Opinion Editorial

Here is an opinion editorial I wrote for my Canadian Organisation. It was actually really hard to write because I'm still sorting out what my opinions are. I hope it rings true.

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I came to Africa for me. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Throughout my six month CIDA internship with the Coady International Institute, I have found myself wondering why I am in Rwanda. As a nurse, I don't have to venture far to find people to help or ways to make an impact in my community. So often, however, that is what draws people to Africa. Volunteers of all varieties find themselves in the “Dark Continent” trying to make a difference to the extreme poverty they see on television ads. As a result, there is an exploding volunteer tourism industry that preys on human compassion, disguising self- indulgence under the cloak of altruism.

But the personal benefit that comes from these experiences must also be recognised.

There are many people who try to deliver projects in Africa. Some of these are attempted without considering their sustainability or ethical impact, made to help people feel good about helping others when, really, it is easier to achieve large sustainable impacts against problems within our own society at home. What cannot be found at home, however, is the personal growth and maturity that comes from working overseas.

The experience of living and working in another culture and bearing witness to the harsh challenges that face the developing world contributes to a crucial global perspective and cultural understanding. This is of great value to the big picture, in some ways, more than any actual development results, and it is important to explore this two-way process. A lot of personal gain comes from volunteer work; but generosity is meant to feel good, and further benefits come from the experience if this is recognised.

As globalisation dynamically connects the world it is our responsibility to become active citizens of this new global community. In the age of environmental crisis, international conflict and extreme inequity it is increasingly important to understand human connectedness. We can no longer believe that our actions have individual consequences; we must explore our world in order to see just how far our reach extends. Only from an understanding of our global community can one begin to face the development and human challenges within.

It pains me to hear praises of how I am “here helping them”. For it is this divide between “us” and “them” that we must overcome. The relationships that I have formed in Rwanda have benefited me considerably, and I've enjoyed creating friends from strangers. As cultural differences evolve into cultural norms for me, I no longer see different nations as foreign, unapproachable, or, as often treated, lesser. Embracing our underlying similarities is the first step to treating each person of every race and creed like a fellow human being. This personal, intra-personal, and global understanding has far greater significance than any development work I have strived to achieve in Rwanda.

Many volunteers, interns and professionals alike expect to experience developing countries under the pretence of making a difference. Lots of good work is being done, but it is imperative to see the experience beyond the immediate contribution and understand the personal value. When overseas work is stripped down to its true impact it clearly becomes a personal experience rich with educational opportunities. It is important to see it as such, without guilt or regret, for only then can one fully embrace the lessons learned and the value will be truly appreciated. To be honest with myself I have to admit that I came to Africa for me. And because of the personal growth, understanding, and global perspective, there is so much right with that.

Mixed around Upside down Rightside up Parallels and Crossroad

I am feeling...

Happy.Sad.Anxious.Tired.Excited.Curious.Peaceful.Sorrowful.Longing.Fulfilled.Friendship.Lonliness.Confused.

I have one week left in Rwanda. I don't know what to think about that. The irony is that I'm finally starting to get it. I feel a little anxious about delving into another transition phase of my life when I only really accustomised to this one within the last month. I have realised that a lot of my longing for home has been a coping mechanism for dealing with the difficulties, stresses and challenges of bearing witness to the injustice of our world. The poverty, inequality, and genocide are hard to grasp, and I'm only now allowing myself to jump head first into them. I think this is because the end is in sight, and if I cannot cope I know there is a way out: I'm going home.

For a long time I have stood on the water's edge, trying to navigate the lake without getting in. Had I known how hard that is, I would have jumped in sooner. Even though the shock of the cold water might strike hard at first, adjustment happens faster when you delve right in. Now that I'm here the water is nice, and I'm reluctant to climb back out.

Then, at the same time, I cannot wait. The next stage is enticing and exciting. I am especially anxious to be back with friends and loved ones. I'm looking forward to exchanging stories and unwinding my experience. A lot of it was too much to process while I was here and I know it will take time. I am eager for the future so I can figure out the present. What I have figured out, though, is this: with so much cruelty in the world, there is only time for kindness. I will carry this lesson close to my heart that aches for this country, humanity, and our world.

Tic Tac

Last night, I shared a tic tac. Well, three, since it's impossible to tap only one out of the package. The small oval one calorie breath mint made Peter smile and earned me many blessings. A security guard that I met asking for directions one night, Peter has come to say hello to me every time I have walked by his building since our introduction in September. We always chat a little, his contagious smile making me laugh. He told me that I have a "good heart" - I don't know what proof he has, as all I have offered is greetings. And a tic tac. And maybe that is enough.

Zanzibar

Oldest Church in Africa, built where the Slave Market was

Fishing Boats

Allyways of Stonetown

On the Spice Tour

Street Food by Night

My Hammock

The fierce breeze off the ocean kept me cool in the hot equatorial sun. One leg dangles off the edge of the hammock, my big toe pushing a little so I swung back and forth to the rythm of the surf crashing in the distance. The tide goes out for hundreds of meters, leaving behind pools of turqouis water and stranded old fishing boats. Wooden pegs dot the choral patterns, and fishermen and women glide through them, their colorful kangas and dark skin a stark contrast to the blinding white sand.

I have found Paradise.

The Indian ocean is like bath water, startlingly warm in the late afternoon. Beach days spent reading, relaxing, riding bikes down the long stretch of sand, and eating food infused with exotic new flavours. It took awhile to make it to the beach, with four nights spent in Dar Es Salaam and another five in Stonetown, the capital city of Zanzibar. Christmas was special, spent with a wonderful Tanzanian family who welcomed us with uncontested hospitality. We ate traditional foods and learned how to cook them, too: a cultural exchange worth the sleepless hot sticky nights in Dar. Stonetown was absolutely magical. Winding streets filled with the influence of Portugeuse, Arabic, African and German pasts. Calls from the mosques echoed through the narrow allyways as vendors with a wide selection of treasures called out “looking is free!”. The history and blend of cultures pulsated through the city. To be honest, it was nice to have other tourists around as I got to be more annonymous again. The highlight was street food, a medly of cooking stalls and drinks in the dark night on a road filled with people and a carnival-like atmostphere. The Zanzibar pancakes alone would be worth going back for.

But the best was the beach. We stayed at Paradise Beach Bungalows on the southeast coast – a quieter stretch of beach than the north where I spent New Years at an all night beach party (after some fun daladala rides to get up there). At one point I lay in the sand completely alone in my own patch of tranquility. Masaii played Bow with me and I enjoyed the hammocks strung between rustling tall palm trees. Long walks down the seashell filled beach in the light of the cresent moon were peaceful and beautiful. Zanzibar was all the magic I heard it would be.

It was lonely, though. Christmas just wasn't the same without my family. I am trying to get better at enjoying experiences for and with myself, but so far it just hasn't been as wonderful as sharing it with loved ones. Many times throughout the trip I caught myself thinking “so and so would love this!” or “I wish ___ was here”. Now I know I'm capable of doing it on my own, and in the future I'll choose together. It's just more fun that way. Until then, I'll keep sharing my experiences through words and pictures and soaking them up while I can.

If Only In My Dreams

Warm apple pie, gingerbread dough, ornaments, peppermint chocolate and bite sized brownies, carols, popular Christmas songs on the radio, chilly walks in the dog park, cozy under blankets, mittens, sappy pine tree smell, lights and wreaths and bows and garland, wrapping gifts, hot tea and a good book on a comfortable couch in the evening while Nat King Cole sings along…

These are the things I miss.

I didn’t realize how dependent I am on seasons. It doesn’t feel much like Christmas without the build up of cold days, shopping stress, and especially family time. In fact, it doesn’t feel like time has passed at all. Furthermore, there are not too many decorations around and there is not the same commercial frenzy as a home. I am finding it hard to remember to say “Merry Christmas”.

This holiday season will be one for the books. I am a maid of honour in a Canadian / Rwandan wedding on Saturday and then jetting off on Sunday for new adventures. I’ll be in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania for 5 nights, hopefully spending Christmas day with a family there. A ferry ride on Boxing Day will take me to the island of Zanzibar, a place I’ve wanted to visit since first hearing about it in June. I will spend a few nights in Stonetown and then, best of all, some time in a beach banta overlooking the Indian Ocean. Glorious.

I’m terribly excited to see more of this amazing continent and get a taste of different cultures and histories. I feel very lucky for the opportunity. I am, however, missing my family and the familiarity of Christmas past. I am thinking of you at this time of year and looking forward to our reunion more and more. Although I won’t be home for Christmas, African adventures are a bit of a dream themselves, and we will see each other before we know it. Maybe we can bake gingerbread men then.

Noheli Nziza, Joyeux Noel, and Merry Christmas! Much love to you all.

Transportation

On first impression, the minibus park is chaos. A one way street in the heart of towntown, or mumuji, the area is filled with vendors, drivers, conductors, buses, beggers, passengers, business people, children, clothes, peanuts, air-time cards and noise. Eventually, I have come to understand the patterns and flow of the system and can now navigate my way through the bustle to find my bus ride home. This involves walking through the buses until I hear the a caller, boys earning money by advertising bus routes, shout Kaciyru or Ministair-ey, my area of town. I then have to locate the bus he's talking about and wiggle my way in past the other passengers, often amused at the mzungu on the bus. I try to get a seat next to the window so that I get to control it, keeping it wide open for the "fresh" air outside. Once the bus is full, we pull away. Carefully, since the buses are wedged in along the street with incredible driving precision and an acute awareness of the vehicle dimensions. We rumble along, 19 people inside the aluminum box, sometimes elaborately painted or with tassels and other such interior decoration. At the correct stop, if it's not the end of the line, you rap the side of the van to signal your desire to disembark. You pay the "conductor" who opens and closes the door and provides you with the correct change. The best rides involve loud music and people who get off early so there's a little more space, and the worst ones involve hot days, lots of traffic, and phone number exchanges. But for 150 francs, you really can't complain.

I need to give a shout-out to the moto. My favorite mode of transportation, I'm becoming a little addicted. Sure, the minibuses are cheaper, but with that many people crowded into an oversized van I prefer the wind whipping through my hair moto ride. There is something a little exhilarating about sitting on the back of a motorcycle, darting through traffic on my way home. We dip through the valleys where the air becomes cooler and musty smelling as the trees surround us. I used to grip to the handle at the back with white knuckles, but now my hands rest lazily on my knees or balance paper grocery bags on my lap. Moto drivers are often great conversationalists, chatting about Canada, their children, or life in Rwanda on the way home in one of three languages. Prices are negotiable, but now that I use a fist to gesture 500 francs I am starting to get the Rwandan prices. Helmets are provided and drivers are regulated, so the system works really well. I will miss the cheap, fun, and convenient moto ride, especially on moonlit nights along the hills of Rwanda.

Hear me Roar

Once, gender went unnoticed. Hitting puberty at an early age, I quickly learned to ignore any reference to my womanly figure, inattentive to any male attention. I lived in a world where girls could do anything boys could do, sometimes better. Not once did I ever feel a need to keep up with the guys or shatter any glass ceilings, since the limit was always more than the sky. I choose to be a nurse not because of its traditional female role, but because it's a profession I can believe in. Which, by the way, I think says a lot for women in of itself. In my world, gender equality was so great that it had almost reached a point where the boys were being left behind. I couldn't understand the need for fervent feminism.

How naive.

A change of scenery and perspective in Nova Scotia taught me a lot, along with gender discussions throughout my education. I am a very very lucky woman and I didn't even know. I grew up surrounded by close role models who had achieved higher education and were masters of their own destiny, for the most part. I quickley learned that not everyone grew up in the same empowering environment.

Now, even moreso, I notice gender. Not only am I reminded every day by stares, calling, and attention, but the dividing line between men and women in the developing world is drawn clearly, carefully. A lot of life in Rwanda is spent waiting but it is rare to see an idle woman. Babies in tow, they are continually working to provide for their families, community, husbands, but rarely for themselves. There are many daily examples of the oppression that women live: friends who cannot join me while their father is in town; girls who have 'boyfriends' that come over in exchange for clothes, cell phones, or even food; neighbors on my street with five children to care for; the defeated faces of women who have been raped, widowed, or infected by HIV. The high number of male students in my nursing class does not reflect gender equality - it reflects how women are not even running traditional female professions. However, some people will tell you there is gender equality since more than half of the MPs in Rwandan parliament are women. I ask then, why are the women of Rwanda still so disempowered?

I think it's because an attitude shift takes a long time. Women's rights have been at the forefront in Canada for almost 50 years, and we still haven't reached gender balance. Equality is more than a representation of numbers, high salaries, or statistics. It's a society consisting of individuals that believe that women have the same value, intelligence, and potential as men. It's a society that celebrates all gender identities, their strengths and differences included.

So as the Sixteen Days of Activism ends, it's important to continue the sentiment all year. Maybe you enjoy freedom and equality, but there are so many women who do not. The fight is not over until we can all roar our pride as women.

For further reading check out http://www.aids-freeworld.org/content/view/216/153/