One day at a time @djtshot-blog - Tumblr Blog

I care about facts the way I care about oxygen and imbibing enough water a day to live. Everybody should care about facts. That is something all of us should agree on.

Something worth contemplating as we go into the weekend.

kitslam

Moment of zen

#Inspired #Bicycles #2009 #Danny Macaskill

nprmusic

First Listen: The Foreign Exchange, Tales From The Land Of Milk And Honey

npr

Strong weekend vibes. -Emily

npr

It’s hard to find a society, a religion or a part of the world that does not find some way to make women feel dirty, guilty, unworthy or dangerous because of their monthly cycle. “Menstrual taboos are so widespread, they’re almost a cultural universal,” says Beverly Strassmann, evolutionary anthropologist and biologist at the University of Michigan who studies menstrual taboos.

Yet there are exceptions: societies that treat menstruating women with respect.

“Yurok, a native tribe from the northwest coast of the United States stratified by class, had a group of aristocratic women who saw their periods as a time for purifying themselves,” says Alma Gottlieb, professor of anthropology and gender and women’s studies at the University of Illinois.

In some parts of Ghana, West Africa, young girls sit under beautiful, ceremonial umbrellas when they begin menstruating. “The family would give her gifts and pay her homage,” says Gottlieb. “She is celebrated like a queen.”

Some Cultures Treat Menstruation With Respect

Illustration credit: Hanna Barczyk for NPR

djtshot-blog

Anthropology is always fascinating in what it is able to uncover about the intricacies of human existence, society, and between ranging cultural nuance and conditioning.

La media tema (apologies if you don't speak Spanish -- not my problem)

#tbt #Bronko Yotte #Emone Skillz #Hip-Hop Chileno #Tan Solo Inspira

Random Thoughts pt. 17 - Observations from both sides of the pond

I've been home, by that meaning my village, for less than a whole week and already I feel relieved from my airtravel by the overwhelming sense of things being slowed down, there just seems to be so much I'd overvalued in my nostalgia of home that I didn't think I would have. (Now, yes being home in the States was indeed quite amazing, fantastic and numerous other superlatives. But it was also way too overwhelming and I was far too removed from the proclivity and voyeurism of our popular culture with media and the obsession with stardom, to be able to fully adjust quickly. Needless to say I was ill-equipped to be back home as it was not as I'd pictured it being in my head). But aside from that it's given me the charge to take on this next year in full stride.

To start off with, I've spent about five of the last seven mornings sitting and enjoying a morning cup of tea. That's right, just sitting. For a solid hour, maybe even two. Watching nothing--nothing happen, nothing develop, nothing change--and lavishing in that void, that quiet. I guess that serves to best explain the largest difference from life back home, as it is loud; busy. I never felt that there was never that quiet while on vacay and it repeatedly stressed me.

A sense of listlessness that is neither guilt-ridden or pejorative for lacking motivation towards doing something is how I'd describe my down time in Rusasa and were it not for a deeply ingrained Protestant work ethic I'd prescribe the same for anyone reading this. (Now not to imply that EVERYONE embodies this lifestyle in Rwanda. My experience is wholly unique as I'm unfairly privileged in my situation of living in a dollar-a-day kind of village, while making $250 per month. Thusly everyone else is often off farming or harvesting their day's or week's food while I've been enjoying these quiet moments). But what I notice most, after having have lived and appreciated these 'opportunities' to be NOT doing, is that I've come to observe and understand a fair amount more about people that I hadn't before. Things about myself, about who I am: my own beliefs, impulses, hot buttons, as well as what seems to drive me; but also about human nature at large. My position as both being such an exceptional foreigner and a relatively wealthy one, has posited me both within numerous situations where my power and privilege are blindingly apparent, but also outside others where my role as an observer has allowed me to see certainly flattering or detrimental behaviors of villagers that as such has led me to note the universalities in the problems and realities people face. Whether that be in a remote village in the Southern province of Rwanda or a predominantly upper-middle class suburb of Cleveland.

The results and circumstances surprisingly are the same. Now, color me stupid if you like but I think you'd be hard-pressed to ably present evidence of the similarities in two communities so environmentally different. Now without getting TOO deep here, I've just come to realize that there's sincere value in living honestly both in one's triumphs and in one's fuck-ups, as well as living for the moment. Because without a sense of self-accountability or one's being self-effacing stuff like infidelity and Lehmann Brothers can occur. And if one is not able to proverbially clean the skeletons from the closet then everything one does is not completely in earnest. As well, if one cannot live for the moment then the future cannot fully be planned or ably enjoyed when it arrives because of one's worries. So, sorry again for sounding prophetic and philosophical, it's just that in my village I find my vacations rather unoccupying, however that doesn't make what I've said any less true. Anyways, enough of the mind-fodder for now. I'll end this observation by lastly noting that I joined the Peace Corps 14 months ago with the hope of making positive changes for people in Rwanda, I didn't expect that case #1 would be my own.

Now for something completely different, in step with the holiday mood, I expect to engage myself fully in whatever festivities Kigali, Rwanda provides and also by what a Rwandan Christmas really looks like (however I of course will be amongst other Americans whether current or retired volunteers, so perhaps my observations won't be 'just'). So, tomorrow I'll be heading back into development to pass Christmas not 'solitarily' in my village but with whichever other volunteers didn't make the trek home but rather to Kigali. ALSO, there are just two weeks between us and the 'official' start to school (which really means another three to four weeks of vacation), and my last year in Rwanda [cue the sad face emoticon]. There will be more to come on that after the break, lol...

dopatonin

radioactivekiwi

Holy shit

djtshot-blog

...indeed...

currentworldwide-deactivated201

krayradio-blog

The one and only.

currentworldwide:

SEVEN DAYS! ...until I'm back home in Cleveland, lol (by Snapesdaghter)

Random Thoughts pt. 16.2

For instance, it was only yesterday that I was working out outside my house when ample villagers, somewhere to the tune of 40 to 50 were crowding me, bewildered by my ability to both know how to, and be able to, kick a soccer ball. Or perhaps they were present merely for the purpose and opportunity of being able to be present, and so the logical thing for them to do was to stare at something, that something being me. Now I know I may never be TRULY famous but in spite of that fact I certainly know what fame feels like. And from what I can tell I think I'll be okay without it, even if suffocating from anonymity. Another such predictable example, is that of when going out for a run. I can expect no fewer than one baby to cry, with regularity, ever time I hit the trail. And what's best is it is due to no other reason than that I exist. The fact of my proximity and my presence to him or her strikes such fear that they fail to understand 'what' (never who) it is I am that they then opt to flail and scream, running into the safety of their laughing parents or siblings. Similarly, whenever travelling from my post in the proverbial "heart of darkness" where I live, I can expect to motivate similar attention by the countless greetings that I'm accosted with of either 'Mugabo Daniyeri! Komera!' ('Danny! Be Strong!') or, at greater distances away from my village, 'Muzungu, agafaranga!' ('White man, a little money!') all of course while speeding by on motorcycle. I can also anticipate that villagers will only further inquire about my whereabouts and business, regardless of the month, day or hour; where I am, where I've been when seeing me leave; even to why I've left my house later than expected, or am returning earlier than normal. Nevermind the fact that I may be sick, have had a free-period from teaching, had a meeting or may just be minding my own damn business. The axiom of "what's mine is yours and what's yours is...yours," definitely applies to the role of my village in my life here, or is it rather that their's is a dominion over me (as I see myself somehow powerless in the exchange)? In terms of that sense of personal space, ownership and privacy which we know and champion in the West, such a standard DOES NOT EXIST for me in my village, especially as I'm already warranted all this 'power' (in the form of striking fear and blatant curiosity) and 'respect' (as I've mentioned in pt. 1) because of my atypicality. All of which I'm sure you're getting the picture of by now. And although my headmaster recently moved in to my rather spacious house, it would be rash to say that those overbearing concerns, as I see them, of my villagers have somehow now diminished because of his presence. Rather its the opposite. In what was at first a largely singular experience (my own) has now become more a pseudo-Rwandan experience bridged by my headmaster's college education and "relatively" worldly sense while his still being cognizant and periodically partial to villager behavior. His presence has however helped lend explanations of the behaviors other villagers exhibit. Of course it hasn't lessened the whole 'stop-and-stare' phenomena any, or made sense of it, as it will surely persist throughout the rest of my time here. But what I do know now and better understand is that what I found at first reprehensible is largely just a phenomenon of rubber-necking warranted by the newest attraction in town, be that me-the muzungu, an SUV or a refurbished television. (Something Americans are also guilty of, but perhaps what it's been is that it was me who was initially doing the looking not the reverse). What I'm realizing in this role reversal is that while frustrating, its also still oddly genuine and innocent. Genuine in their intrigue and affection, but innocent in their concern and curiosity for that which is new or 'developed'. Now as some may still disagree against a slow paced life, the overt intrigue for anything new or a slowed work ethic (as its ALL done by hand) as being something which could withstand progress or be brought to the West, but may rather be detriments even discriminatory, which may be true, I don't. In fact I find it rather refreshing to be amongst those living in the moment and for the now. Even if that encompasses the often unfamiliar or jarring behaviors, the fact remains that I've come to love and appreciate it, both for how absurd it can sometimes be but also for its authenticity within its absurdity. Its hard to fully explain in words but it's something most volunteers and travellers (NOT tourists) can attest to experiencing (perhaps not with the same high praise I give it) in their exchange with cultures and is something you often have to travel off the beaten path to really feel or understand. My singular hope is that in my shift back to life in the West, my accordance to living life with patience and of appreciating the here and now won't be lost. (I think I could manage without the stares)

Random Thoughts pt. 16

When the smoke clears...and the fishbowl only gets smaller, you start to question yourself and whether the impact of aid work, and teaching, is being made BY you or ON you. For the unfamiliar, the 'fishbowl' I'm referring to references the sensation one feels as the result of being a foreigner in a very foreign land. In terms of the Peace Corps, this phenomenon is largely indicative of one's experience being the trailblazing volunteer in regions and villages of the developing world that have not yet been frequented by ex-pats or NGO's. What ensues is very literally a phase of rockstardom, which in my training was presented as something initial and temporary, as we volunteers introduced and slowly integrated ourselves into the everyday symbiosis of our villages. However, in the case of Rusasa, I've yet to see this initial and temporary period phase out. For a country that's largely insulated from outside trade, as it is landlocked, and until only a few years ago was still reeling from the pains of the 1994 genocide, the adjustment to there being many foreigners or even such a sense of multiculturalism, as we know it in America, as a mainstay is entirely new and often misunderstood. In my village, even after all this time of explaining and redefining my livelihood here as 'deprived' and my role here as a relatively UNsalaried volunteer and community member, so it goes, they still obligate this role of power and respect onto me despite my cries of reprieve and kind rejections. Still, this VIP status hasn't been wholly terrible as it's warranted me free use of the only charging station in my village; the best seat at Church whenever I visit; the front seat on the bus to town (regardless of whether its already been occupied); justified money loans, without interest, from shop owners whenever my funds are tight (or I've been robbed); even further to expectations of my buying villagers' flights to the US or there being an endless supply of footballs in my house with which villagers can try to play (emphasis here being on try), all because of who I am and what I represent to my neighbors. And as hard as its been to continually refuse these advances, I've come to terms with accepting it. Because as frustrating as it is to remind villagers that I'm in fact more akin to their equal as a villager than a zoological exhibit or even a wealthy guest expectant of their pandering and selfless behavior, I've come to anticipate their behavior in most social settings as a means of my own self-preservation, and its repetitive nature. So much so that I can fairly accurately predict it beforehand. So before you go on guilting me about how I'm unfairly benefitting from this special, local treatment, its acceptance has come not out of some self-serving but the self-awareness that my refusals could be potentially worse, even detrimental, to my appreciation by my villagers and in adjusting to the current reality. I say this because this sense of power and respect that I've unwantedly inherited is clearly rooted both in the colonial past of Rwanda and their wide unexposure to Western diversity, which we take for granted yet see daily in the US. Of course in addition to this, the sporadic projects in the countryside by aid workers and the influx of rich tourists who come for fly-by-night trips during school holidays to see Rwandan National Parks and 'exotic' animals in order to really get that African 'experience' makes it apparent how such a relationship, Peace Corps itself only being recently renewed in Rwanda, would lend itself to misconceptions and misunderstandings on the part of Rwandese, as is true from what I've noticed in my interactions. Notwithstanding, this history and the general truths towards foreigners doesn't make my persistent presence in the countryside or being perpetually misunderstood any easier, nor does it make my responsibility as a cultural ambassador to two VERY different places any more fruitful. And yet, still unsure of any benefit the attention to my 'fishbowl' may bring, I'm certain that by not appreciating or addressing it my role here could become just as productive or, worse, as disdainful as is that of most other Westerners passing through these 'thousand hills'. Yet conversely, back in the West this same mentality may prove just as jarring, if not more so, for the inverse as I'll no longer be the rockstar I'm seen as or even the Joe Schmoe volunteer trying to improve the way people do things that I am actually. Instead I'll become just another face in the crowd, another brick in the wall, another cog in the machine. But, thankfully, that dull reality is still some ways off and for now I can still lavish in my semi-rockstardom and the absurd exchanges which that presents for the time to come.

Random Thoughts pt. 15.2

As I was saying, before the text limitations on my phone forced this post into a two-part series, is that it's this ability or even what I'd call an expectation for someone to take an extra ten minutes more and hear someone's story, see how their day is 'really' going or to even share one last drink all for the sake of just being in the moment, or for the community.

In a similar vein they have something here called 'umuganda', a residual effect of the genocide with the aim of cohesiveness and unity. It boils down to the community taking out personal time, whether on the prescribed last Saturday of the month or more frequently to build a house, clean up the roads or to simply help clear debris whenever established by village leaders. And albeit that the catalyst which brought about this now cultural norm was very grave, what a brilliant idea, geared towards self-respect, no? You can see it cynically as some sort form of propaganda to promote "lasting cultural cooperation for everyone's betterment." But more seriously, even though it is met overlooked as an excuse to sleep in or sleep off one's hangover, from what I've seen in the bigger cities, in my village it clearly stands for something more as half the town center and 8, count them 8, classrooms have all been demolished and upgraded since April of this year. Oh, and all construction is done by hand in Rwanda.

Of course, Rwanda is still disturbingly poor and my village just as much as anywhere else in the country, if not more so (nowhere else have I seen children so acceptably filthy), but what I'm getting at here is that what they may lack in infrastructure and tangible forms of development, they make up for with heart.

And it's taken me months of being 'umuzungu' to wholly realize this and be able to see past my Self. In that, although their cries of muzungu whenever addressing me fall somewhere between the genuine, endearments towards a new neighbor, and beleaguered attempts towards 'said' new neighbor with cries for "agafaranga!", or 'a little money', with the expectation of something in return. Or even a barrage of questions about when I'll teach all the hundreds of villagers English.

But despite all this, there lies something more. They genuinely care, regardless of whether or not they realize how their begging is clearly an infraction and inexcusably rude. It was never too often that my neighbors in college or at home in Cleveland would ever just stop by to see how things are or to wish me well or inquire as to where I may have been, nor I the same. Yet in my village such a simple interaction is daily, well it's rather more than that, it's hourly, it's incessant the moment I leave home. And once able to see past the veneer of my being umuzungu has the sincerity of their actions and compassion become better understood. It's not something fronted or stilted, nor is it a generic niceity done out of social obligation, it's not, dare I say it,...American. It's an appreciation for just "being" and an appreciation for being able to lavish in that fact mutually. It's something that in the busy, workin' world of the West, and of America, seems largely lost. And it's something that I've come to both appreciate and simultaneously take for granted. And it's something I'll wholeheartedly miss when my time is here in Rusasa, Rwanda is all said and done.

Random Thoughts pt. 15

In the stream of recently recurring thoughts, my newly situated perspective on my community and presence in the community, as a result of improved linguistics and the fact I've lived in Rwanda now a full 12 months and have yet to leave indefinitely (as my neighbors frustratingly expect every time I leave) despite having traveled to Germany, has in some way initiated me. I'm now unofficially more Rwandan and more a part of this "enclave" of country folk (I say enclave because, firstly no two Peace Corps experiences are alike and secondly because for better or for worse I'm stubbornly convinced that the behavior of my villagers is somehow semiotically representative of solely my villagers and of solely my village, and nowhere else in Rwanda.) Yet even with all this change, my muzungu-'ness' still seems very universal and unfaltering.

A muzungu is, in many respects, the East African equivalent for what we know in the States as "el gringo" (that is if you've ever ventured through Latin America). And similarly, there's a whole range of meaning that can be drawn from saying 'muzungu' whether it being out of respectful admiration despite the differences or one's foreignness to more shameless beggings due to expectations of one's presumed wealth. Either way I was for a long time bearing this in all forms and forums save for any privacy I found behind closed doors without properly knowing how to cope.

Somewhere I read that when coming from the West, African culture "first fascinates you, then it frustrates and annoys you, then you either leave and go home or you get used to it." Judging from my own, muzungu-ed vantage point I'd certainly say that that's true, and none more so than for me. And thankfully I have gotten used to the name. Muzungu, to me, has come to mean for me a term of endearment or respect in the best scenarios, and even when not it still stems from some expectation that I've certainly experienced success (which stems from an often lowered/lack of self-worth compared with the West, which if I can get to, I'll touch on at a later time). And albeit judgmental, that kind of expectation or reluctance on the part of Rwandan in addressing me in such a way is very affective. Now, of course it's clearly prejudicial and seen as an example of white privilege, which it is, however its use isn't solely indicative of one's skin color but their social standing, or in my case place of birth.

Yet, even as that may be sometimes misconstrued by what I'd excuse as mere village behavior, in the case of the difficulties a minority would face in trying to explain themselves as a Peace Corps volunteer in the same vein as I've had to, I still feel certain that some similar forms of compassion and respect which have been, were and are still bestowed to me as the 'muzungu' wouldn't be absent from their experience. I could of course go off on another tangent about the problematic role of ethnicity, language, skin color and privilege in Rwanda but that would be both long-winded and irrelevant to my immediate point. In that like being a gringo, which in certain parts of Latin America is a very NOT good thing, yet in others can be endearing, being a muzungu, and especially a muzungu volunteer, as I am, in what you'd call 'the sticks', seems to call all kinds of prestige which I still find highly unwarranted and have had difficulty accepting. The presence of compassion and general intrigue about one's existence was for me at first daunting: everyone greets you; everyone wants to say hello and ask how you are, how you've been (or as has been the case with me, "where I've been?"), then sceptical: is it that they want something from me?, are they just curious because of my complexion, to later still aggravating: why do they ALWAYS have to say hello?, why is it solely me they're bothering? why do they persist to say hi when I've already greeted then, to lastly something more simple, authenticity. (And yes, clearly my fits of frustration were tell-tale signs of stress and burn out, but as stated they too have passed.)

I've realized that sincerity is no more than simply the way they are with most, but none more so than with me, their esteemed guest muzungu of two years. And whether it's through explaining my raison d'etre in Rwanda, sharing a beer or plate of food with a family or providing endless entertainment to curious village youth, it's become apparent that this connectedness, this interweaving of experiences is just village life and how villagers interact. I'm just the next best thing, being that I live in a house placed strategically at the village crossroads and adjacent to our market. And what has also become apparent is that as this sense of community is often absent in many American neighborhoods, having been thrust into this involved of a daily routine is probably what slowly ate away at my sense of normalcy (not to mention the whole being American, or college educated, or living without electricity...).

Linguistics??? Boredom??? Tongue Twisters?!?

Well I'm one year down and boredom's set in. So, I thought I'd share something, well one of the things, that has kept me occupied at least some of the time. Tongue twisters. In kinyarwanda,

ibi biribiri bibiri byanyira babiri biri mumirima wa kabirigi

nyuze imbere yingoro yumwami nikoreye imboga bitwajye imbago mbonye imbogo imboga nzimena imbere iyingoro yumwami

niba ushaka gushaka uwushaka mubwire agufashe gushaka uwushaka

ta izonjyo uze urye inzuzi

isha yumushi yishashi ishotse icuritse ijosi

inyarya ihimwa n'ijya mirize

So, while I wittle away at this cold, which I always manage to get either 5 weeks in to a workout routine, at the start of vacation or at the changing of the seasons, liiiiiike clock work (this is easily the 5th or 6th time this calendar year), and continue to count down the days 'til I'm home. Go have some fun trying to sound normal as you recite these. And yes, if you're wondering, I can say most of them at speed.

So with that I'll wish a fine day to you, too...

#Rwandan Tongue Twisters

Anniversary...Well, almost

Today--well tomorrow (or maybe yesterday depending on how you see it)--marks my, "our", one year anniversary of having been in Rwanda. It was 365 fine days ago when my training class and I stepped off the plane at Kanombe-Kigali airport in the humid Rwandan night, and it's also been some months since I've written anythig of my own experience. I apologize.

You see, things have just become blaringly mundane and monotonous and I've found myself, for a large part, without much of detail to recount to those of you back home.

[Side note: By and large the most noteworthy "event" since last writing has been means of establishing a more balanced emotional state. I by no means want to infer that there was anything certifiable about my behavior but my many frustrations certainly led me to debate changing sites (villages), looking for work in the city, or even considering Peace Corps' involvement in my unease with my circumstances. Needless to say it was largely a result of questioning not only my villagers' ignorance but also my relevance in my village and with students' inattentiveness towards anything remotely philological (as they seem to neither review nor study anything explained in class by the likes of me, in their native language. Nor does it seem to be true that they've been, for the large part, equipped with even the most basic of motor skills, for many this means difficulty writing in a straight line on grided paper or consistently spelling their name right, or even the same way, from one assignment to the next). Not to mention the fact that over 30 of the initial 125 students I was assigned have dropped out due to, what I assume is, a shortage of labor on their families' fields and crops. As there seems to be a lack of unwavering support for education in the community due to both impracticality and a necessity to get by on subsistence farming. (Because if you don't farm enough to break even in the market that means there won't be enough money to shop, meaning there won't be enough to eat). So excuse my absence but I've been trying to get my mind right, and sluggishly so, regarding the harsh reality of the foreign-ness of my surroundings.]

Day in and day out it's teach, rest, eat, read, exercise, eat, sleep, teach, rest... Pretty much 5 days a week, every week. AND! Aside from such fascinating details of my day-to-day I have, what they call in Rwanda "umwanya" or free time, what I call "boredom". So, aside from spending ample, and by ample I mean every weekend for 5 months, time away from site trying to lay claim to anything stable or familiar of what I knew in the States, life has been really...usual. On the upside, however I've found a workout routine from wherein to supplant some of this boredom. This came as a result of a spiritual retreat I participated in, in Germany, in August of this year wherein I rediscovered a previously read book that's helped shed light on my misdirection. (And if said retreat needs explaining then you clearly don't know too well my own history). Aside from exercise, which has always sort of been a go-to release for me in terms of stress, my fluency in Kinyarwanda has also helped, as I'm now more generally understood the first-go-round by villagers. Whether it's due to my enunciation or conjugation it's clearly helped as my students, being villagers themselves as well, have gone from a 30% passing rate to 41% since the last term ended in July (granted the dropout rate plays some part in this, but a success, however small is still a success).

And in this last bit of self-acclaim, I've begun to realize the relevance of noting small victories in this kind of work. (Thanks in part to yet another book I've read [I've been doing a lot of reading in my "umwanya"] on the functionality of small steps towards large achievements, which in leaving me to my devices has revealed some solutions on both how to keep kids in class and keep them passing, without the cushion of undeserved extra credit or varying degrees of defeatism.) As an aside it's also changed my outlook and minimized internalized frustrations about the whole 'muzungu, muzungu' thing endemic to Rwanda. Besides, scaring the little children frightened by my existence never loses it's interest.

In other news, I'll be headed back home, out of Africa, for 3 weeks to both celebrate my Mom's birthday and the lovely American fest commemorating gluttony and camaraderie, Thanksgiving. Couldn't be happier. I'll then spend a few days 'paling' around Brussels with my friend Sara before returning to my...bereft...village for the holidays.

(VOTE MUGABO!)

And I'd be remiss to not mention my trip home, because its juxtaposition against my faltering patience towards many things village-oriented is what I believe broke my weekly routine of escape. But ya know, so what...I now grasp the just cause to why they say Peace Corps is the hardest job you'll ever love and up until now I've made it 12 months clear. Holler.

So. Hello again tumblr. Sorry i've been kind of MIA the past few weeks aside from the numerous music video posts, for which I apologize if you were not a fan. But this trimester's been a bit of a whirlwind what with my mom's two week visit, numerous Peace Corps related meetings, gatherings and general weekends away, coupled with my endeavors to ably meet the expectations of my being a teacher. To start things off and be a bit more specific, the 28-hour work schedule which was handed me at the beginning of last trimester was something I have tried to more accurately abide by, meeting the expectations of teaching, grading and planning all the lessons and assignments that that timetable incorporated. Needless to say, it was not easy to always find the strength to do so, especially since I often times would find myself explaining something like a 'book report' for a 3rd or 4th time after having already spent almost three hours explaining it through examples and my best Kinyarwanda the first two times. However that's just the icing. If the weight of my teaching hours weren't bad enough then the overwhelming presence of abject poverty and low levels of student matriculation certainly take their toll.

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