7/6/07

Another day at the office with no internet and nothing to do. so far I've been spending lots of my money and time at the internet cafe working on proposals. Thank goodness I feel passionate about this organization otherwise I'd be extremely frusterated.

Oh, the other day (on the 4th) we went to Jesse's dad and step-mom's house for breakfast. they had some family friends over who were introduced and we politely exchanged greetings. When I hugged one woman I noticed she was missing a sizeable portion of her hand, "'94..." I wondered. Later in the morning when this woman stepped out of the room, Jesse expolained to us, "That's Valentina, from Valentina's nightmare." Valentina's Nightmare is a PBS documentary about a 10-year-old girl who was the lone survivor of a 1994 massacre in Rwanda. She was buried alive under dead bodies, which afforderd her protection, though machetes still reached her hand. For days Valentina lived among the bodies, only venturing out of her hiding place to collect food.

I have seen pictures of her at the end of the genocide. She looks like a Holocaust survivor with gaunt eyes and hollow cheeks - lifeless.

When Valentina reentered the room I searched her face for similarites with the pictures I have seen - nothing. Today she is a curvy young woman with bright eyes, glasses and braided hair. She is constantly smiling and giggling. I spent the rest of the morning chatting with her on the couch. She's 23, and leaving mid-September to go to nursing school in the U.S. The Rwandan community in the U.S. is putting pressure on her not to go back after school, but Valentina is dedicated to returning and working in Rwanda.

How do you survive a thing like she has? Not physically, but emotionally and psychologically? The deamons that must haunt her... How do you grow from an orphan to a young woman? A survivor to a healer? At what point do you stop listening to your memories and start listening to American hip-hop (Akon is her favorite)? I wonder about the scars that lay under her skin and am in awe of her capacity for resiliency.

7/7/07

I remember a story my dad always tells about coming home from the Peace Corps and being served a steak on the plane. He couldn't believe his good fortune, a steak! He overheard a couple near him, however, complaining about the meat. He had just spent years with Africans struggling to make it by each day, and here were two Westerners so blinded by their own privelege that they complained about airplane food.

I haven't been here for even a fraaction of the time my parents were, but I had a similar experience the other day and was disgusted. A group of us went out to Ethiopian food for dinner. I thought my meal was delicious, but one American delegate was not so pleased. "The Ethiopian food back in my hometown is better than this...the anjera bread is so bland here... I think the food in America is better because we have access to fresh ingredients..." Excuse me? They killed the chicken out back right before cooking it for us! And then there was my personal favorite, "This just isn't up to my standards."

You're in Rwanda, eating something other than mashed plantains and have a full belly. What kind of standards are you working with? I wanted to say to her, " You know there are several boys starving just outside this restaraunt door. You should be garteful for the food on your plate." I'm ashamed I didn't.

Back home I can be a very picky eater. It's not that I don't eat certain types of food, it's that when I want to eat one thing, it's all I want and any other food isn't good enough. Not so here. The food doesn't bother me (which is good b/c each meal is the same). I haven't had any cravings for food back home - except for those early mornings when a hazelnut latte would be nice.

A couple weeks ago, friends and I ate an Italian restaraunt and had left over pizza. We wrapped up the extra slices in napkins to disperse to the street kids. When I gave the food away, the young boys unwrapped it and had begun eating it before I waslked away. They really are starving. They're not trying to make a living or get a kick begging off of mizungus. They're just trying to survive.