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.

Culturally Bilingual

This week has been a little tough. The initial shock of arriving has turned into what we have dubbed a "SIX MONTHS?!" moment. This happens when you stop and think for even a second about what and who you left behind at home, and the fact that you won't get to see, be with them, or be apart of it for another six months.

Now we do try to convince ourselves that six months will fly by. And I know that by the end of January I will ask myself "where has the time gone?" and will be sad to move on from what will inevidably be an amazing experience. But sometimes, especially when I cannot be understood, I'm tired, I'm lost, or I'm all alone, six months seems like an endless stretch of time. I have been asking myself "why, really, am I doing this? Why did this seem like a good idea?"

Luckily, I have found many answers.

I have pushed my limits many times before, and through those experiences I have grown into somene who is more confident, open-minded, compassionate, and kind, and ultimatly someone I like to be. I can only imagine how much I will grow personally during this adventure. I am really excited for the world view I will come away with. Not only am I travelling, but also living in a different culture; forced to meet people, make friends, and cope on my own (with the help of Skype and a few phone calls, too). I will eventually become comfortable with the noise of the bats as I lecture, the bustle of the people, the language and the local customs. The moral and ethical dilemnas I face every day as I walk past begging children, see immense suffering in patients, or learn about the genocide can only lead to spiritual and moral growth that will stengthen my belief in the potential for good in this world, as well as inspire me to be a courageous, generous, giving and kind person.

I also get to see my work from a nursing and development perspective, continuously on the lookout for solutions to problems and ways of doing things that can be adopted into my own professional demenor, and potentially the community where I work. I will really come to understand how there truely is many solutions to a problem, and many ways of being.

Hopefully through my own growth and knowledge development I will learn how to be a global citizen. In this world that gets smaller everyday, but somewhat nastier as we look at the future of the environment, global conflict, poverty and hunger, it is more important now than ever for everyone to know their community. Not only the small area where they were born, but the entire world and global community in which we live. We can no longer trick ourselves into believing that the consequences to our actions only affect us, so we must strive for those consequences to be positive for everyone they touch. And how are we to know how far our actions can reach if we never go out there an explore the world around us?

The huge bonus of this experience that I was not expecting is the professional development. The fact that I am a lecturer and incharge of a course will look stellar on a resume, so on that more superficial level this may lead to some career opportunities I hadn't thought of. Also related to the actual work is this grand opportunitiy I have to actually make a contribution. I wasn't ever expecting to be a "big help" or change the world, but it is nice to know that the work I'm doing is actually meaningful. In front of me is this huge potential to build the capasity of the nurses here in Rwanda. I do believe in nursing, and I know that the health care in this country will strengthen in proportion to the growth of the profession. And that's pretty exciting to be (a small) part of it!

I ran into a nurse who I met last time I was here. He was thrilled that I will be here until the end of January, because that is just enough time to become "culturally bilingual". He told me that there are only good and amazing things that can come from such an exchange of ideas, language, and culture, and that I will forever be a better nurse and person because I will be able to step more readily out of my comfort zone after this. His words of wisdom (without even knowing how daunted I felt!) were so comforting and welcome. As have been all of your emails and praise and your own words of wisdom. My dad reminded me that this is the ultimate learning experience, so I will do my best to soak it all up! Maybe I can even inspire you to take a daring risk and find yourself overseas, changing the world through understanding, one person at a time.


(P.S. I will explain more about my house, job, and the city in the future, but I'm waiting on some better pictures and tonight I needed to put this into some sort of meaningful blurb for myself as well as for you!)

First Weekend in Kigali

I spent the weekend at Crystal, Cassandra and Katie's apartment. I shall no longer complain about my house being too colonial... their place is very African, with no running water or furniture. Their kitchen consists of a 'sink' in which water can drain, and a hot plate which shocks you if you're not grounded (ie: wearing shoes). I found that out the hard way when I got electricuted to the extent that my arm flailed and hit Katie in the boob. After the initial shock (literally) it was actually really really funny.

Friday night we tried Sol Luna, which we found out is easier to direct people to if we tell the taxi driver "Italia Restaurant". It was the BEST pizza I have ever had. Legit Italian thin-crust amazing pizza. For about six dollars we each ordered a pizza as big as a medium one, and although we didn't think we could eat it all we most certainatly did. It was awesome. It will be my haven some days, I'm sure.

We found our way to the market on Saturday morning with the girls' landlady who ensured we got fair prices. I wrote them all down so I don't get ripped off in the future and I picked up some good fresh FOOD!!! Yay!!! We also took the Matatus (mini buses for 20 cents) to, well, past where we wanted to go, but backtracked to the Supermarket. I found some pasta, coffee, and some other goodies so that was good. Hopefully the plan will be to eat Rwandan Buffet for lunch each day, and have a small breakfast and dinner in the meantime.

Today I met David, who works with Crystal. He's a good Rwandan friend to know and showed us around town and had coffee with us at Cafe Bourbon... much like Starbucks with food. Unfortunatly we got the wrong order but hey, it was food and it tasted good. I will, however, be glad to stop eating out and spending so much money on it.

I'm nervous for my first full work week... I'm going to be working in the BLS (biomedical laboratory sciences) department on Monday and Tuesday then in nursing for the rest of the week. I'm not sure what I'll be doing for BLS and it sounds like they're waiting on some funding for a research project. They were pretty impressed that I taught SPSS so I might be helping out with that? I guess we'll see. I'll also have to get some laundry done sometime this week, but I'm going to wait until I get to move into the room with the Veranda upstairs because there's a clothesline in the room I can use. I'm excited to move upstairs and put my map of Africa up in my room!

Thanks for the emails and keep them coming. It's nice to hear from home... being here is certainatly out of my comfort zone! xox

Flax Trax

I don't know if you have ever enjoyed "flax trax" snack. It is a "salted flax and corn nibble" and is actually really addicting. Though I must say, I'm getting a little sick of it now. You see, my dear uncle Kirk gave me a HUGE bag of it in the airport, and I'm thinking "sweet! airplane snack!". Well the food on Kenyan airways is AMAZING and in London I enjoyed some curry, so it was forgotten at the bottom of my bag until my arrival.

When the legend of the flax trax began: it is all I have been eating here at home for the last 3 days. I ate out twice yesterday but my first day and today have been flax-a-go-go time. With a clif bar thrown in for good measure. But I will have you know that a mear 3/4 of a cup of this stuff is 280 calories, and even has some trace amounts of vitamin C and Iron. It's salt and fat content are horrible when you are snacking away mindlessly, but when it's making up a meal it is very welcome. Not to mention all the flax fiber is good for the ol' traveller's bowel.

Anyways, I just though you should all know how important it is to bring some flax trax along with you. Also a big shout out to Kirk Purdy for nourishing me all these days. I will find food soon... as soon as I don't have to work and can venture out in daylight. Until then, flax trax it is.