I gave a soccer ball away to a group of children. I'm hoping to go play with them before the sun goes down.
Today was our day off, and a couple of my friends and I went to the market. On our way out (carrying bags of gifts) we were mobbed by a group of street children, barefoot and dusty. They held out their hands, but instead of asking for money they whispered, "amazi". They wanted our water. These children are truly desperate. We gave our water away and they shared it between themselves. But how terrible I felt that I had just spent do much money on meaningless wood carvings and they are starving.
There is a public school system here in Rwanda, but children like them cannot afford it. Technically it is free, but the schools impose fees that goes to the teachers to encourage them to actually teach. The teachers are also barely making it by. It is hard to see so many problems and know that you cannot take them all on. I've been reminding myself everyday of the Talmudic verse, "Saving a single life is like saving the world."
Time for me to go. On my way to this internet cafe I gave a soccer ball away to a group of children. I'm hoping to go play with them before the sun goes down.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Hey everyone! Just a quick note to check in. Everything is still wonderful here. We're now reaching the end of the workshop on human rights with particpants from both the U.S. and Rwanda. We have explored a definition of human rights, what qualify as fundamental rights, America's perception of Rwanda (and vice versa), and have also studied specific rights in the context of Rwanda's history. I have made many new friends since the workshop began. Rwanda's are much more open than Americans, and gaining their trust and kindness is much easier than back home. Everyone here tells me to come back soon, and the truth is - if I wasn't expected to continue at Macalester I would cancel my ticket back home. How does that sound mom?
I've been staying with a beautiful and spunky Rwandan woman this week. She is also participating in the workshop. Her hospitality has been amazing. One night we were talking about American food and I explained that we eat fries with ketchup in America (here they eat them with mayonnaise). The next night at dinner, a bottle of ketchup was sitting in front of my plate!
There was concern among my family and close friends about me losing weight here, but you don't have to worry. Every meal consists of carbs on top of carbs. For instance, this morning we had bread rolls, donuts, and eggs for breakfast. For dinner there is always meat, sauce, fries, AND rice.
Oh, speaking of food I must go - it's getting close to dinner time.
Much love.
I've been staying with a beautiful and spunky Rwandan woman this week. She is also participating in the workshop. Her hospitality has been amazing. One night we were talking about American food and I explained that we eat fries with ketchup in America (here they eat them with mayonnaise). The next night at dinner, a bottle of ketchup was sitting in front of my plate!
There was concern among my family and close friends about me losing weight here, but you don't have to worry. Every meal consists of carbs on top of carbs. For instance, this morning we had bread rolls, donuts, and eggs for breakfast. For dinner there is always meat, sauce, fries, AND rice.
Oh, speaking of food I must go - it's getting close to dinner time.
Much love.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Muharo!! (hello)
Amukuru? (how are you?)
I'm wonderful. I'm sorry for the lack of blog posts. I actually wrote a very long one two days ago, but when I went to post it-the internet broke. Ah, welcome to Rwanda.
There's so much that has happened these few days that I have been here. I wish I could fill you in completely, but I don't think that would be realistic. Instead I will begin with today, which was an emotional roller coaster.
Our schedule was jammed packed. We left our guest house at 8:00 am for the Kigali Memorial. The layout is beautiful. A building with large windows is surrounded by gardens, a reflecting pool and an eternal light that burns from April to May (the months during which the genocide occured). Below the gardens there are about 15 mass graves holding 100 coffins and the coffins contain the bodies of 50 genocide victims. This comes out to a total of 358,000 victims that have been collected from the city of Kigali (Rwanda's capital). Just yesterday the museum received the bodies of 12 more victims, each day corpses of the genocide are being uncovered.
Inside the museum is divided into different periods: colonial history, beginning of genocide, during genocide, after genocide, and there's a childrens memorial upstairs along with an outline of each of the 20th century's genocides. I walked through the museum with our Rwandan staffer, Pasi. He has been amazing this past week, and was no different today. "In places like this", he said, "you have to be strong. In Africa, we have a lot of talent. I may write a song, but I cannot go into a studio to record it, like you can in America. So after a while, we forget we have any talent at all."
This experience was much different than Poland. In both instances, I saw the devestation alongside a survivor. But the Jewish holocaust seemed so long ago. The remains of death camps are like ancient artifacts. Here, I see people missing limbs and scarred bodies each day. I am so angry with myself and with the country I come from. I was alive during this genocide - my parents generation did nothing to stop it. And now, I live still witnessing genocide today in Darfur, yet my generation does nothing. I do nothing - or not enough anyway. It is not a racial issue, it is a moral one. Yes, the children from Treblinka and Auschwitz look like me, but the children in the pictures staring at me today were the same age I was when the genocide occured. Neither tragedy is worse than the other. But how can we let such a fate be shared by multiple countries, again and again?
I only had 20 minutes to process my emotions, because next we were off to a primary school. We walked from the museum to the school and a group of small kids dressed in green and white checkered tops greeted us at the gate. They walked us around all of the classrooms - 35 in all. We didn't enter each room. Lots of times we waved through the windows and shouted "muraho!" They would giggle, and return the greeting. Other classes I would reach my hand through the barred window to shake a hand, and before I knew it - the whole class was pressed against the bars. When we did go into classes the students would stand and say, "Welcome veeseetors!" After the tour, the whole school gathered to perform for us and present us with gifts.
In each classroom there are 70 to 100 children who are seated 6 to 7 on a bench. Theoretically, these benches should hole 2 to 3. The floors are either dirt or concrete, and the only other classroom tool they have is a blackboard. To see the passion of these children even in such conditions astounds me. How often did I complain to go to school when I was young? How much did I hate to sit in air conditioned rooms with tiled floors and shelves filled with books? We are so lucky, yet we are blind. So blind.
I gave the elder of the school my contact information, and Pasi translated for me asking him to please keep in touch with me so I can help spread his cause in the states. He hugged me and kissed me three times on the cheek.
Next, we were wisked away to a meeting with an NGO working for womens rights and then off to a peace village. The peace village is an alternative for an orphange. It is comprised of several child-headed households for kids who lost their parents during the genocide or to HIV/Aids. We toured some of the houses and then met with some of the kids (most were away at boarding school). We had drinks and donuts. Pasi found a radio...then the real fun began. All the younger children flocked to the sound waves and I followed. Soon white and black were mixed dancing. Finally I got to show off those West African dance moves I grew up with. And now I have some east African dances for my repitoire. Don't worry mom - I blew their flip flops WAY off. The kids loved that I danced like them. I knew they liked me when many of them opened my hands to put their candy in them. Next a young girl I danced with brought me a sprite.
I don't think this smile has left my face since I landed in Africa last Friday. I have a purpose. Doing these deeds gives me purpose. Pasi said to me, "It was beautiful to see white skin moving slow like ours." But it isn't because I'm white that the children love me. It is because they see someone from outside of Africa who cares about them...who sees their humanity.
I encourage you all to find a cause, and to give your heart to it. Maybe some of you already have. And if you have, you know that feeling of wholeness. I have never felt as spiritual as I do today.
Mura Muche (goodnight), and amahoro (peace).
Amukuru? (how are you?)
I'm wonderful. I'm sorry for the lack of blog posts. I actually wrote a very long one two days ago, but when I went to post it-the internet broke. Ah, welcome to Rwanda.
There's so much that has happened these few days that I have been here. I wish I could fill you in completely, but I don't think that would be realistic. Instead I will begin with today, which was an emotional roller coaster.
Our schedule was jammed packed. We left our guest house at 8:00 am for the Kigali Memorial. The layout is beautiful. A building with large windows is surrounded by gardens, a reflecting pool and an eternal light that burns from April to May (the months during which the genocide occured). Below the gardens there are about 15 mass graves holding 100 coffins and the coffins contain the bodies of 50 genocide victims. This comes out to a total of 358,000 victims that have been collected from the city of Kigali (Rwanda's capital). Just yesterday the museum received the bodies of 12 more victims, each day corpses of the genocide are being uncovered.
Inside the museum is divided into different periods: colonial history, beginning of genocide, during genocide, after genocide, and there's a childrens memorial upstairs along with an outline of each of the 20th century's genocides. I walked through the museum with our Rwandan staffer, Pasi. He has been amazing this past week, and was no different today. "In places like this", he said, "you have to be strong. In Africa, we have a lot of talent. I may write a song, but I cannot go into a studio to record it, like you can in America. So after a while, we forget we have any talent at all."
This experience was much different than Poland. In both instances, I saw the devestation alongside a survivor. But the Jewish holocaust seemed so long ago. The remains of death camps are like ancient artifacts. Here, I see people missing limbs and scarred bodies each day. I am so angry with myself and with the country I come from. I was alive during this genocide - my parents generation did nothing to stop it. And now, I live still witnessing genocide today in Darfur, yet my generation does nothing. I do nothing - or not enough anyway. It is not a racial issue, it is a moral one. Yes, the children from Treblinka and Auschwitz look like me, but the children in the pictures staring at me today were the same age I was when the genocide occured. Neither tragedy is worse than the other. But how can we let such a fate be shared by multiple countries, again and again?
I only had 20 minutes to process my emotions, because next we were off to a primary school. We walked from the museum to the school and a group of small kids dressed in green and white checkered tops greeted us at the gate. They walked us around all of the classrooms - 35 in all. We didn't enter each room. Lots of times we waved through the windows and shouted "muraho!" They would giggle, and return the greeting. Other classes I would reach my hand through the barred window to shake a hand, and before I knew it - the whole class was pressed against the bars. When we did go into classes the students would stand and say, "Welcome veeseetors!" After the tour, the whole school gathered to perform for us and present us with gifts.
In each classroom there are 70 to 100 children who are seated 6 to 7 on a bench. Theoretically, these benches should hole 2 to 3. The floors are either dirt or concrete, and the only other classroom tool they have is a blackboard. To see the passion of these children even in such conditions astounds me. How often did I complain to go to school when I was young? How much did I hate to sit in air conditioned rooms with tiled floors and shelves filled with books? We are so lucky, yet we are blind. So blind.
I gave the elder of the school my contact information, and Pasi translated for me asking him to please keep in touch with me so I can help spread his cause in the states. He hugged me and kissed me three times on the cheek.
Next, we were wisked away to a meeting with an NGO working for womens rights and then off to a peace village. The peace village is an alternative for an orphange. It is comprised of several child-headed households for kids who lost their parents during the genocide or to HIV/Aids. We toured some of the houses and then met with some of the kids (most were away at boarding school). We had drinks and donuts. Pasi found a radio...then the real fun began. All the younger children flocked to the sound waves and I followed. Soon white and black were mixed dancing. Finally I got to show off those West African dance moves I grew up with. And now I have some east African dances for my repitoire. Don't worry mom - I blew their flip flops WAY off. The kids loved that I danced like them. I knew they liked me when many of them opened my hands to put their candy in them. Next a young girl I danced with brought me a sprite.
I don't think this smile has left my face since I landed in Africa last Friday. I have a purpose. Doing these deeds gives me purpose. Pasi said to me, "It was beautiful to see white skin moving slow like ours." But it isn't because I'm white that the children love me. It is because they see someone from outside of Africa who cares about them...who sees their humanity.
I encourage you all to find a cause, and to give your heart to it. Maybe some of you already have. And if you have, you know that feeling of wholeness. I have never felt as spiritual as I do today.
Mura Muche (goodnight), and amahoro (peace).
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
If you know my family well, then you won’t be surprised that I’m writing this first blog entry on the way to the airport. It just wouldn’t be right if we weren’t running around all stressed out. Since the ride is short, this entry will be too – just a little update to let you know how I’m doing before I take off. I’ve spent the past two days running around gathering last-minute purchases. Last night my family helped me stuff a bag full of soccer balls which skyhawks donated to me for my trip. Along with the balls, I have family pictures, huckleberry toffee and books about Spokane to give as gifts to those I meet.
It really hasn’t hit me that I’m leaving for Rwanda. I’ve grown up with the peace corps stories of my parents and now I’m about to embark to create stories of my own. I see the airport now, so I’ll leave you with the advice I’ve gathered from former expats:
Keep your eyes open
Protect your heart as you reach out
Don’t get eaten by an alligator
Gum your rice
Don't drink anything that doesn’t fizz
Breathe Deeply
It really hasn’t hit me that I’m leaving for Rwanda. I’ve grown up with the peace corps stories of my parents and now I’m about to embark to create stories of my own. I see the airport now, so I’ll leave you with the advice I’ve gathered from former expats:
Keep your eyes open
Protect your heart as you reach out
Don’t get eaten by an alligator
Gum your rice
Don't drink anything that doesn’t fizz
Breathe Deeply
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