Scrubbing

I came home today to find the water had returned after a five day hiatus. All the guests here (there are 5 of us now) were pleased and I filled a bucket and started doing my laundry. I didn't have much, but I figured it was better to get it done while the water was flowing.

(turns out that was bad prioritizing. no more water and my hair is still greasy)

Doing laundry by hand takes skill. I'm starting to get the hang of it and find a little routine. Fill the tub, add some "suds anywhere!" camping soap, let fill. Shout anything visibly dirty. Add clothes. Let sit. Swish around. Take sunlight bar and scrub areas that are particularily smelly, like the armpits of shirts. Do this with each item of clothing. Swish around. Let sit. Wring out each item. Pour out water and fill bucket again. Add clothes, swish around to rinse them out. Wring out each item pretty well. [The first week I went a little balistic on the wringing, to the extent that I took a chunk out of my thumb and tore a shirt. I have realized that the extra 2 hours of drying is OK in order to save an already minimal wardrobe]. Then you have to hang the clothes. There are little flies that like to lay their eggs in the damp material, so you have two choices: hang outside on the line and then iron to kill the bugs, or hang inside. I opt for inside, and I give a good whip to each shirt before hanging to get out as many wrinkles as I can without adding on the whole ironing process. For a week's worth of laundry this takes me about an hour, although I'm sure veterans are a little faster.

And that is how the majority of the world cleans their clothes.

Love your washing machine yet?

amazi (water)

My guesthouse's pool has been skimmed of algae and it appears they are trying to clean it enough for use, which would have actually been nice on this hot day. As I watched the pool filling up with clean, potable water, and thought about World Water Week, I couldn't help but think about the children I saw earlier in the day who were begging me for my empty water bottle, which are used to carry drinking water for the school day. Everywhere you go you can see women and children with the yellow containers distributed for exclusive use of drinking water. Rwanda actually has quite a good system, with wells and pumps supposidly set up every kilometer, from which clean water is accessible. Although it is the dry season, the rivers and lakes still exist here, and in that sense Rwanda, I guess, is lucky.

But there are still millions of people all over the world for whom water is an unobtainable life source, or their greatest death threat. Cholera, E. coli, and many other disease causing bacteria thrive in still water and cause severe diarrhea, for which rehydration is the basic treatment. But how can rehydration occur without clean water? A major cause of infant mortality has been the use of formula (supplied for free by companies at first, and advertised as the 'modern way' to feed infants) reconstituted with contaminated water. Health issues aside, the effort of retrieving water from a well, hauling it home, and waiting 30 minutes for it to boil adds up to a large part of families work-loads. And here I was today, bummed because the pressure in the shower has been at a very minimal drizzle for two weeks. At least it still comes out of the tap, and is potable (although I do still boil it). At home it is not uncommon for 20 minute showers, filling up a large tub, and even here swimming pools exist. Water is just one more thing that I used to take for granted. Rwanda has given me a new appreciation for how fortunate I am to flip on a tap and have endless access to all the amazi I need. Hopefully I'll realize that I really don't need so much.

Politics...

Dissapointing news out of Canada today. We knew that the funding was on shaky ground, but now this article http://www.embassymag.ca/html/index.php?display=story&full_path=/2008/august/20/cida/ confirms that the Canadian government is thinking of axing the CIDA/YES (Canadian International Development Agency in partnership with the Youth Employment Strategy) international internship program, who is funding my placement here.



Its obvious that on a personal level, this internship is priceless to me, my professional growth, my personal quest for knowledge, ability to be an engaged global youth, and countless ways that this will impact future decisions I make. I do not understand why the government doesn't see these benefits for every youth participating. Furthermore, there are so many ways the program boosts the entire nation, both in the international scene and within the country. While I am here, I am a proud ambassator of my country. It is a chance to exchange cultures and promote Canada while abroad. People are pleased to hear that "Canada is sharing it's nurses", and other international youth I have met think the internship program is a wonderful idea, as it engages citizens at a younger age to become aware of the issues outside their own country. Although I am not worried about finding myself a job when I get home, these internships are vital for youth who need experience to get into the development feild. As youth, we may not come to "countries in need" with lots of experience behind us, but we come with an openness, a willingness to learn, and a passion to make a difference. I'm sorry, but I don't think that retired professionals (as mentioned in the article) would be as receptive to living in a different culture, as eager to connect with people, or as willing to take home the lessons they have learned and share it with everyone they know. Nor are they as in need of government assistance to get them overseas.



Canada is already on shaky ground in the development and aid sector, failing to keep her promises for global aid funding. My second week here I read an article in the Rwandan english newspaper about how Canada needs to step it up. I couldn't agree more. But I'm even worried about the future of CIDA itself. We have so much, SO MUCH in our country. We are so blessed. And don't get me wrong, we have our own social problems like a growing number of children living in poverty, our own poor relations with First Nations people, our own health issues and nursing shortage. I'm a big believer in addressing our own needs as well. However, I'm not really sure the government is even doing that....



I want to be proud to have a Canadian flag on my backpack, a Canadian pin on my purse. But as we start to act more like our southern neighbors, I am more ashamed of our policies, our greediness, and our lust for wealth and power. I like to picture my country as this little peaceful mutlicultural mosaic, welcoming, friendly, helpful, with citizens who want to work for a better world. I don't know how long I can keep that delusion alive. I'm saddened that these prestigious, world reknown internships might fall through the cracks. Much like many programs in Canada that were putting people first.



(P.S. As youth associates we're already on the ball, starting to get together a letter writing campaign. If you are interested in this issue please, please, write to your MP, CIDA, editors, whomever! Let them know how much you value your globally engaged youth!)

Lessons from the Jungle

CONGE was written on the class schedule last week. It means holiday; a full day off in honour of Mary's assumption to heaven. Sounded good to me! To make the most of the long weekend, we managed to organize a trip to Nungwe National Park in the Southwest province of Rwanda. On a side note, planning such a trip basing your information on a 5 year old guide book and coordinating with three other people via text messaging can be a little frustrating, so in the future I am most definately asking some local people, or experienced expats, first. However, by noon on Friday we were in Butare, the town where I spent three weeks last time I was in Rwanda, with a place to stay and omelets in our bellies.

The hospital was a 15 minute walk along a familiar road. I wanted to visit and see if any of the nurses I worked with were still there, and the other girls were keen to see what Rwanda's healthcare system is like. I don't know why I was expecting to see my old patients, but I was glad my little friends were no longer living in the damp cement building. I am picturing them recovered at home, back to being healthy children. Unfortunately I know that is probably not necessarily the case, but I'm going to stick with that idea for now. Claudine, one of the peds nurses was there working in the NICU, and was happy to see me. I was so glad to be embraced by her – so I DID make some friends last time! It was actually a bit of a relief. The reaction of the other girls to the suffering and situation in the hospital also reassured me that it is acceptable to still feel some inner turmoil over my experience working there. The daily suffering, apathy, and terrible conditions would wear anyone down. I think I still haven't fully digested it.

The road to the National Park on Saturday morning took us through more feilds, crops, communities, and some tea feilds. I was dissapointed we were not able to track the Chimpanzees (turns out you DO have to make a reservation, contrary to what we were told) but found a compromise in walking a trail that would take us to Columbus monkeys. And did it ever. Monkeys everywhere!! At first, I was entraced by the jungle itself. Nungwe is a natural rainforest situated in the hills of Rwanda. The buzz of the insects, the canopy high above, and the incredible growth of the plant life was mesmorizing. As we rounded one corner I could hear the rustle of the leaves as the monkeys were jumping from branch to branch, then there they were, at least sixty individuals that were part of a troupe of more than 400. Although they were silent, they were very active: shimmining down trees, leaping across gaps in the canopy, clamboring up to the branches with food, and always interacting with eachother. Seeing them in their natural environment was the best part by far.

That night we stayed at Peace Guesthouse in Cyangugu, near the boarder of the DRC, which you could see across the lake. I recommend the guesthouse to anyone – the sunset over the lake was beautiful and the area was very peaceful (no pun intended). My favorite part of the evening was the conversation we had with our driver, Bernard, who only speaks french. I got to practice my french, even though it is grammatically terrible, and hear about his struggle to rebuild his life after the war. I've found that most people will tell you their story, if you give them a chance to tell it.

The waterfall trail sounded enticing, so Sunday we were back in the rainforest first thing in the morning. Although the cascading water was the initial appeal, it turns out the most amazing part of the whole weekend was walking through the tea feilds that are situated at the edge of the forest. Tea grows in short, very brightly colored, green bushes, which stretch for miles over the hills, resembling a bed of spongy, enticing moss. I kept wanting to roll in it, it looked so soft and welcoming (even though it is actually a bush with sharp branches). As we climbed over hills towards the jungle, we could hear churchgoers singing in the distance. The sound of their voices soaring high, the morning light, the rolling hills, the contrast of the red dirt road against the green bushes, and the fresh mountain air can only be described as awe-inspiring, romantic, and stunning. I couldn't help but think “here I am. Here I AM! HERE I AM!!!!”. I felt like you do when you gaze at galaxies of stars in the night sky: small, but so lucky to be part of something so beautiful. That feeling continued all day, as I learned about the delicate balance of the species in the forest, the length of time it takes for a forest to rebuild, and found a waterfall deep in the African jungle. I felt complete.

There were so many lessons gleaned from the beauty of the balance, harmony and interdependence of all the species in the jungle. For example, there is a vine that has taken over the jungle floor because there are no longer elephants to eat it; there is a species of plant which uses existing root systems, so that a tree can have different types of leaves growing on the sames roots. The fact that there is such a delicate balance involved with this extreme level of cooperation is really interesting; nothing can take more than it's share, and all must co exist to survive. There are a million ways that these lessons can be applied to balance in my own life, and balance through the entire world. We all play a vital role, and if we share, and allow others to flourish, we can grow even more. At least, that's what the jungle taught me. I wish I could have shared the magic of the rainforest with you all.

(sorry, pictures not uploading! maybe next time)

Every Last Inch

This past weekend I went to Lake Kivu with some coworkers and the other interns. The lake was stunning and picturesque beyond anything I have seen so far. Despite running out of gas before we were out of the driveway (gas is so expensive everyone doesn't want what they put in leftover for anyone else), slow service at lunch (africa time!), and the rash from the grass, it was a beautiful place to spend a sunday afternoon. I especially enjoyed the boat ride we took, which was an hour long tour around some of the islands (we almost ran out of gas... again. HA). I really hope that I can return for a full weekend in the future, as there is a place where you can rent kyaks (run by an aussie, go figure) and you can camp on the islands. I want to get back there before resort development takes over the landscape; I can see the area as the future Kelowna of Rwanda.

The road to the lake, which is about two hours away, was like the grand ol' duke of York: it took us up to the top of hills, then took us down again. As we wound our way through the country side, I was mostly struck by the cultivation of the land. Every last inch was used for growing some sort of crop, be it banana trees, casava plants, rice feilds, tea plantations, or coffee beans drying in the sun. Nothing goes un-used. The only parts spared are of course the football feilds with the wooden goalposts, visible and loved in every community. Furthermore, all of this cultivation is done solely through physical labour, on hills no less. A memorable image I have is one hill that was terraced the entire way up; it resembled an aztec pyramid. I can only imagine how long it would take to mold the earth like that, with just a shovel and strong muscles. Think of how much you, or any north american you know, would gripe about doing work like that. And it is everywhere. As we drove down the highway we passed hundreds, maybe thousands of people, all walking with a purpose. Women carrying astronomically huge and heavy loads on their heads, children with yellow water jugs in both hands, and men pushing wheelbarrows or riding bikes piled high with firewood. From the boat I saw one woman clamboring up a steep hill with a basket on her head, a baby on her back, and a water jug in each hand. I am constantly amazed by how hard people labour. They use their body just as much as they use their land.

As I was thinking about all this manual work, I reflected that our society does work just as hard, only mentally. There has been a shift away from physical work to psychological work as technology and industry has replaced good old elbow grease. We've become physicall lazy, in fact, but mentally exhausted. All of this is reflected in the health of populations (I'm going to go all nurse on you here). Here in Rwanda, there is a huge problem with workplace health and safety - just last week I watched a man cut down a tree by standing in the branches and chopping with a machete - no rope, no harness, no helmet, and no shoes. Patients arrive at the hospital most often because of injury. In Canada, however, we have began to see the consequences of over-working our minds. Stress levels are soaring, and so are all the diseases affected by stress: hypertension, headaches, fatigue, social issues, family issues, etc etc. Interesting, don't you think? Something I thought about, anyways, as I rocked back and forth on the windy road to Lake Kivu.

Red Dirt

This morning Dibal (who, as you may be getting the gist of, is a very straight forward kind of guy) told me my shoes were dirty, and asked me "Why did you not polish them?" He said I normally look much sharper. I looked down to see my normally black flats coated in a layer of red dirt. I guess I'm not used to the abundance of dust that finds its way into everything. Seriously, everything. The dirt here reminds me of PEI with its red tinge. I can't help but wonder if I could make a Rwandan Dirt Shirt company. After walking down a dirt road for mere minutes you can find it hard to breath due to the dust, smoke from cooking, and car exhuast coating your lungs. We have dubbed this "being exhausted". If you blow your nose on a particularily dusty day you'll find your boogies even a little red. My navy bag is dusty looking, my birks have taken on a lighter shade of brown, and evidently my flats need polishing.

I can't say I've polished my shoes since choir performances way back when patent leather was all the rage (although I guess it's cool again now. I wouldn't know though). However, I took out a tissue on the ride to work and wiped my shoes down. There is an obsession with cleanliness here, even despite the underdevelopment. There is a whole team of "Kigali City Cleaners" employed who sweep the roads, hunched over using hand brooms made from straw or grass, pick up garbage, and maintain the city in a presentable state. It is really quite remarkable how tidy the grass is cut, how clean the streets are. So the least I could do was polish my shoes.

Sounds of Africa

Last night was incredible. Well, yesterday overall was a really great day, but the evening show took the cake of my entire experience thus far.
The other girls are at my place for the weekend, and we managed to find a "Centre Sportif" near my house where we went swimming and did some aquasize to the amusement of the children taking our picture. I get to go to this place for free with work, so I'll likely go again and also check out tournaments and games going on. Rugby is picking up here and I'de love to watch a game!

We then met Hilaire, a friend I met last time, downtown and made our way to the university stadium, where we heard the closing ceremonies of FESPAD (festival pan-afrique du dance) were taking place. For 2 dollars we watched the most incredible performance. The stage was built like a replica of the traditional King's palace, with the ground even sculpted into risers. There was lighting and speakers and even screens on the side - the folk fest/stampede of Rwanda. There were also a couple cowboy hats in the stands... no beer tent to be found though.
First some local singers performed, many whom sing raggae or rap in Kinyarwanda. The dance moves were hilarious to watch and some of the singers were really talented. Then the traditional dancing started, where delegates from countries all over Africa performed their traditional (or modified) dancing. It was unreal - the athletisism and talent was awesome. As I sat and listened I was completly mesmorized; the beat of the drums shook my bones. The spirit and freedom of the dances made me want to get up and join them, and connect to every single person there. Music is truely the universal language, and reflects a culture entirely. I couldn't help but think of how regemented the dance steps are in north american dancing like the waltz, and how that may reflect our own obsession with time, rules, and order. This dancing was different. This dancing was about the soul.

My favorite were the Burundi drummers who carried the drums on their head while playing them (SO UNREAL!) and the Rwandan dancers because of the number and spirit. Rwandans seem to keep their emotions to themselves, but every single one of these dancers was moving with a passion and an enormous smile on their face.

Lion King on Broadway and Young Canadians, eat your heart out

Home away from Home

In order to facilitate your ability to picture where I am, I thought I would include a couple of photos as well as an explanation of where I am living and working.

Kigali is a city of 900 000 people. Rwanda really is the “land of a thousand hills” so the city is a series of hills and valleys. The way that I am able to identify where I am (and I think the landmarks that most people use) is by looking out for the roundabouts. There’s a very large one in Centre Ville (downtown) that spins you off in various directions. Close to it is Union Center, where there’s some expatriate stores and the good coffee shop, with the nearby tourist centre. About 6 blocks (10 minutes by foot) heading south from there is KHI where I work. East down the hill, past the presidential residence and the Rupublika restaurant is Kiyovu, the neighborhood where I live. My guesthouse is about a 25 minute walk from KHI, mostly because you have to wind your way down the hill. Dibal says there’s a short cut, but since I get a ride each day he hasn’t shown me yet. Other than that I don’t know too much more about the city in great detail because Centre ville, the guesthouse, and work are my three main destinations.

The guesthouse where I am staying is owned and operated by KHI. It is for volunteers, guest lecturers and other visitors to use while they are guests of KHI. Kiyovu is a very expatriate area of town and where colonialists must have settled. The mount-royal of Kigali, if you will. These days there are a lot of guesthouses, government bodies (such as the CIDA office/guesthouse) and homes of wealthier Rwandans or people who have settled here. The roads are paved and although the streets are dark at night it seems very safe. Almost every property (I say property because there is often more than one house) has a large gate with security guards. We have two guards stationed at all times. I’m really not sure how necessary this really is, but security is everywhere in this country, even at the entrance of KHI. I guess considering there was a civil war and genocide a mere 14 years ago it makes sense. When you come in my gate there is a steep driveway that leads to the house. The house is beautiful and very large and if you’re having trouble picturing a colonial house just think of Babar. The more I actually think of that show the more I realize how politically incorrect it is…

Anyways, sorry, back to the house. There is a large living room with couches and a TV that has 3 channels but I have yet to watch it. There is a dining table and it would actually be a really nice place to throw a party. There is a door leading to the kitchen, which is spacious with many cubourds that lock (I think the security guards and houseboys tend to take the food that is left out). There’s a microwave, freezer, fridge… lots of great kitchen supplies and the stove does not emit electrical shocks! Across from the bathroom is the room that I used to stay in, and a half bathroom. I chose to move upstairs so it would be a little quieter.

On the top floor there are 6 bedrooms. One of them is a master suite with an en-suite bathroom and walk in closet. That room was a little too much for me to handle so I have the small room in the corner. It’s cozy and quiet and a good place to set myself for six months. The room with the door to the veranda was inticing, but Dibal told me that I would get sick of people walking through my room to get out there, which I think is true. There are also two full bathrooms upstairs, but only one of them has a shower in which you can stand (the other one has a hose and you squat in the tub to avoid getting water everywhere). And yes, there is a pool and large satellite, but as you can see they're not in working order. I like to call the pool "Malaria central".


I have an open-door policy with the other girls and I might give them one of my keys so they can come over any time. Right now there are three other guests: Dibal, who is from Nigeria and works in the Biomedical Laboratory Science department (BLS in the future), Franco, a doctor from Canada evaluating a program he started here three years ago, and Simba, who is from California/Canada/Originally Uganda and just started this week permenatly in the Nursing department (he’s a psychologist).

At work, I am splitting my time between the BLS (biomedical laboratory sciences) department and the Nursing department. For BLS I'm not doing much yet, and it looks as though I might just be an extra set of hands which is a little frustrating. However, I love working in Nursing. The dean is a really nice lady and excited to have me. I usually teach two or three mornings a week. The course is Nursing of Adults 2, which is the medical/surgical theory on diseases of the nervous system, endocrine system, skin, ears nose and throat, eye, and immune system. I have to finish it all in five weeks, which is going to feel rushed because explinations take so long due to some language barriers. All the students are supposed to be able to speak english well, but the reality is that it's their third lanuguage (after Kinyarwanda and French). I have 43 students in my class and 15 of them are male. So far they're attentive, polite, and very eager to learn.