The Simple Path

“The Simple Path: Silence is Prayer, Prayer is Faith, Faith is Love, Love is Service. The Fruit of Service is Peace.” ― Mother Teresa

[weaverpeacecorps]

Leaving Rwanda

The end of Peace Corps came with a lot of responsibility, emotion, and stress. I found out in August that I was pregnant, but couldn’t tell Peace Corps or they would medical separate me and send me back to America. Although Doug and I were thrilled about the news, we were also a bit apprehensive about the risk. We felt it was safest for me to stop taking my malaria medication. The malaria rate is fairly low in Rwanda (about 3%), and even lower in my village since we are a bit higher and colder, but the threat is still there, especially for a pregnant foreigner. I also couldn’t get any medical care from the Peace Corps doctors without telling them my situation. During this time, I got cholera and had a couple bouts of cold symptoms but could take nothing for it. (Thank you webMD for being my doctor for four months!)

On top of being extremely exhausted, nauseous, and underfed, we had to finish up our school year. We were supposed to be replaced with another volunteer, but last minute Rwanda changed those plans. So our students were very disappointed and required a lot of extra attention, explanation, and help at the end of the year. I was also trying to get my student, Angelique’s, book translated, edited, and printed, along with making and printing club receipts and finishing last minute projects. We also were setting up our last spay/neuter project for our last day at site. It was a lot to tackle at the end, but we managed to do it all. 

I had my medical evaluation a week before ending my service, so that was when I told Peace Corps about the baby. To my surprise, my doctor was overjoyed and so happy for us. It was a pretty great feeling. Peace Corps Washington did not share his positive feelings and wanted to medically separate me anyway (even with only one week left in country) but we managed to get that worked out so that I could complete as planned.

Doug and I did get an ultrasound on our last day in Rwanda and got to see an awesome 3D image of our little boy! That was a pretty amazing experience!

Leaving site was difficult, as expected. We spent two full days going around telling everyone goodbye. The hardest was saying goodbye to a couple shopkeepers and market ladies in the village. They don’t speak English, but the bond between us was so strong. It was incredible how that was possible.

Saying goodbye to students was also very hard. Fortunately, many of them have Facebook, so we can keep up with each other every once in awhile. Leaving Patrick was, of course, the hardest part. He doesn’t have internet capabilities, so contact with him is non-existent. I can keep up with him, though, through his best friend Peter who is at university with constant internet access. So at least we have that.

Our very last day at site was spent wrangling dogs. Our plan was to neuter Teddy, but we couldn’t catch him. Unfortunately, we had to leave him at site without surgery or help. We brought a very pregnant Mama Dog and Ka’cyenda with us in the vet’s car and went to Kigali. Mama Dog ended up having EIGHT female puppies the very next day, so we are glad that we got her out of the village. (Unfortunately, now she has disappeared from the vets care, so her puppies are being taken care of by her staff, including Patrick who got a job working for her.)

Overall, leaving wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. I only broke down sobbing in the street once, and was quickly aided by some darling shop ladies, whom I adore. I think the transition was smooth and as painless as it could possibly be. 

Transportation out of the country was a little stressful and crazy with Ka’cyenda, but God provided for us (as usual) and we were able to make the 30 hour flight with her almost flawlessly. Then Missouri turned out to be fairly warm (and has stayed that way), so Ka’cyenda has done really well with the temperature transition.

We are sad to leave our home of the last two years behind, but we’re excited to see where the path is going before us. It’s all a bit up in the air right now, but we are settling into our new home and adjusting quite well. 

[weaverpeacecorps]

How to get a pizza in 9 easy steps!

When we learned we were coming to Rwanda, a woman who had been to Kigali (only) told us, “Oh, you're lucky! Rwanda is such a fatty country. You can get ice cream there!” At the time we didn't really know what she meant by “fatty” (and honestly, still don't) but we thought, oh ice cream, that's great!

Upon moving to a Rwandan village, we quickly learned that “fatty” is not at all how one would describe it. The staples of our diet are avocados, onions, tomatoes, cabbage, and potatoes. We eat rice occasionally (it got old fast) and beans as much as we feel like spending 4-6 hours cooking bland, tasteless brown beans.

Rwanda has no fast food chains. Nope, not even a McDonald's. They do have ice cream, the absolute best being about on par with Walmart's Great Value brand...a gallon for $4...you know the stuff. We can find hamburgers, though I've never tasted one I liked (beef here is really just bad). And pizza does exist, but it's a far cry from anything you'd eat in America.

Now, with that said...I would further like to demonstrate how a person in my situation actually acquires such food.

Let's say Doug and I decide we want a mediocre pizza. Here is how it goes:

1. Walk 10 minutes to the bus station.

2. Wait for the bus (usually between 30-75 minutes).

3. Literally push and shove to make your way on the bus (watch out for those old ladies, they will knock you down).

4. Spend 25 minutes on an incredibly windy, hilly road on a bus that smells of livestock and vomit and makes frequent stops along the way.

5. Once at the desired location, get off the bus and walk 20 minutes in the hot sun up the mountain.

6. Get to the restaurant (hot and sweaty, even on a cool day) and order the pizza.

7. Wait about 60-75 minutes for the pizza to arrive.

8. Slather mustard on it so that it actually has some flavor, and enjoy!

9. Do it all in reverse to get home.

Total time spent: 5 - 7 hours (round trip)

Money paid: $8/person (which is 3.2% of one monthly income)

Amount adjusted for income: $42 (which is 3.2% of a min. wage income in the U.S.)

Now, let's say Doug and I decide we want a fairly okay, but better than mediocre pizza. Here is how that goes:

1. Walk 10 minutes to the bus station.

2. Wait for the bus (usually between 30-120 minutes).

3.Literally push and shove to make your way on the bus (watch out for those old ladies, they will knock you down).

4. Spend 2.5 hours on an incredibly windy, hilly road on a bus that smells of livestock and vomit and makes frequent stops along the way.

5. Once at the desired location, get off the bus, meander through a crazy bus station with thousands of people, and get on a tiny bus crammed with 30 sweaty people for 20 minutes.

6. Get to the city center, walk 10 minutes to the restaurant and order the pizza.

7. Wait about 10-15 minutes for the pizza to arrive. (Kigali is much faster!)

8. Enjoy the pizza, but always think in the back of your mind: Man...this is no Totinos...

9. Do it all in reverse to get home.

Total time spent: 8 - 11 hours (round trip)

Money paid: $20.25/person (which is 12.3% of one monthly income)

Amount adjusted for income: $160 (which is 12.3% of a min. wage income in the U.S.)

So...yes, we can get pizza and ice cream in this fatty country. But the costs far outweigh the benefits on most occasions. This, my friends, is why we spend so much of our time daydreaming about America.

[weaverpeacecorps]

My love

In my teens I never wanted to be one of those girls who couldn’t do things without her boyfriend. I didn’t want the world to stop revolving if I wasn’t with him. It became a challenge when, in college, my boyfriend who lived 2,000 miles away moved down the road. I went from never seeing him and dreaming of it, to being able to see him anytime and afraid to, not wanting to compromise my ideals. It caused some problems for our adjustment as a couple. 

Then we got married.

Suddenly, rejecting invites or blowing off friends to hang out with my husband was acceptable. Since we were both in school and had jobs, people understood when the little bit of free time was soaked up by our spouses. This change in perception, whether real or just in my mind, changed us. 

I’ve always believed that a couple is stronger together when they are strong separately. I still believe that, but the way I see it manifesting has been altered. I’ve always been proud of my independent nature. My ability to be alone and dwell in the shadows of my own soul. I didn’t realize that seven years of marriage has changed me. Really, truly. 

This past weekend, Doug had to go to Kigali for medical treatment. I stayed behind, not realizing the seriousness of his infection. The first few hours were a little lonely, but doable. But before long, I drifted into such a low place that it began to worry me. Is this who I am now? A woman who can’t spend one day without her husband? I began to question the legitimacy of my life. 

Unfortunately, Doug’s phone was dead and we kept missing each other online. So communication was limited, and that second day was miserable. The second night I spent alone, we were finally able to talk on the phone...and just the sound of his voice let me sleep in some amount of peace. 

I began to feel really foolish. A child who can’t function without someone cradling her at night. But Doug said me:

We really don’t have lives outside of each other. All of my decisions are based on you, and I assume that your decisions are based on me. I don’t have my own thoughts and feelings about society, religion, and life goals without developing them with you. None of this bothers me. I don’t WANT to have my own life, and I don’t WANT to be comfortable without you. We have been in Rwanda for two years, and one day apart and everything falls apart. We don’t need water or electricity. We don’t need toilets or adequate food. We don’t even need close friendships or time with our families. We desperately need each other.

I used to want to have some independence, but now I don’t. I want to be so connected with you that separating from you is like removing part of me. Being away from your spouse should cause pain, right? When I see other couples who are always apart with no problems, I don’t feel jealous, because who wants to be fine without the love of their life?

Reading his words reminded me of what I have. I am one of the rare ones. I’m not only married to my best friend, but my best friend is the best person in the whole world. Why should I need to be comfortable without him? Why should I feel silly or childish for wanting to be with him every moment of every day? If something ever happens to him and I no longer have him here on this Earth, I know I will never have to look back on my life and wonder why I wasted so much time. I won’t have to regret not saying I love you every day, over and over. I won’t be remembering all those moments we had independence from each other, but the times we sat next to each other doing nothing. The conversations that lasted from morning until night, that kept us up too late laughing and crying. I’ll remember the songs he made up for me, and how they’d get stuck in my head and drive me crazy. How we hated it even when we were in separate rooms, so we always followed each other around the house. I’ll remember how he never once raised his voice at me or said words he couldn’t take back, and his deep respect for me reverberated through my entire being. And I’ll know that I had one of those loves that creates miracles.

I truly believe that if everyone had a love like mine, we’d see a peace that transcends the world. It’s hard to hate when there’s someone who spends his every breath building you up and making you better. 

I’m not a perfect person, but somehow this love of mine makes me enough. And there’s nothing worth being apart from that. Ever.

[weaverpeacecorps]

A career after PC

New lives are on the horizon. Several months ago, Doug applied for an assistant art professor position at Truman State University in Kirksville. It is a temporary post, only one semester (Spring 2016), so our first six months we would spend in different cities. We didn't hear anything back from them for a couple of months, so we began to think that maybe it wasn't the right plan for us anyway. I mean, do we really want to be over three hours away from each other? We just bought a house, we'd like to live in it...together.

However, last week, Doug was contacted by the university. He is a top tier applicant, they said, and wanted to check to see that he was still available and interested. The email brought the job back into the  mainstream for us, and now we've been thinking about logistics again. This week, he received an email from our boss in Peace Corps, who informed Doug that he was going to be having a phone interview with the university this week. He offered them a pre-interview statement about Doug that was absolutely glowing. So we are fairly confident that that will go quite well. We are unsure if they are planning to contact his other references, but we assume that they will. Truman said they will narrow it down to three applicants and then interview those three. So, hopefully, they will ask Doug for an interview. If not, it is still a great honor to be considered for such a position with his limited experience.

I have decided to apply for Teach For America. I have recently been interested in teaching in the U.S., specifically at inner-city St. Louis schools. Because they are unaccredited and in desperate need of teachers, I thought maybe I could apply even without a teaching certificate or education degree. Unfortunately, I can't. However, with TFA, I could work there for two years, getting paid a normal teacher's salary, and earn my teaching certificate and (if I want) my masters in education.

St. Louis is a TFA city, so I would obviously request to be stationed there. If I received a different city, unfortunately, I would not accept. I'm not willing to relocate. However, I'm fairly confident that if they are impressed with my application, they won't mind placing me in my own city where I already have a passion and connection.

I thought about TFA a long time ago, but it had slipped my mind. However, another PC volunteer was applying and told me a little bit about the program, and immediately I felt like, yes I am supposed to apply for this! The application is due Friday, so it was a bit of a quick process. But I was able to get it done without much problem. If I am accepted for an interview, that will all begin in January, after we are settled in at home and Doug has started working (hopefully at Truman). Then I would begin teaching in August 2016, and hopefully Doug will find a teaching job in St. Louis for that year as well. So it's all perfect timing.

I don't know for certain that the plans will work out exactly like this...but I'm feeling confident and reassured that God has a beautiful path laid out for us. We just have to do the groundwork of cutting away the low hanging branches so we can see it. It's dirty and tedious, but we're working on it!

[weaverpeacecorps]

Visiting Patrick’s family

We've known for awhile that we wanted to visit Patrick's family. He has become such an integral part of our service, and, as his honorary Mama and Papa, it felt only right to go meet his true Mama and siblings.

P's family lives very far away in the middle of the mountains. Getting there is long and expensive, so we pulled together our entire savings and buckled up for the ride. Generally, P takes the bus down to Kamembe (the southwest border, along Lake Kivu, near DRC) but it is hot, cramped, and overall unpleasant (though they did just recently pave the road, which helps). We convinced P to take the boat down, even though he is very afraid of water (near drowning experience as a child).

When we got to Kibuye, where the boat leaves, and P saw it, he gave a big sigh of relief saying, “Oh...it is big and strong. I thought it would be only wood!” Poor thing thought we were going to row the whole way, haha. We got on the boat and as soon as we set off, P was delighted. He spent the entire trip outside on the deck, just watching the world go by. He now wants to take the boat anytime he travels.

On the boat I started playing a game on my Kindle. Before I knew it, the girl next to me (maybe 13 years old) started helping me. Then her brothers came up too and began to help. Eventually, I just let them take over because watching them gave me more pleasure than actually playing. I kept making side comments to Doug about them such as “They are really good at this.” “They catch on quick!” “Look at what he just did.” Etc. I didn't think anything about it...as we talk in English about people all the time (muzungu habit). Then, all of the sudden the girl looked at me and said, “Can you change the game, please?” I was so shocked I just stared at her for a second. Then I started laughing at my own judgments that these kids only spoke Kinyarwanda. At that point, I just handed the kids the Kindle and let them play whatever they wanted. Turns out, they spoke perfect English to each other and were way better at video games than me!

When we reached Kamembe, we immediately hopped on a bus to Cimerwe, about an hour and a half south. That is the furthest you can travel toward his family's village without a moto. So on the first day, we got the majority of the traveling out of the way (about 8 hours) and found a nice, cheap lodgement to spend the night. After putting our stuff in the rooms, we went into town to eat. I ordered a bowl of beans that were fantastic, I ended up ordering them again in the morning for breakfast!

The following morning we got up really early and went to the hot springs nearby. It was really relaxing to just walk around and take some photos. Then we bought a few gifts for his family, hopped on another moto and headed up into the mountains.

The moto ride was incredibly beautiful. P told us that it was 3 hours, so we settled in for a long haul (fortunately it was only one hour). Doug's moto driver was terrible and kept hitting potholes, ditches, and craters. Doug was off his bike more than he was on it! (Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration.) At one point, the mountain was so steep, my moto driver just stopped and told me to get off. He refused to go any further. So...we paid him and he left. The other two motos stuck with us a little longer. They went up the mountain while we walked and waited for us where it wasn't as steep. Then they took Doug and I on a little further into P's village, and one of them went back for P.

Immediately coming into P's village, it was like entering a different world. No one yelled “muzungu,” but it wasn't because they weren't there. People began appearing out of every nook and crevice, watching us with fear and awe. P then explained that none of these people had ever seen a white person before, not even in a photograph. It was as if a UFO had landed and out popped some aliens.

Everyone was extremely kind, no one asked for money; it was just still and quiet and tranquil. I loved the atmosphere very much.

We walked about 10 yards to the family's new house. P has never actually lived in this house, as they moved in last year, but his mother and sister live there together. At first we met two of P's older brothers. Then we were led inside to take food, meeting two of his younger sisters in the process. The girls spoke English, both having attended secondary school (one still in attendance), which was a welcome surprise. (We actually found out that our friend Leah, another PC volunteer, teaches at his sister's school.) She wants to be an engineer, which makes my heart swell with pride. This is typically a “man's job” so the fact that it's her goal is exciting. She has attended GLOW camp (our girl's empowerment camp) in the past, even being a senior facilitator. So...she is a girl with big dreams, and I very much want to support her future.

P's sisters brought out a whole table full of food. We were pleasantly surprised, not expecting to eat anything that day. Until, that is, P shook his head and said quietly, “This Rwandan culture...it is not good. I don't know how they paid for all this food. It is too much. They don't have money.” Instantly I felt the sting of guilt. His family, who has absolutely nothing, prepared us a lavish meal just because we are visitors and we are foreigners. It is literally the poor woman who throws her last coin into the offering plate. These people sacrificed everything to show their love and gratitude. It is a selflessness I do not possess, and I'm ashamed of that.

(P eventually asked his mother, and she confessed that the family went into debt from a neighbor for the food. They also borrowed the table and chairs that we ate at, as they own no furniture.)

After lunch (which we paid them for, of course), his whole family came out to greet us. We met his mother, older sister, two older brothers, two younger sisters, and a few neighbors. P acted as translator as we each gave small speeches to each other.

The most memorable thing said was by his mother.

“In the Bible there are many miracles. Jesus made miracles. But here, you are my miracle.”

I still can't quite put into words what it means to me.

P ended up talking for quite some time. He talked about how we've helped him pay for school so that in the future, he can in turn help someone else go to school. It filled my heart with joy to hear him say these words. We have tried to instill this value into him, but knowing that he fully understands and agrees was really amazing. He continued by reading some of the Bible. Then there were a couple of prayers before we all went outside for the very Rwandan photoshoot.

We only spent about three hours at his house, but it was worth all the time and money spent. It was beautiful to see the place P comes from, and really put my life into focus.

After the moto ride back, we hopped back on the bus to Kamembe. There we stayed with a family friend of P's, who were an incredibly delightful family. The woman is a nurse, and her husband (Oscar) must have a decent job also, because they had a pretty nice house.

Before the couple got home from work, we were just relaxing on the couches. I asked P where the bathroom was so he took me outside. He asked the umukozi (house worker) and she led us back inside to an actual toilet. P then went back to Doug and said in an exaggerated whisper, “There is a bathroom...INSIDE the house!”

Sometimes you just forget that the perks you are used to are completely astonishing to others who've never seen luxury.

That night was very, very long. We were tired and starving, but the couple didn't arrive until about 9pm. After meeting them and their two precious little girls, we chatted and hung out. Eventually we were given a hot bucket of water for a bath, which felt great, and led into dinner (at 10:30p). The dinner was...let's just be honest...probably the worst food I've had in this country. But I didn't even care. The company was so wonderful and we had a great time!

The next morning, they were kind enough to drive us to the boat (which saved us a couple thousand francs for motos). We got there right at departure time, but everything was fine since Oscar knew the boat manager. We got on and settled in for the long trip home.

I planned to sleep on the boat, but the two most adorable tiny people in front of me had other plans. I ended up playing with the kids almost the entire time. If I tried to read, eventually they would start looking at the photo inserts in my book (and since I was reading Kisses for Kate, the photos were of a white girl with a bunch of Ugandan kids...so they were very interested and wanted to know the names of all the kids in the pictures). If I tried to sleep, I would feel their little eyes boring into me until I'd open my eyes and find them pretending to “sleep” like I was. And, of course, they love love loved my camera. (And my camera loved them.) I turned the screen around so they could see themselves and they just had the best time playing and performing for the camera. I oh-so-desperately wanted to take them home with me.

But, fortunately (unfortunately?) they were with their dad, who was so great with them. It is always refreshing to see the man taking responsibility of the kids here. As kids are a “mother's roll” you don't see it all that often, but when you do, it's generally amazing. Don't get me wrong though, Rwandan men love their kids. Children are the pride and joy of every parent in this country.

At one point the kids were a bit rowdy and got in trouble. Big crocodile tears started rolling down Blandine's face as she laid down in the seat. Her brother just sat there quietly. After about 5 minutes, the father reached over and wiped away all the tears from her face, squeezed her cheeks, and said something to her in Kinyarwanda. She burst into giggles immediately. Then he put his arm around his son and gave him a big kiss on the head. And just like that, the kids were back to their playful (yet slightly less rambunctious) selves. I think my heart grew three sizes.

Finally we  got to Kibuye, and departed the bus, saying sad goodbyes to my new friends. We walked up to Home St. Jean, ate some delicious food, and then got a taxi home. (I don't know how P did it, but somehow he talked the guy into taking us for the same price as the bus, so we didn't have to wait around for the bus or cram on it with everyone else. Score.)

We got home, took showers, and crawled into bed for the best night sleep in days. Overall, the trip was beautiful and amazing. I don't know why, but I continue to be surprised by the sheer awesomeness of my life.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Conviction must lead to action

“Truly, I say to you, as you did for the least of these, you did for me… [but] as you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me.” –Matt. 25:40

Throughout my life, I have transitioned unequivocally into the peacemaker. I grew up in a house of tensions, always waiting for the next black pot to boil over. It created a moody, introverted child, easily overwhelmed by emotion and subsequently unable to process them. As an adult, I have learned many things about who I am and how I can use these deep-rooted tendencies to better myself and fight for others.

It has been troubling to me, to say the least, sitting in my peaceful Africa—the land of third world undeveloped savages—and watch my home be torn apart by soapbox ideals, harsh judgments, and unrighteous inaction. The land of the free and home of the brave is far more barbaric with their loud words of ignorant half-truths than my post-genocidal Rwanda.

I am strongly convicted today. With my heart heavy, my eyes puffy, my face cold and wet with tears…I know I have to speak out. Louder than the close-minded views, the politically enraged, the cowards behind their screens.

Loud.

Yet quiet enough to hear that still, small voice that is my Guide, Comfort, and Deliverer.

I believe with every fiber of my being that peace is the only conqueror. We will never win battles with war. We will never support souls with violence. And we will never walk the path towards righteousness with quarrels.

There is a world of broken, dying people out there. A world plagued by the inactivity of Christians. I do believe that we are all called to different purposes, but we absolutely cannot use this to soothe ourselves into inaction.

God may not call you to the other side of the world. He may not call you to adoption. He may not call you to give all your money. He may not call you to preach. But make no mistake…He does call you.

In Matthew, Jesus is abundantly clear. He gathers His people beside His throne, majestic and righteous as only He can be. And He separates His people. On one side, those who fed, clothed, welcomed, and visited are given the Kingdom of God. Those on the other side did not. “Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.”

Their inaction sent them to hell.

He doesn’t ask them if they’ve accepted Him as the Son of God. He doesn’t ask them if they believe in the resurrection. He doesn’t give them a get-into-heaven-free card for going to church or singing in the praise band. He banishes them to an eternity away from Him simply by their choice to be idle.

As Christians, we like to accept John 3:16 as our verse of choice. Accept Christ and go to heaven. I’ve heard my whole life the favorite paraphrase of Paul…not by works not by duty not by actions. Faith is the key. Of course we should do good works, but we don’t have to. We criticize the Mormons and the Jews for their belief in works. But why?

I’m beginning to believe it is our way of protecting our idle nature. If we greet our friends on Sunday morning, we feel like an encourager. If we cook a meal for a new mother, we are taking care of the Body. If we hand a dollar to a homeless man, we’ve fed the hungry.

But the cry of my heart is simply: Is this enough?

And the answer of my God is just as simple: No.

We must do.

In America, we busy ourselves. Never a moment to rest. Always doing.

But what is this doing? And for whom are we doing it?  

I don’t believe that guilt is the way to motivate people. And I don’t believe God does either. I struggle with guilt so often in my daily life. It has been one of my most difficult struggles in Peace Corps. But through study and advice from wise Christians…I’ve come to truly believe that guilt is not from God. But conviction is. And conviction is what every Christian should feel. That deep perpetual yearning to see the hurting find peace. Not to look upon a mess and feel disgust, but instead to be so overwhelmed with empathy that you stop your busy life and you act.

I’ve seen so many shaking their heads at the state of America. As if politics, resolutions, and statues dictate your ability to be a Christian. Jesus never once calls us to change the government.

“Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s…”

He calls us to change the people.

“Give to God what is God’s.”

With that said, I do believe in advocacy. I do believe in being involved. I do believe in standing for your convictions. I don’t believe that we should just move aside quietly and go down without a fight.

However, not everyone is called to be a political spokesperson.

Yet, social media has begun to make us think that we are all called to this…and people have stopped listening to the greater calling of their own hearts. The call to action by the Creator of the universe. The call to bring peace, joy, and life to the crying hearts of this world.

If every Christian just took one hour a week to truly feed, clothe, and visit…we would watch a transformation in our generation. An unprecedented love would begin to seep through the broken cracks of our country, and Christ would fill up the aching hunger that is destroying us. And when that one hour is allowed to become a way of life, not a duty, people will follow the Light of our God.

Until the heart of His people begins to truly break for individual people, enough so that we cannot stop ourselves from doing, we will never see the change we all pray for in the comfort of our homes.

We have to live bravely. We have to be willing and eager for discomfort. God calls us to take up the cross. Take up the cross. Christianity is not meant for the faint of heart, those queasy at the sight of blood. Christianity is tragic and messy and painful.

No matter what the specifics, we are all called to get our hands dirty. We are all called to bleed for Christ.

“Take up the cross and follow me.”

To follow means to move, to act, to do.

Our world is desperately crying out to us. We have to stand before our God and answer boldly,

“Here I am, send me.”

[weaverpeacecorps]

The bad days

We’ve had a disheartening two weeks. Possibly our most frustrating and disappointing so far. First, the puppy we had rescued disappeared. Just when he was healing and becoming such a joy to have around...he was either taken or killed. I can’t imagine a Rwandan actually wanting him...so the odds are not good.

Then, before the sadness of that wore off, our house was broken into and our safety destroyed. They stole Doug’s laptop and our external hard drive (among a few other things), meaning that everything-- photos, documents, music, movies, shows, etc.-- are gone. The police were hopeful at first, with some possible suspects, but it’s been almost a week with nothing. So they are closing the case today and giving us the police report.

Fortunately we do have insurance, but our personal, electonic items are still lost.

My computer has been running intermittently this week, which has been good. The internet hasn’t worked on it for months, but it is working now (only in one spot in the house). It’s a blessing, really, as we’ve been able to recreate our resumes and whatnot on here. And a lot of photos from 2013-2014 are safe, for now, on this laptop.

A glass man came and fixed our broken windows, so I’m praying that nothing like this happens again. It is scary to feel like you can’t leave your home.

I have always felt perfectly safe in Rwanda, but the feeling has begun to change. First, my Kindle was taken off the table directly in front of me-- fortunately Doug is fast and a good fighter and got it back for me. Then we were stalked on the way home the following week, and now we’ve truly been violated. People in town say that Rubengera is becoming less and less safe as it grows. No doubts now.

They are now beginning to put street lights up on the main road and all the way down the unpaved road in front of our house. I’m hoping this will help, as the thief did exit our house from the front onto the main street. However, the neighbor believes he came when the power went out that night, so it wouldn’t really have mattered anyway.

One of the hardest things is the whole concept of stealing from a white person. Like my students said, “Oh, teacher, you can just buy a new one.” As if I have $500 lying around waiting to be used on replacement electronics. They don’t even understand insurance, so they literally think that buying a new computer is easy and no problem. It’s like they can see dollar bills hiding beneath my translucent skin. (Never mind that I actually get paid less than every other teacher at my school.)

I know, in reality, I am rich compared to most people in this country. And so, I can accept my fate and move on. I just wish the money they stole from us could go to my students instead of some back alley thief.

Alas, here we are. I just pray to get through the next five months unharmed.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Kigali Peace Marathon

I remember exactly what I was wearing...yellow flip flops and jeans. It was a lovely day in early April, first time to have my feet open to the elements since the previous summer...and my toenails were a mess from being stuck in running shoes all winter.

I was sitting with Doug in the Fontbonne computer lab...I'm not sure why we were there, but I was searching the internet for races in Rwanda. I immediately found the one and only marathon in the country. I looked through photos and at course maps. Even though I was afraid it would be hot and miserable, I was instantly excited about the opportunity to take part in this event. I wasn't sure what the future held for me then, but I was certain that I wanted to try.

So, after a year in the country we began our five months of training. Doug and I were very excited to get to participate in the Kigali International Peace Marathon, running the half. It had been two years since my last race, and I forgot the magical feeling that participating in an event like this gives you.

And what's more? Getting to race with people from all over the world. There were Africans from all over the continent, Asians, Europeans, and Americans. The most impressive, of course, were the Kenyans. At only a sideways glance you could pick them out of a crowd. Muscular and thin with long, skinny legs (bare in tiny shorts—so, obviously not Rwandan), and the energy releasing around them just screamed, I was made for this. I was born a runner. It was awe-inspiring.

When we began the race, we went under the large MTN blow up banner. It felt surprisingly like every race I've run in America. We crossed over somewhat slowly because the Rwandans were under the impression that every person had to physically step on the time sensor, rather than just having your bib pass over it. We heard some panicked, “Did you step on it?” coming from those around us...which gave us a little chuckle.

The weather was fairly good. It was sunny, not a cloud in the sky, but somehow it didn't get excruciatingly hot. There were three water stations and one station with sponges soaked in cold water, which felt really amazing. We ran up steep hills, we toggled back and forth with a couple of American girls—them getting ahead on the uphills, us racing past them on the downhills. We had some cheers from the sidelines, which was nice. We got to run past the Peace Corps office, and our guards spotted us and cheered wildly. Our country director was on the path as well to support us. Our good friend Jonathan and Petra both attended the event and another friend Rebecca ran with a student of hers, which was awesome. I loved having so much support.

I had a great pace throughout the entire run. I was proud of myself for kicking the hills, and letting the adrenaline continue to push me forward. The route was a loop from the large event stadium, so when we reached back to the stadium, I thought we were almost done. Unfortunately, I was very wrong. We had to run around the block--so far we actually stopped being able to see the stadium anymore. (Doug told me, “Just around that corner” four times.) Eventually we made it to the gates only to find we had to then run around the outside of stadium again. But wait... upon entering the stadium, we then had to run around the track to the finish. It seemed never ending!

I was pretty bummed that I used a lot of my finishing energy about 3 miles too soon. We ended up not getting a P.R., but tying with our P.R. from St. Louis. However, I'm not upset by it at all because this course was, hands down, more difficult than any other half I've run or probably ever will run. So...I'm calling it a win!

[weaverpeacecorps]

The reality of going home

I am scared. For the first time. I'm scared to go back to home.

For months I've been dreaming of America. This renewed sense of patriotism flowing through my veins, preparing me for my return. The food, the conveniences, the comfort. But I realized, like a hard punch to the gut, that these are exactly the things I feared upon coming to Rwanda.

I wouldn't have my favorite foods anymore. I wouldn't have a toilet or clean water. I wouldn't have my bed, my friends, my family. These were the things I thought would be the hardest part of service.

But I was wrong. Very wrong. Though I miss people, and I dream about good food...it isn't what has left me broken.

So what makes me think that the return of these will be what heals me when I get back?

I left America emboldened. I hated so much about what I experienced there. The judgement and hatred.  The expectations and, yet, somehow, the lack thereof. The people whose words seared scars into my soul. And the unappreciative, overindulged, selfish, wasteful attitudes.

I wanted out. Fast.

But this week I have been reminded of it all. All the reasons I couldn't wait to step on that plane to leave American soil. All that pain I left on its doorstep—I didn't even look back to see it grow smaller on the horizon.

America is a difficult place to live with convictions. A difficult place for so many people for so many reasons. A blessing, yes, one I cherish and appreciate more than ever... but it comes with a price. Sometimes that price is dignity. Sometimes it's popularity. Sometimes it's a steady heart and a strong mind. But it's almost always ugly and ruthless and bleak.

And here I am, in the balance. Living in a world, dreaming of another. But what world am I dreaming of? The real one that awaits me? I fear that maybe I am not preparing myself for the disaster that is to come.

So I'm scared. The life I'll be stepping into is challenging. It will make my current woes of stares and guilt seem laughable. I'll wonder what I ever complained about, basking in the land of 1,000 hills. I just hope that what I've learned here will be enough.

Because what I've learned is who I am and what I'm meant to do. And I'm seeing small glimpses of how that person doesn't fit the American dream. That person isn't rich or loved by all. That person isn't even respected most of the time. But that person is me, and I have to have the strength to truly be her...in spite of it all.

I don't belong here, I've learned. But I also don't belong there, I know. So it's up to God to carve out my place in this world and up to me to fill it.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Malaria Awareness Month

It is that time again. When I ask my students what we’ve been discussing over the last few weeks, their voices ring out “Malaria!” They hear about malaria everywhere...and while this is great because it means that awareness is out there...it is also reminiscent of kids in America hearing that smoking is bad. The information goes in one ear and out the other.

However, when malaria strikes close, their friends, family, or teachers...I think the message sinks in. When I ask them questions, they answer the textbook. But when I ask if they’ve known someone to die from malaria, the mood becomes somber and the gravity of death brings us all down again.

While doing a debate this week, I really began to think about the reality of their lives here.

Does poverty cause malaria or does malaria cause poverty?

The deep sadness is that the answer is yes. Poverty transforms a place, making it fester with sickness and disease in a way that is earthshattering for the people who live in it. But the tragedy continues, in that with every sickness or death, money drains even faster through the hands of those who have none to spare.

And so we teach. The only thing we know how to do. We teach how to prevent malaria, how to recognize symptoms of malaria, how to treat malaria. And we hope and pray that they listen and are able to implement these practices.

The malaria rate is lower in Rwanda than many other African countries, and I’d like to think that part of the reason is due to the tremendous efforts of STOMP (our malaria coalition) in this very small country.

I’m proud of the development and success of Rwanda, but we still have a long way to go to truly stomp out malaria.

[weaverpeacecorps]

As time slows down...

...it speeds up.

Each moment drags on, the sun setting slower with every passing day. Yet another flip of the calendar tells me that my life here is dwindling.

Can it really be that I now have less than six months in this country?

My mind, sitting idly, plays a movie of my future. Entering my house for the first time, filling it with carefully chosen furniture, strategically placed. (After all, we’ve been planning it for almost a year.) I watch the animals play, close but still uneasy. Ka’cyenda wondering what this strange ache of cold is, and why we brought her across the world. She’ll never know that her tiny life has changed mine, and her mere existence has made my every minute less lonely. I walk, barefoot, across the hardwood...the chilled floor still warmer than African concrete in eternal spring. And the almost silent hum from above, the small swish of soapy water, makes my fingers sigh knowing they no longer have to rub their skin raw to clean my clothes. I can walk out my front door, sit on the step, and look at the sky. The sky I’ve been surrounded by my whole life, but never fully appreciated until I was left hidden under it, my eyes focused downward on the rocky terrain, away from staring eyes. This life, this film I watch in silent hours, is a drastic contrast to the one I’m actually living.

When I awaken my senses, I feel my cold feet in front of me. I hear loud joyful shouts from the street, with a constant crescendo buzz of motorcycles. I hear hellos and goodbyes, with many other words I’ll never understand scatter into the wind. The crickets chirp, the banana trees rustle, the broken gate slams against the frame. Everything is broken or dirty. I have no time to clean, and no energy. The electricity now leaves us nightly. The once candlelit dinners now instead are lazily lit by a screen that plays us make-believe America. Sometimes I wonder if my water has always been this brown, or if our pipe got another hole. This exhaustion, not just from tiresome work or high expectations, but from simply living in another person’s world. Where every little thing is different. Things I never even thought about are now a source of humor or ridicule. And though I have learned to be myself, as much of myself as is allowed, the heightened awareness and the overwhelming sense of self chips away at all the energy I have. And some days, when food is gone or merely unappetizing, energy isn’t something I have to spare. This country has dug its nails into my skin, gripping tight at my hands in a way I never expected.

I have come to realize that this relationship is complicated and forever. This marriage of culture, land, spirit, and heart. And my time here has changed everything about the way I view Rwanda. I now know that understanding these flaws hasn’t undermined my love...

Over time, a wife finds imperfections in her husband. Ones that anger her, frustrate her, sadden her. Things that she wishes she could erase, change, ignore. But in those moments of recognition, love becomes real and tangible. Love is no longer a feeling fluttering through her veins, but it lives outside of her, in action and deed and choice.

Real love is in the noticing. Past Rwanda’s hills, past the pink sunsets over a vast lake, past a sunbeam’s warmth in a cool breeze---that is where love begins.

When the eyes of a stranger burns my skin. When laughter follows me through the streets. When my weak and tired legs must again hold up my sick body in the latrine. When innocent animals are abused and neglected. When children are hungry. When thieves take everything I don’t lock away. When my time is siffoned by those who take advantage. When I’m overworked and underpaid and no one seems to notice. When I miss home and silence takes over.

That is when I truly love.

I love a country with flaws. A country that aches in its core. A country that had every reason to give up, but looked to God and pushed on. A country that walks a tightrope of hope, knowing that some day things will be better for its children.

Rwanda is everything I’m not. It embodies a passion for change that far outweighs my own; and its grip on me, though painful, is something I am not worthy to experience. Because of this place, I am changed. I am weakened and burdened and whole.

As Rwanda is broken, I am broken. And together we are loved.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Tanzanian vacation (5)

On our last morning, we said goodbye to the sea turtles and got in the taxi that Solomon sent us. Again, I was a little nervous about the transport, but the owner of our bungalows hitched a ride with us to Stone Town, so that made me feel a little better. We made the drive fine, paid the same (half) price as before, and Solomon was there to meet us at the ferry ticket counter.

We weren't able to get a ferry until 3:30p (it was only 10:30a)...so Solomon showed us a nice restaurant next door, on the waterfront, that would let us hang out until we could board. We had enough money to get smoothies and a delicious fajitas lunch. We couldn't have been happier to have met Solomon. He saved us a lot of money and was a genuinely sweet man. He even called me the next day to make sure I made it to Dar es Salaam okay and wished me a safe journey. Just goes to show that there still really are some good people left in the world. :)

We made it to the city a little late, but Maricky had his driver waiting for us when we got there. A little ways from getting to our destination, the car broke down. (Bad luck Dar coming for us again.) Fortunately it was just overheated, so a little while later we were up and running again. After getting our things settled back in the hotel, we went out into the village to get some food. We were, again, impressed by the cheap and delicious street food—a good bbq chicken with fries. Afterward we got some soda, water, and more ice cream bars (gotta get that good stuff while we can!). Then we went back to get some sleep.

The last bit of good news from Dar was that the electricity held out most of the night (and it was a little cooler anyway), so we slept fairly well. Then the bad news all started. First, I am covered, I mean covered, in bug bites. I have about 50 just on one shoulder blade , about 20 on the other, and a line of bites going down both arms. I have them on my knees, ankles, hands...everywhere. They itch like mosquito bites, but I guess they must be bed bug bites given their linear and circular patterns. I feel like I'm covered in Braille. But anyway, that is the best of the worst.

About 6:30a, for some reason, I suddenly thought—wait, is our flight AM or PM? I looked on my ticket sheet and it just said “5:10” departure time...no indicator, meaning, obviously, AM. I couldn't believe my mistake, and the fact that I hadn't thought about it earlier. When I booked the tickets I just remember thinking it was in the afternoon. Every flight I've ever known to come into Kigali from Nairobi flies in in the evening...so it never even crossed my mind that it would be an early morning flight.

I immediately called Maricky and told him my grave mistake. He came over with phone numbers for me to call (which didn't work), and eventually got us a car and took us to the airport. When we arrived, I asked Doug for the passports, and he suddenly turned white. He'd accidentally left our safe attached to the window frame at the hotel. So he and Maricky had to make the hour-long trip back to the hotel to get it. While they went there, I talked with the ticket guy and found out that we could get on a later flight but there was a $165 fee. My heart just sunk. We were completely out of cash, we didn't even have enough Tz shillings left over to pay Maricky the full amount. (We had everything for him set aside—we actually managed our money perfectly, but with the extra trip to get our safe, we needed to pay him double.) We had some Rwandan francs, but they wouldn't exchange them in Tanzania (which surprised us given they are border countries). We had no credit card either because we were warned about the security in Tz, and cards are the first thing people steal (hindsight tells me never travel without an emergency card). I had my credit card number and everything that you would use online to buy a ticket, but he said the had to have the physical card to swipe. (Still doesn't make any sense to me.) At 8a, I called the Tz Peace Corps duty officer and told her my problem. She said that everyone was at a ceremony and couldn't be reached until 11a. I was floored, but what could I do?

She must have felt sorry for me and my tears, though, because about 10 minutes later an American man called me to see how he could help me. (Oh, how it made my heart calm to hear an American voice speaking to me.) He got my story and then said he'd get back with me. A little while later, one of my American bosses from Rwanda PC called me. It was nice to hear a familiar voice, though I felt like an idiot having to explain what happened and how thoroughly unprepared we were. (I am an obsessive planner who is always prepared...I just wanted one thing to not have to be so meticulously thought out. I just wanted to relax. But...never again.) We decided there was nothing I could do from my end with no money, so she called the PC travel agent to try and get us on the next flight for free. Failed.

We ended up on the same flight the airline guy offered us (16 hours after our original flight was supposed to leave), but it cost even more because we had to pay the travel agent fees, as well. So...several hours, many phone calls, a lot of heartache, and $400 later...we were booked on a new flight. The money will come out of our readjustment allowance when we return home.

Wait...there's more!

Maricky was kind enough not to take all of our money (he was actually going to give us even more but we insisted he take it). So we had just enough to buy one tiny (I mean tiny, probably a 4 inch) pizza around 11:00a. We shared it and finished our last bottle of water that we'd purchased the night before. We were left with just a couple thousand shillings (which we later used to buy, you guessed it, two ice cream bars).

After lunch, we went through security to check-in, only to find out our check-in wasn't for another 5 hours. So we had to wait in a small, loud, uncomfortable waiting room. There were no plug-ins and no privacy, so we couldn't even watch a movie or anything. We just whittled the time away on the (thankfully, free) Internet and taking goofy pictures of ourselves on my Kindle.

Eventually we went through and were able to board our plane. The first leg was actually pretty good. One of the flight attendants was hilarious, so everyone on the plane was giggly the whole time. We landed a little bit late, so we had to rush to our connecting flight.

When we went through the security again, the guard told us that we couldn't board the plane with the cord that attaches our safe. Never mind that we've flown with it all over the world, but this guy says no. He informed us that, “You could do anything with this!” and proceeded to demonstrate whipping and strangling someone. It would have been amusing had we not been so exhausted and afraid of missing our flight (again). We argued with him for a little while and then eventually had to go check our carry on. We had to run down the stairs and go backwards through a small entryway. We were running, and had no idea where exactly we were going, so we ran past these seated guards to get to the check-in station. Wrong move.

The woman immediately started freaking out on us. We explained what we were doing and she started yelling, “You just went right past me! I'm security! You have to stop here. You can't just go through here. I'm security!” We were like, woah, calm down. We were told by the guy upstairs to come through here and we are late for our flight. She just kept yelling about how she doesn't care what the guy upstairs said, we did the wrong thing, and she's security, too. So we were just like, fine sorry what do you want from us. She took our passports and boarding passes, and kept going on about how she was security. We told her, again that we needed to check our bag so I needed my boarding pass. She reluctantly gave it to me and let me go around the corner (literally like 20 steps) to the check-in counter.

The lady there was nice and got our bag checked quickly and then we grabbed our passports and raced back upstairs (having to, of course, go through security again). He then told us that next time we can't bring shells. I'm like, “I don't know what you're talking about.” And he said “You can't have shells.” I was still thinking about the safe, so I'm just like, okay whatever, I don't know what a shell is. And then it dawned on me that he meant sea shells. We had taken some sea shells from Zanzibar and they were in our checked bag. I asked why, as you can actually purchase shells as souvenirs and he said that you have to have special paperwork to fly with them. Dumbest.Security.Ever. (Fortunately, he must not have noticed the shells on the machine until after we'd taken the bag down to check it or it would have been a bigger ordeal.)

So, off we ran, to the gate that was on the screen. It was all the way at the very end of the other side. When we reached there, it wasn't our flight. Our gate was all the way back where we started. So, off we ran again. We finally arrived, sweating and tired, to find out that our plane wasn't only not boarding, but wouldn't board for another hour because of “technical delays.”

When we finally boarded, we had to hop on a bus from our terminal and go to a different plane. (I guess I should be happy they caught the error on our plane before we took off?) Once we were in the air, the flight was pretty smooth and we only landed about 20 minutes late. The first thing I noticed getting off the plane was the instant chill bumps I got from the cold air. Ahhhh. Home.

Getting through security, immigration, and baggage claim was a breeze (thank you beautiful Rwanda) and our taxi man that PC had sent was waiting for us outside (with our names on a sign and everything!). We arrived at our friend, Kayla's house where we were staying (felt so bad having to make her get up at 1a to let us in!) and went to sleep in a nice, cool, comfy bed.

Four hours later I was wide awake, so Doug and I gathered our things and went to our favorite coffee place to enjoy a last little bit of life before hopping back on a bus to site.

Overall, the travel on this vacation was the worst I've ever experienced. Every flight we had was delayed, we lost a lot of money (my own error), and we had no good experiences in the city of Dar es Salaam. However, I am very thankful that we stayed safe. Our security was never threatened and we were blessed to find Maricky and Solomon to be great, upstanding guys. Although I have no desire to ever visit Tanzania again, the experienced taught me a lot, and made me appreciate how fortunate we are to live in a country that is not only gorgeous, with perfect weather, but completely 100% safe. I have never feared for my safety in Rwanda, and that is a blessing that, though I knew I had, I didn't fully appreciate until being in a country where even the natives don't feel secure from their own neighbors. With all it's flaws, Rwanda is truly a magical country and I love living here.

The best part about it all was the vacation, of course. The beach was perfect. Our experience in Zanzibar was perfect. Even with the horrible coming home part, I will remember my time on the ocean with the man whom I love as peaceful, romantic, and relaxing.

No regrets.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Tanzanian vacation - Zanzibar (4)

Snorkeling was really great. We left around 8:30a and headed out on the boat. The trip was a bit over an hour, and the water was incredibly lovely. We got to the island for snorkeling and spent a couple of hours exploring. It was so beautiful and we had tons of fun. The tide was pretty low, so we were right on top of the corral (sometimes having to take great pains not to hit it!); we were able to see the beautiful fish, corral, and sea creatures up close and personal.

After snorkeling, we went to a beach and had complementary lunch. It wasn't the greatest, but it was okay. (We got a little sick from it the next morning, though, but fortunately it wasn't too bad.) We got back to the main part of the island (and were dropped off personally at the beach next to our bungalow) around 3p. We were going to do a fancy, dress-up date night on our last night there, but decided that we'd rather just keep on our swimsuits and go back to the sea.

We didn't take any stuff to worry with, just money for dinner and snacks, and went back to the beach. We ate delicious food, swam for hours, and watched the sunset.

After a couple beachy drinks and some ice cream bars, we headed back to our bungalow. On the way, though, we had to walk through a really dark area of beach. The stars were incredible—I saw the most brilliant shooting star. We ended up lying down on our towel and just watching the stars for awhile. It felt so amazing to be alone, together, listening to the waves and looking up at the night sky. That is something I've missed for a very long time now. Just being.

It was the perfect ending to the perfect vacation.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Tanzanian vacation - Zanzibar (3)

Magic. That is all I have to say about Zanzibar. After the few days we'd previously had, it was like waking up in paradise. The bungalow was in a beautiful, wooded area. It was still much warmer than Rwanda, but cooler than Dar, and there were so many trees that it kept the whole area in the shade. The breeze was lovely, and we could sit on our little porch and enjoy it all.

There was a fan, a nice one, that ran on high...all night every night. It would even get cool enough to cover with a sheet!

One of the best parts about these bungalows was that it has a huge aquarium with sea turtles.

And, not only could you watch them and feed them, you could swim with them. Our first full day here, we went in with the turtles. It was amazing to feel them brush up against you, nuzzle you, swim around you. They were so friendly and interesting.

However, we made one very colossal mistake which was to feed the sea turtles while swimming with them. They got a little crazy and excited, and Doug's swimming trunks are tie dye, so the green/yellow parts with little brown streaks look just like seaweed. All the sudden Doug screeched, “It bit me!!” It was pretty funny, but he quickly got out of the water to check if he was bleeding. He wasn't. It was a pretty insignificant little bite, but we were surprised. I decided to stay in a little longer because I was wearing only black and white. But then, all of the sudden, I got bitten too. We figured feeding them just got them over-excited and so we got out of the water for good. My bite was worse, it was bleeding a little bit. The turtle bit me in the perfect shape of a smiley face though, so my scar keeps looking up at me all happy.

It was a pretty funny experience. I mean, when are we ever going to get bitten by sea turtles again? (I bought a cute sea turtle necklace from from Masai guys that day to commemorate.)

Throughout the week, our days were spent eating delicious (complementary) breakfast on our porch each morning with tea/coffee, fruit, rolls/bread with Nutella and cherry jam, and fried eggs. 

Then we'd hang out with the turtles and read our books for awhile under a shade tree. Around lunch time we'd head down to the beach to share an amazing, freshly baked pizza from a restaurant owned by an Italian man. We'd spend the day swimming in the gorgeous, perfectly-temperatured ocean, or walking around to little shops. We'd go off the main beach to buy cheap waters and hazelnut ice cream bars in the afternoon before parking at our favorite dinner spot for burgers or pasta. At sunset, we'd walk along the beach back to our bungalows, arriving at the perfect time for a night swim with the turtles. Most of them sleep at night, and the tide is usually really high, so it makes for a perfect romantic spot to swim.

Everything about the week in Zanzibar has been perfect. I did get sunburned on my legs walking up and down the beach on the first day (I took care to put sunscreen on my face, shoulders, neck, and chest, but didn't even think about my legs). But even that wasn't too bad, and the manager of our bungalows gave me a big piece of aloe that I used each day. We, otherwise, got a little tan without even trying.

One of our beach days turned out to be absolute perfect weather. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, yet these big billowy clouds kept rolling in over the sun. So it was a little bit cooler and there would be occasional rain showers. The ocean water was warmer than the outside air, so swimming was so amazing. We spent hours in the water without even having to worry about sunburns. It couldn't have been better.

Transportation costs turned out to be considerably more expensive than we anticipated, so we had to stay on a little bit of a budget. However, we managed well enough to even go on a day-long snorkeling trip, and have enough to buy some souvenirs and a little extra snacks and drinks each day. Everything turned out not only according to plan, but better than anticipated.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Tanzanian vacation (2)

We got up the following day before 6am. I couldn't stand to lay there, awake, any longer. The first thing we did was get under the shower spigot. Ice cold wonderful water. It was the first time I was so happy about a cold shower. We stood there for over a half hour, just cooling down our skin and rejuvenating.

Maricky picked us up at 8a and drove us to the ferry. On the way there, our driver hit another car (just a little fender bender) but they got out yelling at each other. I was afraid we weren't going to get to the city in time to get a ticket. Sure enough, when we arrived, the first boat was full. However, they did have first class tickets available. I figured no way, but then they told us they were only $5 more than economy, so we decided to spend the extra $10 not to have to wait around 3 hours in the hot city for the next ferry.

Eventually we got on the ferry and everything seemed more promising. About 1.5 hours into the trip, the boat made a loud shuttering sound and we stopped moving. A worker came out and starting speaking to everyone (in Swahili), but I kept hearing the word “propeller.” I was keeping my hopes up, but they were quickly draining as I imagined having to wait two hours in the middle of the ocean for a rescue ferry to come get us. The chaos of hundreds of Africans, and us, shuffling from boat to boat.

After about 10 minutes, while I was praying and trying to keep up my attitude, the worker came back in the room holding up a massive wad of thick rope, seaweed, plastic, among other items (it was probably the size of an 8-year-old kid) and continued muttering about the propeller. I decided that big wad must have been what caused the problem...and, sure enough, a couple of minutes later we started moving again. Phew. Crisis averted. Barely.

We arrived in Stone Town, Zanzibar around noon. The security was actually more intense than at the airport arrival gate. We had to present our passport, get another stamp, show our yellow fever card, get our bags searched, and go through an interrogation on why we were there and where we were planning to go.

After we got through, we weren't really sure where to go. We wanted to get some food and check out the main part of Stone Town, which we've heard is really cool. We were going to walk, but a taxi driver offered a ride into the little city for only 2000 shillings (a little over a dollar). We agreed and told him we wanted to go to the main area to eat. Immediately he started telling us he would take us to a good African restaurant, so we explained that we live in Rwanda (to which he exclaimed, “Oh, so you will like some African beans and plantains!”). Um, no...we want American food. I asked if he knew a pizza restaurant, he said yes, then he proceeded to drive us away from town and into a little area with restaurants (none of which were American). He kept trying to get us to let him take us on some tours and whatnot. Eventually he stopped outside an Ethiopian restaurant, saying, “You can just look at the menu and if you don't like it, we can go somewhere else.” Doug was getting frustrated because we'd only asked him to do one thing and he wasn't complying. He thought we should just get out and walk from there. I agreed, so we told the man that we were going to walk—he protested a lot, trying to come with us. I finally told him no, we want to go alone. I took his number to call him for ride up the beach to our accommodations and then we left him. We walked past another close restaurant, but the food was really expensive, so we kept moving. A little ways through the windy streets (very much like Italy) a guy came up to see if we needed help. We were immediately on guard and tried to tell him no. He told us that he was a fisherman, so we didn't have to pay him or anything, he just knows all the area restaurants because he sells them their fish. I still was pretty leery of him, and continued walking and looking at street menus. We found a place with burgers for a decent price, so we went there. The fisherman, Solomon, talked with the waiter (who seemed to know him), and then asked us about a taxi. We told him we needed to go up the coast and he said that we should do a ride-share taxi instead of a normal one because they take more groups of people and it costs less. He said he could get us a taxi for only $20 (the going rate was $40) so we reluctantly agreed.

After our (very delicious) burgers, Solomon came back with a driver. He told us that we were in luck, this driver was heading to Nungwi to pick up some people, so he could give us a ride without having to share it with other people. This made me a little nervous, but it was in a legitimate taxi car so we agreed. Solomon road with us for a little while, talking about his family, his job, and how he is an honest man. Everyone kind of makes you feel like Tanzania is full of robbers and thieves. We had been getting constant warnings from everyone since before we even arrived. Solomon also warned us, but told us that he believes honesty is the only way. It almost seemed a little too over the top, trying to make us feel comfortable, that I never completely did. (If he was on the up and up, though, he was a very sweet man with a good heart.) Eventually Solomon left us and we gave him a little tip and told him we'd call for our taxi ride home.

A little over an hour later (I catnapped most of the way), we arrived at the gates of our Bungalows. We paid the driver our $20 and got his number for the return trip.

It was great to finally be at our final destination.

[weaverpeacecorps]

Tanzanian vacation (1)

After 19 months in Rwanda, it was time to get out and explore. During Genocide Memorial month, we have two weeks off from school, so we decided it would be a good time to make this journey onward. We originally looked into going to India, but it was almost impossible to get an Indian visa. So, we changed plans and decided to check out another African country—Tanzania.

We didn't know much about the country, except that it dwarfs Rwanda in size and it has Africa's highest point, Mt. Kilimanjaro. However, the thing we've heard about since staging in Washington D.C. was Zanzibar, the island off the coast. After India didn't work out, we looked up pictures of Zanzibar. Needless to say, it didn't take long to decide that it was a pretty spectacular alternative.

We looked into the 36-hour bus ride from Kigali to Dar es Salaam, but after looking at all the money we've saved over the past year in Rwanda, we figured we could afford to fly. It would cost considerably more than the bus, but would also give us more than two extra days on the beach, rather than a smelly, hot bus.

So...April finally arrived. We spent the first week of our break house/cat sitting in Kigali. It was kind of a staycation to precede the vacation. As last time, it was lovely to spend time alone in a giant house. We got to run a lot and eat a lot, and spent way too much time on the internet. Overall, not terrible.

Then on the morning of the 13th we flew from Kigali to Dar es Salaam, stopping in Bujumbura, Burundi with a layover in Nairobi, Kenya. Unfortunately our flight out of Rwanda was an hour late, and our layover was only 45 minutes...so we missed our connection. It ended up being no big deal, just put us a couple hours behind schedule. When we arrived in Dar, we immediately exchanged money and bought a SIM card, before finding our couch surfer. Maricky is Tanzanian and owns a travel agent type business. He picked us up from the airport and took us back to a small hotel. He normally puts couch surfers in his place, but because of some reason he just put us down the street. So, we had our own private room, which seemed nice at first.

My first impression of Tanzania: it. is. hot. We are so spoiled in Rwanda with our perfect weather, that I haven't stopped sweating since getting off the plane. It is incredibly humid, the air actually sweats on me. The breeze is not cool like in Rwanda, so even in the shade it is stifling. The other thing we noticed right off the bat is the traffic. It is always stopped. We've never even thought about the fact that Rwanda never has traffic jams. There isn't a rush hour. It might be harder to find a bus at certain times of day, but the traffic is always moving. Here it seems to be rush hour constantly.

The first night was pretty miserable. Again, I will stress the heat. I don't know the temperature, but it's more about the humidity, I think. It seems like the air just sits. There was a ceiling fan in our room, thankfully, because (as we later learned) the room was unbearable without it. The power went off a couple of times and we were immediately woken up by the heat. It isn't quite as bad outside at night, but in the room it was a sauna.

We spent our first real day in Dar es Salaam. 

We took the bus from the couch surfers village to the city. Maricky told us that all the buses go to the same place, so we just hopped on one. Turns out...we had no idea where we were going. We got off at a place that looked like the city and where everyone else seemed to be getting off. But once off the bus, we couldn't figure out where we were. We ended up walking aimlessly for an hour just trying to find a recognizable place from our small map we had gotten from Peace Corps. (Only positive was that we found a big market and I bought a souvenir Tanzania shirt—which turns out looks better on Doug.) We walked and walked and then turned around to notice that back the direction we came from were big, tall buildings. They had been blocked from view before, so we'd spent a good long while walking away from what looked to be the actual city. So, we walked all the way back and eventually decided to try our luck with a bus. We took a bus that had the sign for something on our map. We road for awhile and then got off at a stop that seemed reasonably like our destination. (We still have no idea if it actually was or wasn't where we thought.) At this point, we walked in all four directions just trying to find a place to eat. It got to be a little ridiculous. Finally I saw a place down a side street called Checkers that looked like a small diner. We went there and it looked like legitimate food!

We went in and sat down under a fan (something you never see in Rwanda, because...who needs 'em?) and ordered fried calamari, a burger, Chinese noodles, and a giant water. The food came quickly and was actually quite good. We felt much better after eating. We decided, given that it was so late already (2:30p) and rush hour supposedly started at 3, that we would just head back to find a bus. We got some ice cream from a stand on the way, which was cheap and delicious. (And, we could eat it in the street without people thinking we are crazy. Big plus, Tanzania.)

We found a bus that had the sign for where our couch surfer told us to go to catch a bus back to his place. People were pushing and shoving and fighting to get on the bus, so we didn't get a chance to ask for sure if it was the correct bus. Mistake. We ended up riding for about 30 minutes before deciding that is was going the opposite direction that we wanted. We found a spot to get off that had connecting buses, so we switched the another bus with the same sign but going the other direction. It seems a bit silly, but what could we do at this point?

Another 30-40 minutes later, we got to a spot that we assumed was correct. It looked like a bus station—people standing around, a bus stop sign, different waiting overhangs—but there were no buses. None. We waited for about 10 minutes and only one bus came but it was headed back to where we just came from. By this time is was already 4p, we were soaked in sweat and exhausted. (Fortunately I remembered sunscreen and my umbrella, so we actually weren't too sunburned.)

We saw a line of taxis and decided to check the price. We have heard some scary stories about taxis in Tanzania, so we weren't too thrilled about the idea. However, at this point, we weren't sure what else to do. We asked a couple of guys who refused to come down on the price. Then a bunch of cars started pulling up and trying to get us to get it. It all felt really uncomfortable. Doug noticed there were different taxes that had special cars and a “Taxi” sign on top, and we thought that they looked a little more official and so might be a safer bet. We ended up just walking away from them and the bus stop all together. We had no idea where we were going, but soon we found a line of the official-looking taxis. We found an older man (seemed less likely to be taken out and beaten by a little old guy?), and he offered us an even higher price. We offered to pay the price the first guys had given us and he accepted, so we got in.

We were expecting a really long ride, given the heavy traffic. But, the stars were finally aligned for us, and the trip only took about 20 minutes. He dropped us off exactly where we'd asked him to, and we were “home.”

That morning, Maricky's village was intimidating and a little overwhelming. It was a lot different than Rwanda, we weren't sure if it was safe, and people were eager to say hello and welcome us. We felt a little stifled because we can barely speak to them. We kept accidentally speaking in Kinyarwanda, making us realize how much we actually do understand and communicate in Rwanda. However, after being in the city of Dar, this village was a much-welcomed sight. We couldn't have been happier than to just be back in a place that we felt much more confident and comfortable in.

We walked back to our hotel with a big boost. When we arrived, we cooled off in the cold-water shower (if I lived here I wouldn't be so irritated by cold water!) and relaxed for a little while. Eventually, after the sun started to go down, we went back out to find food. We walked around awhile before settling on a little outdoor restaurant. We got chicken and fries, with a cold Pepsi. It was amazing. We even had three little cats wandering around us, being cute.

Sidenote: while eating, a really nice guy came up to sell us something. My first thought was having to be the downer telling him we don't any. But, turns out, he was selling soap...and we just happened to have forgotten to bring soap with us and were planning to buy some right after dinner. His soap smelled so good, and he was such a sweet man, we ended up buying three bars! Random, but nice.

After we finished the meal (another point for Tanzania...food is so cheap!), we went back out walking around. Once night falls in Rwanda, people pretty much go home. In Tanzania, torches come out, street vendors fire up the grill, and people turn up the music. It is so lively and refreshing after dark. The stars are bright, the air is cooler. It was really quite lovely. We found a supermarket where we could buy some toothpaste and blueberry frozen yogurt (expensive, but delicious) and walked back to the hotel eating it. (Which maybe doesn't seem like a big deal, but we haven't walked down a street eating or drinking in almost two years!)

Unfortunately our second night was quite terrible. There was no electricity, so the fan couldn't run. The room was stagnant, probably upwards of 90 degrees, plus full of bugs. I have over 40 bites just on my hips—not counting my arms, back, and legs.

Hindsight would tell me not to bother spending a day in Dar es Salaam, or at least plan it a little better. We pretty much wasted the whole time being miserable, but it made me really appreciate Rwanda.

[weaverpeacecorps]

When culture shocks

There is this pervasive idea about African culture that infiltrates the Western world. Africans are either violent or innocent. They are poor, undeveloped, uneducated. They don't think like civilized people, they are barbaric and uncultured. Their worldview is small and they need to be changed.

Before I came to Rwanda, I felt some of these things...but expected to come and learn how wrong our views are. And I did. But what I'm having the most difficult time realizing is how right they are, as well.

The first year in Rwanda was spent soaking up the beauty. The things that left me in awe of its people, landscape, environment. It was so different and so magical. I loved Rwanda. Eventually I even began to see America differently. Although the consumerist culture still bothers me, especially living in the midst of extreme poverty, I have begun to grasp that our consumerism is what has built our country up economically. The reason we have all of the monetary joys is due to our thirst for more. Whether this is good or not, is up to the individual, I suppose. However, I have really started to understand American culture in a new way. The things I've always hated about it I still hate, and will probably always hate. The violent crime, the obsessive consumerism, the judgment, the racism, the superiority complex, the lack of genuine contact. But there is a source of raw openness in American culture that I never noticed before. Until you really live without freedom, do you begin to fully recognize and appreciate it.

The second year in Rwanda has been challenging thusfar. The culture has been suffocating me with the gentle comfort of a heavy, weighted blanket. On the surface, Rwanda is soft, kind, respectful, clean, loving, forgiving. And the surface is real, they are these things and more. They are a beautiful people who have come further than Americans could ever dream of. But underneath, there is a furnace, perpetuating judgment, ridicule, extremism, cruelty, sexism, and intolerance. It is sometimes hard to see, but it burns hot under the unspoken rules the country lives by.

Lately, I've been seeing Rwanda as a body of water much like this one in Yellowstone. 

Beautiful, vibrant colors, like nothing you've ever seen. You can look at it for hours and never stop loving it. But, if you get too close, you feel the heat radiating and you notice the bubbles boiling to the surface. You know that you can't really get as close as you'd like. It will never let you.

Rwandan culture is boiling underneath my skin. Each little terrible thing grasps onto me and won't let go. The deep desire to be alone in nature. To explore and enjoy this stunning countryside without being followed by heckles and stares. Going about my daily life without children peeking in the windows to watch. Running through town even once without someone trying to hit or kick my dog. Going out of my way on a Saturday to run a club or give a make-up exam and actually having students take the time to show up. Being respected as a teacher, and being told important details about my job. Just one person taking a moment to realize how difficult it must be to live in a culture that isn't your own, especially when you are treated as a spectacle, purely there for entertainment value.

Day after day for 18 months, the pinpricks become giant holes that fester when left unchecked. Fortunately, the beauty, the children's smiles, the laughter of my favorite people help ease the pain of the wounds and keep them clean and taken care of. But then, something comes along that rips the bandaid and scabs off and make it so unbearable that it takes everything in me not to give up.

That thing happened Friday.

We were in our regional town, Kibuye, relaxing after finishing our first term of teaching. We went for an early morning run, 8 miles around the gorgeous lake, fresh after a rainstorm. It felt great, and we were happy.

About two miles from our hotel, we saw a tiny puppy. He ran across the road from a group of people, so when we got there, we stopped to go to him. My first thoughts were, “Ooooh a puppy! So cute! I love puppies!” But when I got to him, I could tell he was very frightened, not to mention soaking wet and shivering. He would have probably ran away from me but he was trapped next to a metal gate leading to the boat docks. When I reached out to pet him, he could sense that I wasn't going to hurt him, and he just sank into me. He rested his tiny chin on my hand and closed his eyes, as if it was the first time he'd ever felt comfort and love. Doug approached us and pointed out the bugs. I had been so focused on his little face that I hadn't even noticed...he was completely swarmed with insects. There were thousands of fleas, ticks, and other festering creatures on his skin. It looked as though his fur was moving on it's own. He had five tiny ticks around his eyes, those same eyes that looked up at me as he trembled.

My heart felt like it had hit the ground. He was no more than six weeks old, too young to even be away from his mother. All I wanted was to take him home with me. I hadn't even noticed my surroundings until a large boot kicked the gate in front of me. I looked up to see two Rwandan men. They spoke to each other, and one kicked the gate again, right by my face and the puppy's body, causing him to jump. That's when I realized that the crowd of people we ran by had come into the street to watch us. They were laughing and heckling us. One woman kept saying, “Mfite imbwa!” meaning that she was claiming the dog. I'm sure that she was going to demand we pay her for him.

I just sat there, his baby face in my hand—the man kicking the metal, sending chills down my spine, women laughing at me for having compassion on this animal...and I just couldn't take it anymore. The nasty, horrifying Rwanda revealed itself to me in full force. I have seen people beat dogs, I've watched our puppy, Tima, limp from being hit with rocks, I've seen machete gashes across Teddy Bear Dog's face and body. Even on our way to Kibuye the day before, Doug had to intervene when a man was forcefully harassing a disabled woman in the road, while others gathered around laughing. The disregard for innocent life here is unbearable to me. It all finally added up and came crashing down on me in the street.

I can still see the insects swarming the puppy's tiny body. I can feel the reverberations of the metal gate resonating through my bones. I can hear the women's shrill laughter—because, if watching a dog suffer is enjoyable, watching a white person care about it is simply hysterical.

But what kills me the most is that I could do nothing. We couldn't carry him while running and we were over an hour walk from town; we had nothing to wrap or carry him in, and once we got back to the hotel we would have nowhere to put him and no way to get him home. So we left him. We left him there with the boots and the laughter. We left him shivering and festering. We left him to die.

And we ran. We ran and I cried. I'm still crying. I'm crying for what I had to do. I'm crying for the fact that there is no one I could call, no one who would care. I'm crying because the people here claim to know God and love Jesus, yet they find pleasure in causing pain to innocents. I'm crying because what was once beautiful and lovely is rotting in my heart and causing me to live with regrets.

I want to go back. Back before I saw the heartlessness over and over. Back when their smiles seemed honest and their hearts pure. Back when I believed in Rwanda. Because I don't want to remember it like this.