Praise God it Wasn’t Serious

Last week I had the worst injury of my life. I fell off of my bike going down a hill around a turn on my way to the Lucy’s house, which is about a thirty minute drive from my house. A lot of the roads that I was riding on are full of big rocks and erosion from all the rain, but the road I fell on did not look bad like these other ones. I blame the loose gravel that made me skid, but it was really my poor cycling ability and thinking I could handle it when I couldn’t.

I hit the ground hard. Upon impact I lost consciousness. When I came to after a moment the first thing I noticed was my prescription sunglasses were broken. I started to panic because of this. I had to find the lens that came out. I was scared thinking, “What am I going to do if I can’t see?” I remembered that I had my regular pair in my backpack so I pulled them out and put my broken sunglasses in the case my glasses were in. Before I could put my glasses on though I somehow wandered thirty feet away from my bike and stumbled into a ditch. After I was able to climb back out I once again had lost my glasses, this time the other pair. I put back on my sunglasses with one lens and found the good pair and replaced the broken pair. After putting my glasses on I realized that my vision was still blurry.

My panic turned into a realization at this point; maybe I have a concussion. I decided to sit down next to my bike and started to nurse my wounds. Although the original fall didn’t attract too much attention the second one drew a large crowd of about fifteen tea farmers. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I don’t think that is because of a lack of Kinyarwanda knowledge. I don’t think I would have understood them even if they had been speaking English. There was one word that one of the Good Samaritans did keep saying that I understood which was umutwe – head. The same guy directed one of the nearby tea farmers to bring me water and commanded me to drink it. I drank it without considering the consequences of drinking something that I didn’t know the condition of. I also poured it on my arm and leg to get some of the dirt out of my wounds. I sat there for about half an hour trying to recover before I decided that I didn’t want to continue to be stared at and talked about by the concerned locals so I gathered my things and got back on my bike with my vision still blurry after thanking the man and woman who helped me. I rode about fifty yards before my caretaker was shouting at me because I had left my keys. He came running after me to return them to me. Thinking about it now if I had seen this happen to someone else I would have called an ambulance and not let them get back on their bike and ride away, but the people who helped me didn’t think to do this although I don’t think this is because they wanted to let me hurt myself more.

The rest of the trip was full of more concerned locals. I had to push my bike up a massive hill, but I think I would have had to do this even if I hadn’t been injured. I acquired an entourage of two other cyclists who were transporting potatoes. They took it upon themselves to see to it that I made it to my destination. When we would come to the top of a hill after pushing for a long time they wouldn’t go without saying to me first, “Tugende Muzungu” – let’s go white man. As I rode past people and they saw me bleeding they covered their mouths and gasped “Imana We” – Oh God. There were some kids who kept asking me to let them ride my bike, but other than that everyone was showing great concern. I wasn’t in a lot of pain for the rest of the ride either, but I assume that’s because of the adrenalin.

I reached Lucy’s house and she was really surprised that I had ridden my bike to her house. She was laughing until she saw all of my wounds. Then she laughed some more (she isn’t malicious, I admit that I am a clown and when a clown gets hurt it’s funny. I also admit that I was trying to make light of the situation). She called me crazy for making that trip and she was right. I finally had the chance to evaluate the damage at this point. I still had a headache, but I was no longer dizzy or had blurred vision. I had large abrasions on my right arm, leg and on the right side of my back as well as a small wound on my left hand. My helmet had a big dent on the right side and the back had blown out and my shirt had a big hole in it. I cleaned all of my wounds in Lucy’s back yard using her spigot with running water that I am extremely jealous of and grateful for. Lucy helped me to clean the one on my back. She then played doctor and disinfected and bandaged my cuts.

I then called the Peace Corps doctor. The Peace Corps doctor is an amazing man. He cares a great deal for us, has an excellent sense of humor, and has a wonderful sounding French accent. He decided to drive up to meet me. While I was waiting I had the chance to watch The Lion King while Lucy made some lunch. I didn’t want to but she insisted that I sit down and did nothing. I called a few others to tell them what happened to me and to let them know that I would in Kigali for a little bit. The doctor made it to my house call and examined me. He removed my bandages and had me stand with my feet together. He asked me if I had been drinking to which I replied no. He also laughed a lot at my broken bicycle helmet and said it was a good thing that I was wearing it or that could have been my head. We left Lucy’s house with my bike in the back and drove to my house. The driver carried my bike up to my house and put it away for me while I packed a few things and changed clothes. I then had the most comfortable conditions that I have ever had on my way to Kigali in great discomfort. We made it to the Peace Corps office and we let the driver go home. The doctor then took me in his car to the hospital where I had a CT scan. The scan revealed that there wasn’t any bleeding in my brain and I had sinus congestion that the doctor was concerned about. Therefore there was not any permanent damage. I was very relieved that that one percent chance of me having permanent damage didn’t beat the house. I’m sure that I didn’t help my odds by getting back on my bike so soon after falling off of it.

Next he drove me back to the Peace Corps office and gave me pain killers. I then limped down around the building to the brand new Peace Corps hostel the Case de Passage. Case de Passage is supposed to be pronounced in a French way of speaking like Cause de Pa-sauge, but I like to call it The Case of Passage, case – like a case of beer, of, passage – like you have gained entry or moving from one point to another. Either way you say it I was really grateful that they had put this together for us because I went straight to bed. At least I tried to. I only got about two hours of sleep. I didn’t get any more sleep the next day either but I did stay four nights so on the third and fourth nights I slept fairly well. The next day I was able to get my sunglasses fixed and some drugs for my sinus congestion.

I told the doctor that I am happy that this happened to me here and not in America. I have the best healthcare of my life right now. I told the doctor that I thought it would have cost me $2000 in America and he was saying that would be outragous, but after thinking more about it, an ambulance, a house call, a CT scan, transporting my bike, a bedroom for four nights, getting my glasses repaired, and drugs. I think the bill would be closer to $15000. Regardless of the crazy prices of healthcare in America, the doctor spent about nine hours with me in two days and no bill, at least not made out to me. When I called him I told him that I wanted to wait to come in on Friday, but I am really happy that he came and got me because those days that I would have stayed at my site would have been exceedingly painful. There is no way I could have even made it to work let alone taught anything.

The following days were interesting for me. There were people coming in and out of the Case, but I was there with Brittney who was changing sites and Emit who just extended for a third year and his site wasn’t ready yet either for the whole time. We built a puzzle and ate ice cream and Chinese food. I saw a lot of my friends that I was very happy to see and I led bible study on Saturday too. Most of the people who came in were there to run a marathon and a few to watch it. There was a carbo-loading dinner on Saturday at the administrative officer’s house that I did what I could to help prepare for it. Although this sounds like it would be a lot of fun, when I was in large groups I had a hard time participating in the conversation for very long. I felt distant because the only thing I could think to talk to people about was my injury. My usual wit wasn’t anywhere to be found and I was probably the most boring person to hang out with this last week. I think there are many reasons that I may have been like this, but I know that the pain I was in didn’t help my social skills. I kept getting asked why I was being quiet. I wanted to be alone, but I didn’t want to admit that I wanted that. I care so much about what people think of me and I never want to miss anything which is why you often see me still there at the end of the party even if I am not having fun. I hated feeling this way and when I finally talked to someone on Saturday night about it I cried. There were other emotions that went into my weeping, but I feel like this was building up in me for a while and it felt great to finally release it.

Sunday was a lot better because I got to cheer on everyone running in the marathon. I kinda felt like a party crasher being there with all of the people who were supposed to be there, which is part of the reason I left for home that evening instead of staying another night even though my friends were trying to convince me to stay. The other reason is I missed Mulindi. It really feels like home now. Pittsburgh will always be home, but I feel very connected to Mulindi now.

When I made it back home Devin was there and she asked to see my wounds and we talked about my week. I also received a facebook message from my best friend here saying that he was worried about me. I showed up to school the next morning and was welcomed by the Secretary who I haven’t had much of a relationship with. She hugged me and asked me if I had recovered. I told her yes and she said “Imana twishimwe ntakibazo” – Praise God it wasn’t serious. The headmaster greeted me and he asked how I had been and to see my wounds. The other teachers were all happy that I have returned especially the two that I talk to the most and the librarian. I displayed some of my wounds to my classes to the same gasps that I had received nearly a week ago when they were fresh. I sat in my usual silence when others were speaking Kinyarwanda faster than I can follow and thought to myself how sad I would be if my accident had been serious and I did have to leave. I felt self-centered and apathetic towards everything else. I get scared at the thought of if it was serious then what would I become? Would I be totally self-absorbed and never care what others are going through? There were so many people that supported me through this and I am grateful to every one of them. They displayed selfless love for me, from the guy yelling umutwe to the teacher who asked for my phone number because he would have tried to call me if he had had it.

I am really just happy that this is over. I have other more important things to worry about. Now I can get back to teaching and back to being myself. As long as something like this doesn’t happen again I will be fine, but realistically something to this scale could happen any time I leave my house.

These pictures were taken by Lucy soon after I arrived at her house. On my face are my broken sunglasses, not an eye patch. Yarrr! Go Pirates!

I met up with Lucy yesterday and she gave me these pictures. She told me that people are still talking about me at her site. “How is your friend, the one with the wounds?” And when they say wounds the make a a motion of blood gushing out of my arm and leg.

After I was bandaged up.

I’m pretty sexy with my shirt off and white I guess.

Rwandan Food

I love cereal. It is my favorite snack. For as long as I can remember I have had cereal every morning for breakfast. In college I started eating it as a snack in the evening. I don’t really care what kind of cereal I eat. I have loved so many kinds of it. I just finished a big bowl of cereal with powdered milk. I do not like the fresh milk (straight from the cow that it is necessary to boil). I was raised on skim milk. So I add a little extra water to my already weak powdered milk. Although I do enjoy the African tea which is made with the fresh milk, but I don’t crave it. Not like I crave cereal.

I visited Kigali last weekend for some business and while I was there I bought a 5000 franks (9.50 dollars) quart of mint ice cream and my friend bought a 7000 franks (13 dollars) box of Froot Loops. We both shared with each other and took great advantage of this rare moment. I have gotten prepared American food plenty of times at restaurants and paid a lot for them, but the only packaged foods that I get are from my mom’s packages. They come pretty regularly and I and I think my roommates are very grateful for them. I am expecting a package from my friend Chris right now too, so that is exciting. My favorite things that I get in these packages are crackers, cookies, packaged meats and just about anything else that my mom puts in there, but nothing makes me happier than eating cereal.

My normal breakfast here is whatever cold rice, potatoes, or vegetables that are left from the night before. Lunch is usually rice and beans or kayunga (corn flower and water it tastes like old stale tortilla chips to me). I eat lunch with the other teachers at my school which is usually a lot of fun. We make fun of each other a lot and even have some serious conversation sometimes. I pay 5000 franks per month to eat with them, notice that that is the same that I paid for one quart of ice cream and less than it costs for Froot Loops.

Dinner is usually at home with my roommates. We just make the rice or potatoes mostly with vegetables and beans. For a long time we were having a housekeeper cook for us, but she was stealing from us so she had to go. Now we cook for ourselves. I have been mixing all kinds of spices and trying different recipes in the cook book I got from another volunteer. Both of my roommates love to pile on the hot spices so I doubt they can even taste most of what they eat. I enjoy it though.

Something that I wish I got more of is the fruit. It is not as available as it once seemed. It is still more available than cereal.

Here I am with my roommates and Chi the Taiwanese guy who slept on my couch for a week.

The morning assembly.

The morning assembly with me.

Reconciliation

A little over a month ago was memorial month in Rwanda. Everything shuts down for the whole week. Everyone is supposed to go to discussions about the Genocide. This is to try to ensure that genocide doesn’t happen again. I recently read We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will be Killed with Our Families by Philip Gourevitch. It is about Rwandan history and is very interesting especially to me because I am living here with people who lived through it. I wrote down a quote from the book that I thought really summed up the current situation here. “Never before in modern memory had a people who slaughtered another people, or in whose name the slaughter was carried out, been expected to live with the remainder of the people that was slaughtered, completely intermingled, in the same communities, as one cohesive national society.” The Genocide is something that I’d rather not think about, but I am constantly reminded of it every day. How forgiveness comes to the people whose lives were ruined by this is only through God’s grace.
The recent death of Osama Bin Laden forced me to think of how September 11^th compared to the Rwandan Genocide. I quickly decided that those who orchestrated it were the same as Bin Laden, some of them are still at large. The Interahamwe is the same as Al Qaeda both of which are still at large and even though we hear a lot more about Al Qaeda, we all know how dangerous it is in the RDC. By the numbers and how the destruction was performed the Genocide is by far the worse of the two, but I’m not sure about the motives. The result in both cases was the death of a lot of people. The motive behind September 11^th was to destroy the economic and security centers of American and cause panic. The motive behind the Genocide was to wipe out an ethnicity of people. Both motives are driven by love for your own kind and hate for those who are different.
I have a hard time forgiving for much smaller things. This weekend I have made more honest confessions in a shorter period of time than I ever have before. There were two, neither of them were easy to make, and if I felt like I needed to make more, then I would. Both of them made me extremely nervous for opposite reasons, which prompted me to rehearse the conversations to myself about a hundred times in the last three weeks. Both conversations have been a long time coming too. They originated something like six or seven months, twenty pounds, a term of teaching and most of pre-service training ago. I can easily say that most of my time in Rwanda has been leading me to having these conversations.
The first of these conversations was with my boss, the Country Director (CD) of Peace Corps Rwanda. The CD is an incredible woman and I feel extremely lucky and honored to work for her, but for a long time I have hated her. Peace Corps has a lot of policies that the volunteers must follow. If a volunteer breaks a policy the CD has to investigate as to why the volunteer broke this policy and make a decision as to whether this volunteer should be allowed to continue to serve or if it is necessary to terminate the volunteer’s service. Within only three weeks of coming to Rwanda I had already broken one of these policies. I broke the out of site policy. Part of the out of site policy says that you must text the travel phone whenever you leave your site and then again when you arrive at your destination. This policy from what I understand is not in all Peace Corps programs and was brand new at this time. Prior to this they had mentioned it to us but did not provide us with the phone number to make these reports. I was also under the impression from Staging, which was the event we had when we were all in America before catching our flight to Africa, that it sufficed to tell another volunteer that you were leaving that you were leaving your site.
Now that I set myself up I’m sure that you are wondering what I did. For one week of training we visited our sites. We were supposed to learn about our school and meet some of the community. Upon arriving at my future site one of the teachers delivered me to the house of the volunteer that I would be replacing. She was changing sites because of a problem that she had been having for a while. She was an excellent host for the week of my visit. She showed me Mulindi and the surrounding area as well as fed me and taught me a lot about Peace Corps. We also played Scrabble which influenced me to buy my own board on my way to my site that cost 23,000 franks – about $38.50 which is a lot for me, but I think it has been worth it. Anyways what happened that caused me all of this stress is on Wednesday of that week the she was going to Kigali for a meeting and asked me if I’d like to come. I hadn’t had the chance to see Kigali at all yet, and she was going to the Peace Corps office which I was curious about, and I was craving a burger which I heard you could get there so I said yes.
The Safety and Security Officer had told us about dangerous Kigali could be, but I have been to dangerous cities before and even lived, worked and volunteered in all of the most dangerous parts of Pittsburgh so stories of violence and theft in a city didn’t scare me. We arrived in Kigali and took a bus to the Peace Corps office. Kigali has a much better transportation system than Pittsburgh. I have had to wait for hours to catch a bus in America, but I never have had to wait too long here. Even to get out of my village the wait is always reasonable. I think this is because there aren’t any unions and anyone who can buy a van can be a taxi driver. Also a lot less people own cars so this is the main mode of transportation. A taxi is extremely cheap too. The only thing that slows them down is they don’t like leaving unless they are full. If you can’t wait for a taxi to come you also have the option of a motorcycle taxi.
At the office my host went to her meeting and I waited for her in the volunteer lounge. While I’m waiting I was able to use the internet for the first time since coming to Rwanda for longer than a minute. I saw a few people who I knew from training who were surprised to see me and then the Assistant Program Manager took me into his office and we talked about how I should be there. He stressed that I had things I needed to do and informed me that I was breaking policy. After I had been scolded, my host finished her meeting and told me that she had also been slapped on the wrist. We left Kigali with our tails between our legs, but not without getting lunch first. I got a burger that was pretty good. She made it seem like it was no big deal that we had been reprimanded so I soon forgot about it and enjoyed the rest of my week at her house.
I returned to the training site that Friday, and the next day at lunch the Program and Training Officer took me into an office and we discussed the severity of what I did. He gave me a memorandum that I had to sign and respond to. My response was to be discussed by the entire senior staff and they would determine if I would be allowed to continue my service. He told me that they were not “leaning one way or the other at the moment.” My response was expected by the end of the day on Monday. I didn’t want to let that sit at all. I went straight home and wrote my response. I then called my host from the last week and read it to her because I didn’t want to say anything about her that she didn’t agree with. She tried to comfort me but her attitude of they are trying to make an example of you and there is no way they would administratively separate you for this did not calm me down. I did not eat that night or the next day. I stayed at home and pitied myself for being caught in this situation while others were going out and enjoying their weekend. I listened to all of the Tim Keller sermons I had on my Ipod twice and the Relient K song Deathbed about forty times. Everyone I told this to took a similar attitude to my host. They’d say that “How could they send you home for that, you didn’t know better” or “She should have known better than to take you to Kigali.”
On Monday I turned in my response. Next the worst part came. I waited something like six weeks before I heard back about it. It was pretty much the only thing that I thought about. I had language and teacher training to take it off my mind, but that only did so much. I was at the same time becoming less concerned about it and angrier. One day the Program and Training Officer asked me “Are you ready?” He was talking about the next session that we had, but I was terrified of him at this point so when he asked me this I got scared and asked “for what?” He knew what I was thinking and told me they hadn’t come to a decision yet. After the six weeks I finally had my interview with the CD that everyone was having, but mine was later because my name starts with an S. The interview started with her recognizing that I was the same person that showed up at the office uninvited. After she stated this, I asked if they had ever come to a decision and why they haven’t gotten back to me. Her response seemed incredibly condescending. She said “I’m sorry that you thought we were going to get back to you on that. Had we not liked your response we would have sent you home. We want you to make good decisions and to see what your decision making was for this situation.” At this point I was extremely relieved find out that I wasn’t going to be administratively separated, but shortly after this happened when I started telling others about what she had said the anger I had continued to swell. The memorandum that they had given me said they would get back to me as soon as they had made their decision. Also what would I had written in my response that they may have not liked. Only an idiot who wants to self-destruct would say anything but an apology.
In my mind this confirmed that they were making an example of me and they never planned to follow through with terminating my service. It was exactly like everyone had been telling me, and finding that this was true made me so self-righteous. The slander of everyone who was a part of putting me through this was not censored and it felt great. I took a lot of pleasure in telling others how I was wronged. Everyone I told this to sympathized with me too. There was only one who defended what they did, and I needed to hear someone say this.
I didn’t think about this too much after pre-service training ended. I was at my site. Far from all the people who caused me to stress and a lot to keep me busy, although I did develop an unhealthy fear of the administration. Anytime I received a message from anyone of them I would be afraid to open it, especially if it was from the CD.
After three months at site the volunteers are brought together for in-service training. In –service training is a chance to see all of the other volunteers that you went to pre-service training with and discuss what you are doing and strategies to improve your service. It is one week long. I found out on the first day that the volunteer that I replaced was coming to give a few sessions and all of the feelings of self-righteousness flooded back. I was telling my story to people once again. When I saw her I joked with her that I was afraid that she would get me into trouble. Her response was the same one she said five months before when I called her to read my response to her. On Thursday, she led a session on the Peer Support Network with the volunteer who had defended what had been done to me. I listened to them talk about stress while the CD sat there watching. So the person who had caused me the most stress since coming to Rwanda was telling me how to deal with it. The irony of this was more than I could handle. I was furious listening to her. I asked the CD a question during the session about having a support group meet in Kigali trying to get permission to have bible study there, but both the CD and the volunteer I replaced interpreted it as I wanted permission to party there. This made me even angrier. I told the other session leader that what stresses me out the most is the Peace Corps Administration. She told me that she understood exactly what I was saying and that she wanted to talk later. Then I got up and walked outside for a moment to clear my head. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so angry but it must have been at my parents for something they wouldn’t let me do and I couldn’t see their reasoning. I went back and waited out the session. That night I talked to the other facilitator about this for what must have been three hours. We finally came to the conclusion that I needed to talk to the CD. My hate for these people came from not forgiving them. My anger was controlling me. I couldn’t keep living this way. I needed to tell them that I forgive them.
On the way back from in-service training I went to bible study in Kigali and the volunteer that I replaced was there but didn’t participate. At the end when we were taking prayer requests mine was a long story about what had happened to me and how I need to forgive them. The volunteer I had replaced overheard some of what I said. After bible study ended she took me out onto the balcony and closed the door. She had heard me talking about the CD but missed what I had said about her. She wanted to comfort me and encourage me to talk to the CD. I appreciated this but I used this opportunity to tell her how much hatred I felt towards her. I told her that I slandered her and that I was sorry for doing that. I said that I forgive her and she apologized. I understand how hard it must have been for her to hear this, but it was necessary. Then we hugged and rejoined everyone else.
Upon arriving home I emailed the CD saying I needed to talk to her about what happened. Three weeks later was the first time we would both be available. I went to meet with her this past Friday. I told her how nervous I was when we started talking. She told me that I don’t have to worry about what I had done, but I didn’t meet with her just to hear that what I did doesn’t affect her opinion of me. I told her the same thing as the volunteer I had replaced that I was sorry for slandering and hating her. She told me that she isn’t concerned with what people say about her which I’m sure is true, but as a leader you either want to be loved or feared and she definitely tries to be loved. She kept repeating herself saying that she was impressed that I would come tell her this. I was reminded of how it is just as hard to hear someone tell you this as it is to say it. I felt very relieved after saying this. It was incredibly healing. To be able to forgive like this has released me from my anger. I am confident that next time I am contacted by the administration or see the volunteer that I replaced I will not be overcome by anger, but instead I will be able to respectful and loving. I turned them into monsters, completely forgetting that they are just as vulnerable as I am, which turned me into a monster.
The other confession that I made was the next day. I told another volunteer that I have had a crush on her for almost seven months. She told me that she needs some time to think about it. She said that she’d get back to me in a week at the longest. So right now I am in suspense, but I am really happy that I told her this even if it results in her saying no but I hope she doesn’t. She does have a lot to consider so I am not upset. I wonder how much she is thinking about it because I’m having trouble thinking about anything else.