I had Christmas down in Africa

(Man, that Toto song in all its glory and many variations has endless use for this blog.)

I did, in fact, spend Christmas in Ruhengeri with my cousins and several other families. It started on the 23rd when the other teacher came over and we shared my absolute favorite Christmas movie, White Christmas, with my cousins. Can you believe they'd never seen it before?! I couldn't either. The evening was spent with everyone laughing, and they have since continued quoting some of Danny Kaye's perfectly hilarious lines.

It continued on Christmas Eve. We went to church to see the Christmas Eve performance/concert/I have no idea what it was because it was all in Kinyarwanda. There were a number of choirs all singing what I'm guessing were Christmas-related songs. They definitely mentioned Jesus a lot, and I could understand that part. There was a long play (Moses explained parts of it to me, but I still didn't really get it). I was told that there was a reference to Jack and Rose on the Titanic because apparently Titanic is a really popular movie here. Who would have thought... Regardless of weather or not I could understand it, it is something else to hear stories of a most gracious and wonderful God in a different language. Really hits home that He is a global God to be praised even in a place that has experienced so much pain.

Behold, a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues... Revelation 7:9

When we got home, Moses asked me how early he was allowed to wake me up in the morning. I answered him that the time didn't matter as long as that wake-up came with a hot mug of coffee. And indeed, Moses busted through the door at 7:10am singing (screaming) "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MERRY MERRY CHRISTMAS! I brought you coffee!" He put the coffee in my hands and allowed me curl myself around it and breathe in its delightful scent until I was capable of getting out of bed. One delicious breakfast of cinnamon rolls and fruit later, and we were opening presents with all the joy and wonder of every Christmas before, and I imagine, to come.

The rest of the morning and afternoon were spent quite lazily by me. I went for a walk and skyped my folks, which was absolutely wonderful. I got to see my dad in his best elf hat before he left for work (you better believe he took the hat with him... that man is awesome). Then, we all piled into the car to head over to the house of another American family here for a potluck Christmas dinner. We contributed the turkey (turkey round two) and both an apple and a sweet potato pie. The table also held a large roast, stuffing, green beans, two different gravies, a cake, Christmas cookies, and pasta salad. We may be in the boonies of Rwanda, but we absolutely nailed Christmas dinner! Dinner was followed by many carols and a wonderful round of White Elephant. The best gift at the party, you may ask? In my humble opinion, that would be the belt with Paul Kagame's face on the buckle. Don't worry: I'm definitely going to bring a few of those home.

So, I missed my friends and family terribly this holiday season, but I got to spend Christmas with my Musanze (the other name for Ruhengeri) family. We are a ragtag bunch, but we ended the evening by listening to someone sing O Holy Night really terribly, so that counts as really awesome, right?

Durban, Pt. 1

I spent this past week in Durban, South Africa with some of the most wonderful people I know. In case you were wondering how I have friends in South Africa, let me explain: this ridiculously cool couple traveled for the first few years of their marriage, and one of their many stops was Ontario Pioneer Camp the summer that I was 16 and going through the LIT (Leaders in Training) program at camp. Tom was my small group leader and Jess was the leader of our sister group (which means that we went on canoe trip together). I tried to find a picture of that summer, but it takes an absurd amount of time to go back and stalk myself on facebook until the pictures of me when I was 16. Basically, I had braces and long hair. Tom and Jess both had longer hair, too. Needless to say, it was a good time.

We went on a steam train ride through the countryside, which was awesome. Dad had to remind me that I have indeed ridden a steam train before, but I don't remember it because I was three. I saw some of the sights, like the Moses Mabhida stadium, built for the World Cup and still in use today. We went up on the cable car to the top of its arch, and I went on the tour of the stadium to see the inside, the field, and learn more about its many uses and functions. Mabhida was a freedom fighter in the same vein as Mandela. He was exiled around the same time as Mandela was imprisoned and unfortunately died before he was able to return to South Africa.

 

Me and my chacos enjoying the view

There was a turf ring around the field of real grass.

(Totally reminded me of the turf fields at UNC.)

The stadium arch reflect the Y in the South African flag.

I swan in the Indian Ocean, which brings my tally of "oceans in which I have swum" to 3. Get in there Indian Ocean! Join your friends the Pacific and the Atlantic! I got a Red Cappuccino, which is a shot of rooibos tea (put through the machine just as if it were coffee) instead of a shot of espresso in the cappuccino. Delicious!

Obligatory picture of hot beverage

(this is for you, Carolyn)

I even saw whole troops of monkeys run across the backyard and hop through the trees. There were baby monkey holding so tightly to their moms' tummies as the moms jumped from tree to tree. They would entwine their little tails on their moms' tails. It reminded me of so many stories my mom told me of her pet monkeys growing up.

There is a baby monkey in the middle of this picture. See if you can find it.

More than anything I saw or did, I got to spend time with Jess and Tom, their two amazing boys, and various members of Jess's family. I got to see Tom preach at church and remember all those wonderful talks we had by the fire when he was my leader. I got to catch up with Jess and remember the advice and encouragement she gave me as we talked to pass the time on long portages. I got some much needed mom hugs from Jess's mom. I got lovingly teased about my Southern-ness by Jess's dad. I was called sweetie, sweetheart, and darling. (Seriously, I thought southerners were all about hugs and terms of endearment, but we've got nothing on these people.) My heart was renewed. My cup runneth over.

There are two things that I can't help but acknowledge to be true: 1. Ontario Pioneer Camp is the greatest and has provided for me in ways that I can't even begin to count and that I will be realizing for the rest of my life, and 2. I can trace God's goodness and love for me through my relationships. From camp counselors to IV staff to employers to family friends to the most amazing women, God has put people in my life exactly when I needed them and carried so many of those ties through years and vast distances. It's hard to believe that I could be this blessed, but life proves it to be true.

My cup runneth over.

that day when I was in a Rwandan music video

Yeah. That happened. But, in order for this story to make sense, we have to go back to the beginning because that's where all good stories start.

Hannah turned 16 while she was away at school this semester, so we got to celebrate her Sweet 16 today by boating out to this island restaurant place (it isn't really on an island, but the best way for us to get there was by boat). Before we could even get on the boat, there was a Rwandan choir filming a music video on the shores of the lake. You best believe we got to be a part of that. It was basically a dream come true for me. They pulled us all over to join their ranks, and I mostly just smiled goofily because I didn't know the words (they were in Kinyurwanda). There were some hand motions and a sway that I was able to copy thanks to the woman next to me. It's like she knew that I wouldn't be able to maintain the beat, and she was constantly nudging me helpfully to make sure that I was with everyone else. That's a good friend who keeps you on beat whenever you seem to stray. Thanks to Moses and Lydia translating for me, I learned that the song was about how great it is to be with Jesus and how we are all walking together with Him. Too true.

Yeah. I did those actions.

Wish I had thought to wear more blue...

Everyone please join me in praying that we somehow gain access to that music video, that we can somehow find it because I really really want a copy. I promise to post it if we can find it.

This is the view from the shore before we got in the boat.

Hannah forgot to keep her eyes open.

Our food took a decent amount of time to make it out to the table, but there was a small TV in the restaurant where they were playing Nelson Mandela's memorial service. It was insane to see how many heads of state were there. I'm pretty sure we are watching Obama speak at this precise moment. It was neat to be in Rwanda watching my President speaking in South Africa. Then the food arrived. Beef brochettes and whole Tilapia. It was so delicious!

   

Totally nailed it.

And, in case anyone is wondering, we got another turkey. This one is for Christmas. I didn't know he was coming until he got here, so I was unable to name him for myself. As such, he is either Turk 2 or Christmas, which are the two names agreed upon by the family. I'll take it.

tree trekking

Today, I was privileged to join in on an age old tradition called going-to-the-hydrosite-to-cut-down-a-Christmas-tree. So, we all piled into the car and set off down that bumpy road of life to obtain a Christmas tree. I am a little sad not to be going to get the tree with Dad this year, but this was a whole new tree adventure, so I think it will be ok.

It started with a trek through the site to get to where the right type of tree was.

Then we had to select a tree with the proper width and height. 

Then the tree was sawed down and carried back up the hill to the canal so that we could walk it back.

And here is rests in the living room with its star precariously perched on top.

Tonight ended with a pot roast and me holding a fat baby named Elvis. 

I call that a win.

the Ruhengeri State Fair

You can ask anyone, I love the State Fair. I really love, love the State Fair. I just enough to get through the day without getting full to leave space for the caloric cornucopia that is the State Fair. I put on my favorite boots, spend all day getting hyped and talking it up to everyone around me, and then make the drive to Raleigh to participate in all the mulleted festivities. I walk through the large buildings to stare flabbergasted at the excessively large produce and fawn over hundreds of tiny, baby animals (especially the baby pigs which are cute beyond all reality). I walk into the tent where they let you actually hold the baby chicks. I eat my weight in sweet roasted nuts, kettle popcorn, fried oreos, roasted corn, turkey legs (that ambiguously may or may not be actually pork...), and wash it all down with an exceedingly large fresh squeezed lemonade. There are few things that could keep me from going to the State Fair. Just ask my roommates from last year: I will not be kept away.

It was sad this year when all my remaining in NC friends posted statuses and pictures from the State Fair, but Rwanda came through for me in the form of the Ruhengeri Expo. The Expo, or, as I like to call it, the Ruhengeri State Fair, is a time when so many groups, from the biggest phone companies to individuals selling crafts, all set up booths in the stadium here. I could see and smell some food and there was even one of the swing rides where it spins and everyone has their own swing. It may not have been as grand as the one at the NC State Fair, but it was there. I watched a demonstration of a vegetable cutter from Pakistan that could even waffle cut potatoes (aka Where is Chick-fil-a because I am hungry?), I saw some dancers performing to advertise for MTN (a phone company), and I saw so many awesome handicrafts. I love a good craft fair.

So, it may not have been my beloved State Fair, but the Expo was certainly something.

a eulogy for Little Richard

I'll get to Little Richard's rather timely end in a second. First, I must tell you all that the crisis has been averted. There is no longer anything to worry about. I got my burrito fix on Friday. That's right, we were in Kigali to pick up the three oldest kids from the airport, and we went to lunch at Meze Fresh, a restaurant owned by an American in Kigali and modeled after Chipotle. It was the most delicious, burrito-y taste of home. It was like a dream.

Because the kids got into Kigali on Friday night, we delayed our Thanksgiving celebration until Saturday dinner. We returned from Kigali to find Little Richard in the fridge. As Caleb Senior brandished the bagged, cold body, I had to sit down quickly (this was due more to the site of blood than any moral convictions I had about the situation). I actually didn't feel badly in the slightest about consuming him. He was mean as he lived and delicious as he died. That's about all you can hope for. I composed a eulogy Haiku in his honor:

You died gracefully

Pass the cranberry sauce, please

Get in my belly

He paired excellently with mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. He was even tasty the second day as we made him into sandwiches for brunch this morning. It's the only way to do it. The house is much quieter without his constant squawking, and we all feel a little safer leaving navigating from the car to the house. Now I am being serenaded by the sweet sounds of Josh Groban and Nat King Cole as they sing the wonders of Christmas. It may be sunny and warm outside (which I totally prefer to winter), but nothing will stop this Christmas music train.

I felt the rains... again.

This afternoon, I was overwhelmed by how good God is.

As I went into English class at 4pm, the sky was clear, it was so warm outside, and it had been beautiful all day. By 4:30, it was clear that this was no longer to be the case. The giant clouds rolled in and absolutely darkened the sky. The other teacher and I left 10 minutes early to escape the imminent downpour and were still caught in it as the rain really started coming down. I had told a friend (a French woman who has lived here for over a year) earlier that day that I would visit her this evening, so I rushed over to her house to try and get inside before I was soaked through. Little did I know that she was camped out in her office waiting until the rain lessened.

So, here I am huddled on the lee side of the wall hoping that by this effort I would be spared a thorough dousing but completely failing at staying dry. For the record, there is no lee side of anything when it starts to rain in Rwanda. I looked around and saw that some kids across the street were calling me over to stand under the overhang of their house to wait out the rain, so I ran over to their house. Being the American that I am, I immediately figured out how to take up as little space and be as unobtrusive as possible in the very corner of the overhang. We can't have that now, can we? These kids called me still closer into the front hallway of their home where the mom put out a seat for me in this dry haven. For a while, I mostly just smiled at the kids and tried to figure out their names as I introduced myself. The storm was directly overhead now. There was a great crash of thunder/lightning that happened simultaneously. It shook me to my core and scared the dickens out of both me and the kids sitting next to me.

After about 15 minutes, the rain showed no sign of stopping. The mom came back out of the back room and started speaking to me in Kinyurwanda (I actually have no idea how to spell the name of the language, sorry). I didn't understand a word of what she was saying. She may have been asking me if I wanted something to eat, or she could have been asking me something about Jesus. It's a mystery to me. I was then handed a holographic picture that was one part adult Jesus and one part baby Jesus in the arms of Mary. Then I was handed a book that, from what I could pick up in the pictures and syntax, appeared to be a catechism. The mom would read a line, and I would repeat it back to her. I'm learning how to ponounce words even if I don't know how what they mean. We read through the Magnificat together that way:

My soul glorifies the Lord

and my spirit rejoices in God my savior,

for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.

That's just the beginning, but it was super fitting. I realize that Mary was chose to dear the child of God and she felt pretty overwhelmed to be chosen, but I think that being soaked to the bone and cared for by a complete stranger is also a pretty humble state. It was such a neat experience for me to share with this woman.

When the rain finally did abate, I had spent 40 minutes with this family, I said goodbye and thank you as best I could and ran back across the street looking like a wet rat where I was greeted with the use of a dry shirt and a large mug of hot tea with honey in it. You may not know this, but hot tea with honey warms not just the body but also the soul. This friend took care of me, just as the Rwandan mom had, and we shared stories of life. As she sent me back home for dinner, she sent me with her rain coat so that I wouldn't get doubly soaked on my walk home because, of course, the rain had picked up again. 

I skipped back and forth trying to avoid the big puddles and mud but feeling it wouldn't really matter if I stepped in anything because no amount of cold or wet could dampen my renewed spirit.

my BIG, FAT, RWANDAN visit

If you have seen My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding, then you are all set to understand this post. If you haven't seen it, promptly close your computer, go watch it, and then come back to read this post. You will definitely thank me later because it is a hilarious movie and you will now be armed with a number of excellent one-liners.

I went with Louise and Lydia to visit a nurse with whom Louise works and with whose daughter Lydia is friends. I was able to hang out with and get to know one of her older daughters who is 15. She said that she would help teach me Kinurwanda, which I definitely need help with. It is also nice to feel like I have a friend who is Rwandan. The visit began with a Fanta citron. Fanta is the catch-all term for every soda they have here, and, everywhere you go, people always offer you Fanta. I've never really loved soda, but you pretty much accept what people put in front of you as it can be rude to refuse someone hospitably providing for you. The Fanta was followed by an apple each, three or four plates of these doughnut hole things, three bowls of peanuts, and several bowls of pineapples. Each time, I would try to eat as much as possible of the one thing, and then the next food item would arrive. If I stopped eating for a time, my new friend would touch my arm, point to the food and say, "You should eat!" Believe me, I would eat if I didn't think my stomach were going to explode.

See, this is My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding. The mom asks if anyone is hungry, and, regardless of the answer, she immediately offers plates of food. This is also Jane DeHart. A typical conversation between my mother and one of my friends:

Friend: Hello Mrs. DeHart!
Mom: Hello! Are you hungry? What can I feed you?
Friend: Oh, I'm fine. Thank you though.
Mom: Ok. Here's a plate of cookies.

I always thought that this was just Southern hospitality, but perhaps it is more worldwide than that. I love the notion that perhaps Mom learned this particular form of hospitality from growing up in Congo, but regardless of where it's from or where it happens, I hope it always happens in my home wherever I live.

After eating my fill, I walked with my new friend out to the back of the house where Lyd was playing with her friend. I greeted their grandmother and watched them play for a while. Then we went for a walk. I would ask her about certain words, and she would tell me what they were in Kinurwanda. She laughed about why my cousins hadn't taught me any Kinurwanda. I told her that really I just have a poor memory for language (Sadly, I did not inherit the amazing mind for languages that my Grandfather has, but I think Erich got it, so it's still in the family).

It was a lovely visit. I loved getting to walk around her neighborhood with her. I hope that there will be more visits to come. Though, next time, I will remember to pace myself on the snacks because there are more lying in wait in the kitchen.

read only on a full stomach

A number of people have asked me what I've been eating, so I figured it was time to write a post about food. Sorry in advance if this is going to make your mouth water. Maybe you should go get a snack so you can munch while you read. You went right for an Apple and some Sour Patch Kids, didn't you? Yep. That's what I would have done. Now that you can snack and read at the same time, I'll break down what I've been eating by meal:

BREAKFAST
My favorite breakfast happens on mornings after soup night (I'll tell you about soup night later). There is part of a fresh loaf of bread left over, so I have two slices of fresh bread toast with a hefty amount of salted butter because Paula Dean knows what's up, and she and I share a love of butter. If there isn't bread, then a bowl of yogurt with homemade granola and fruit is a fine substitute. Then I have a serving, or maybe two, of fruit that has been in the fridge overnight, so it is super cold and delicious. It's always pineapple chunks soaked in passion fruit and sometimes papaya or mango slices and Japanese plum. Unless you've been here and eaten the fruit here, you just don't know. It's so much better than grocery store fruit. There's no way to describe it, but it's just the best. Then I grab a mug of tea (I like it without milk or sugar) and go sit by the window in my room to read or email or whatever.

LUNCH
There is always beans and rice or peas with potatoes and rice. Then there is always a fresh vegetable like cucumbers, tomatoes, salad (with lettuce from our garden), avocados, carrots, or some combination of those. There's one or two forms of cooked vegetables depending on the day. This usually includes squash, eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, carrots or cabbage. There is usually some form of potatoes whether that be french fries, scalloped potatoes or mashed potatoes on shepherd's pie (shepherd's pie always follows taco night, which I will tell you about later). Two days a week are what we like to call Cake Days. On these days, lunch always ends with - you guessed it - cake. These range from lemon cakes with glaze to chocolate cake with vanilla icing to chocolate chip zucchini bread to white cake with chocolate icing. Basically, they are all really delicious.

DINNER
Dinner has the most variation through the days of the week, so I'll just start with my favorite night. Soup Night. There are actually two soup nights throughout the course of the week, but my favorite one is on Mondays. The soup is a pureed vegetable soup that is thick and delicious. There is always a fresh loaf of bread (which means breakfast tomorrow is gonna be awesome!), a salad, and a small wheel of cheese. There is nothing wrong and everything right with that. I will likely do soup night at least once a week for the rest of my life with these exact parameters. Tuesdays are pasta night with white sauce, tomatoes and left over bread (sometimes pesto, too). Wednesday nights are taco night complete with ground beef, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, guacamole and homemade tortillas. Friday nights are pizza and a movie night. Yeah, you didn't realize when you started reading this that I get to eat pizza once a week. It's pretty stellar. Pizza night always comes with a salad and guacamole. Basically, salad and avocados are ubiquitous in my meals.

SNACK
Peanuts.

I bet you are wondering who makes all of this delicious food. Her name is Beatrice, and she is such an amazing woman. Not only does she make the most delicious food of all time (I don't know if survival is possible without her fresh bread), she always makes sure we don't leave for school without a snack for break time, and I'm pretty sure the sun shines a little brighter when she laughs. She and I don't actually speak any of the same languages (even though she is a boss and speaks Kinurwanda, French and Swahili, I and lacking and need to do my part on this language learning thing), I've learned how to say good morning and thank you and the kids will tell me what to say when I want to say something to her. She and I also share a good number of significant glances and emphatic faces that often convey the point. She is a dream and takes care of me so much.

crayons

Moses asked me a question today during class that caught me a little off guard. (I don't remember our conversation verbatim, but I can do it justice, so stick with me.)

"SJ, what do you call the color of your skin?"
"Most people call it white, but it's really more peach isn't it."
"Yeah, it isn't really white."
"Well, why do people call your skin black? It's really more brown."
"Yeah it is. Why is your skin white?"
"Because God made me that way, just the same way that he made your skin brown."

I told Moses that God made me white for a reason and that there were things that I could do, being white, that were important and that maybe only I could do. In the same way, God made him black and there are things that he can do that are important and maybe he is the only one who can do them. God had a purpose and a reason for creating us the way that he did.

[I grabbed two crayons, one a peach and one a brown]
"See, you are the color of that one and I am the color of this one, but they are both good."
[Moses held his crayon up to his arm as I held my crayon up to my arm]
"Look, SJ, our crayons are camouflaged."

That's what I like to call having a conversation about race and God's love while reviewing science.
Nailed it.

Tuesdays

I debated for a while about whether or not to write this post. It may sound like I'm tooting my own horn or that I think I'm super amazing or something (I mean, I know I'm cool, but I'm not that cool). Basically, I just want to write this humbly, so I hope that happens.

I've been spending one afternoon a week at a home for disabled children called St. Vincent's. There is an Australian missionary here who goes once a week, so I go with her and bring Lydia with me as well. It isn't the cleanest place in the world, but it also isn't the dirtiest. It isn't easy to see all the kids who need so much support, but I can't imagine that it would be any easier to see in the States or anywhere else for that matter. So, in light of everything, we play. And oh man, do we play.

This past week, I have the joy of hanging out with a little boy named Eric (the significance of getting to play with a little boy who shares my brother's name is not lost on me). Eric is blind and doesn't walk. Because he can't see, sounds and the ways you can feel sounds captivate him. He sat across from me, and we passed a soccer ball back and forth. Sometimes, I would roll the ball into his belly and he would bounce it back to me or I would beat the ball like a drum and he would throw back his head and laugh this deep, belly laugh. In fact, he laughs a lot at almost everything. It's impossible not to laugh right along with him. He loves the sound of scratching along the zipper of my rain coat. He loves beating the bottom of a bucket. When he did get upset, I'd walk around with him and sing him "You Can Close Your Eyes" by James Taylor. It's the same song that my mom would sing to me and my brother when we were little and the same song that I sing to my sweet Godbrother when I put him to sleep. Some classics are meant to stay. And I can tell Eric likes the song because he always hums along with me.

One of the greatest things that I get to see once a week at St. Vincent's is the way that Lydia interacts and plays with these children. She sings songs, claps, encourages and plays with so much grace and joy. At her age, I already loved hanging out with little kids, but I would have felt lost and awkward in the challenge of playing with so many kids who weren't like me and couldn't do the things that I could. Not Lydia.

These moments are so blessed.

I often really struggle to hear or understand God, but there is no clearer sound of the Lord than the laughter of children and there is no clearer picture of God than watching people care for each other and delight in one another.

He is here.

the hydrosite

This morning brought a new adventure. Caleb and the boys all got on bikes and headed out for the hydrosite. (Caleb's day job, among many other things, is the running of a hydropower site near Ruhengeri.) Lydia and I climbed into the truck, picked up Jesse (who actually knew how to get there), and headed out to the hydrosite ourselves. The plan was that the boys would bike there as it happens to be down a rather large hill from our house and then we would pick them and the bike up for the ride back up the hill to home. I'd never been to the hydrosite before, so I was excited to get to see it! 

I've asked so many questions, and while I still don't feel like I have the whole story on how this hydropower thing works, I think I've got the basics. There is some water. That water runs down this pipe thing pictures above. There is a turbine somewhere that the moving water turns. By turning the turbine, the water generates power. Apparently, the site produces enough power for the city we live in. Pretty neat, huh?

This thing is a channel that was built at the hydrosite. How this thing and the giant pipe are related, I'm not sure, but it's still pretty cool. Maybe this channel funnels the water into the pipe... 

It creates a lazy river that one absolutely must take advantage of. It's basically exactly like The Grand Oasis Hotel in Biloxi without the casino and all the people smoking. I call that a win.

Lyd and Moses supervised by Jesse.

Moses fights the current determinedly.

We nimbly walked along the sides of the canal. We all agreed that were we to fall, we would fall right so as not to fall down the side of the mountain. As no one fell at all, it ended up being an unnecessary agreement. After we were done exploring, we got back home by fixing seven bikes in the back of the truck as well as several people as well as a full cab of people. Real life tetris.

teen wolfing

We went for an adventure yesterday. Julie, one of the other teachers, picked Lydia and me up to go for a drive and see what we could see. We checked out a craft/tourism place to see what was up around there, got a lunch of french fries, and then drove up a mountain. The road was paved for a little ways, but it soon became dirt and rocks. This made for a bumpy ride, but it was all good. At one point, Julie turned to me and said, "If you are feeling adventurous, you should climb up on top of the car." There was a roof rack and a grate to hold onto, so it was relatively safe. Even so, I could hear my mother telling me how dangerous and inadvisable this move was, but I did it anyway. (Sorry, mom.)

This is me on top of the car. I put on a fur coat and windbreaker to stave off the cold breeze.

I am jamming to Surfin' USA, my favorite song.

I was on top of the car for about two hours as we drove up and then back down this mountain. I felt like a celebrity or as if Mardi Gras were happening all over again. Every person we passed called out and waved. Some kids even chased the car! The landscape was absolutely gorgeous. The beauty of this country is breathtaking. Everything is so green. Every one of the most vibrant shades of green. The trees would be so dense for a little while and then they would give way to these open expanses where you could see all the surrounding mountains and wide valleys full of fields and houses. 

There is a cow there. 

Julie and Lydia.

Lydia and I being explorers.

It's absurdly beautiful.

A sweet baby lamb we saw. Every time I watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, I want to be in that scene when they sing the song about Spring, and I could be holding this lamb.

And I wrote this which means that I survived my Teen Wolfing adventure. It was such a wonderful day!

our turkey and dancing

The first thing that I must tell you about is the turkey that we recently procured. We bought it from a lady who lives right near the schoolhouse. The plan is to fatten it up for the next month which will end at Thanksgiving. When we bought it, Caleb told us not to name it because then we will get too attached, but I already had a name picked out before we went to get it.... Is that bad? I mean, who doesn't want a pet turkey named Little Richard? And given my love of chickens and other fowl, there was never any doubt that I would become too attached to this turkey.

 Maisy checking out Little Richard.

Its nose hanging thing is really disturbing but cool because it retracts.

He keeps getting angry, puffing up and hissing.

He even chases people around from time to time, but he hasn't actually pecked anyone.

This afternoon was a whole other adventure in and of itself. I piled into the car with a host of people who far outnumbered the capacity of the car, and we all headed to Shyira, the city where my cousins lived for eight years before Ruhengeri. We went to join in the celebration of a man who had just defended his thesis and graduated from university. You didn't know that a human being could fly without any external machinery, but get in the very back of a land cruiser and drive down the road and that is exactly what will happen to you. I was suspended in mid-air a great number of times before crashing back down to Earth. But man, those moments in the air were exactly like flying.

Me on Shyira Hill 

(photo credit to cousin Louise!)

As we arrived at the family's home, I was handed a massive plate of food and sat down to hear people go around the room and give speeches of gratitude to the family, celebration for Peter (the person graduating), and excitement for his future. At one point all the chairs and tables were cleared out of the middle of the room and everyone stood up. Someone next to me turned and asked, "Do you dance well?" A cold icy fear gripped my heart. Yet again, I would be made to display my entire lack of rhythm. I tried desperately to follow Louise as she deftly moved from the back of the room to the doorway, but someone else said, "Stay! Don't hide by the door!" So, I joined in the clapping as the first few joyous, brave souls began to dance.

As the voices join, the clapping and rhythm takes on a life of its own. Everyone claps his or her own beat, and yet they all weave together to create something else entirely. The feet join the sound as everyone starts to dance. I was pulled from the relative safety of my corner of the room and made to dance in the middle of the circle of guests with Peter. I made small, contained steps and concentrated very hard on making sure that I didn't step on anyone or fall over and that I kept up with the beat. It was pretty awesome! The dancing, the song, the joy of it all. 

Me absolutely tearing up the dance floor. 

I know you can't tell, but I am smiling really huge and laughing so hard!

(photo taken by Louise)

By the time I got home from Bible Study tonight, my family was watching A New Hope on VHS. Yes, I am living the dream.

pottery

We went on a field trip today rather than having a normal morning of classes. We went to see a pottery cooperative where people can learn the technical skills. Some of the crafts they produced included anything pottery related, bracelets, bags, and tie dyed cloth. The majority of their products were made from recycled materials, so that is awesome too. We watched the artists turn sand into clay with water and a great deal of elbow grease (or really foot grease because they mixed it up by stepping on it). They brought pots up from a base with great speed and using only their hands. There were no wheels and hardly any tools. We watched one man take large chunks of clay that he smooths into great wads and then add them to the base by slowly twisting and attaching the wad to the already formed base. It looked like he was painting the clay out thin air.

The artist making the pot right in front of us was talking with Moses, Lydia and I in Kinurwanda. Moses leaned over and said, "He just asked if you were an adult then why are you so small?" Great observation, sir. You have hit the million dollar question. I ask myself that every day.

gratitude.

One of the things I've been able to already take part in since getting here is the children's Sunday School. My cousin Louise helps to lead the Sunday School with a man in the church. They are an unbelievable pair. Apollo blows my mind with how caring and patient he is in working with the kids. He translates everything, sings songs with them (I will always be able to hear a chorus of children singing and clapping to "Jehovah you are so good!"), and gently refocuses some of their more exuberant energies. The best part of this Sunday School is that we are using the Jesus Storybook Bible, which is exactly what we used at camp this summer and at CHAT last summer. Basically, the Jesus Storybook Bible is the jam and everyone should read it both to their children and for themselves. But that isn't the point. It's so wonderful to think about these children, literally around the world from the kids in Ontario or Richmond, who see these pictures and hear these stories and how they are bound up together in the knowledge and love of Christ.

My role in Sunday School thus far has been observation and crayon collection. My detail orientation kicks in as I attempt to fit every crayon back into the massive box in a neat and orderly fashion. I tend to stand on the side or in the back and try to redirect some of the wandering minds. I have yet to actually teach a lesson, but I hope that will be in my future as long as it doesn't interfere with the system they have already going.

Today, we read and acted out the story of David and Goliath.

I keep my eyes always on the Lord.

With Him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Psalm 16:8

At the end of the lesson, I was performing my usual duties of crayon collection and a little boy tapped my hand. I leaned down close to him to listen: "Thank you for teaching us." I didn't think I had really done anything, and I definitely hadn't done the actual teaching that day, but this little guy saw that I was there, and it meant something to him. He said thank you. It was so simple, just a little sentence, but his words meant something. Not only was this a blessed moment that was sweet beyond words, but it reminded me to be grateful. I love working with kids because they tend to remember things we older people tend to forget.

Today, I am thankful. (I hope I will be tomorrow as well, but let's just take this one day at a time.) Today, I am thankful that God took the time to remind me that I matter through the words of a child. I am thankful that I get to be present for Sunday School every week. I am thankful that kids are so friggin awesome that only God could ever have imagined up something as great as kids.

an afternoon in Ruhengeri

Moses studying in the hammock and Lydia reading on the porch of the schoolhouse.

This is an active volcano that happens to be in the DRC. You can see it smoking!

I thought this lily was beautiful. There are so many here. Makes me want to watch the movie Lillies of the Field. (Sidney Poitier is the coolest.)

Today was a rather eventful day. I channeled my Italian sister and headed to our local Italian restaurant with the other teachers and some visitors. These visitors are two ladies from Texas who have been here for the past two weeks working with some Rwandans on English reading skills. They have been so wonderful. Whenever Ms. Diane greets me, she says, "How are you doing, sweet girl?" It is such a kind a familiar greeting that feels like home in words. Lunch consisted of homemade noodles and homemade sausage involved, and it was delightful. You may be wondering why we have an Italian restaurant. It just so happens, that there is an Italian man here and he started it. One can even get gelato there, so write that down as the best thing on a hot day.

My massive plate of pasta and bolonagese sause covered in a top layer of cheese was followed by a jaunt through the market with the visitors so that they could pick up some last minute pieces of cloth to take home. I wish I had had my camera so that I could show you what the rows and rows of bright fabrics stacked four or five rows high. The colors are the most vibrant you have ever seen. The fabrics themselves often have many geometric shapes all fitting into one another. Some fabrics have everyday items in their patterns, like the ones with high heels, toothpaste tubes, or windmills. I know those don't sound like they could be beautiful, but between the colors and the ways that the items seem to swim across the fabric make them pure works of art. It seems like the stalls of fabric last for miles, but I'm sure that they just all start to blur together and you lose yourself in the middle.

I was walking to the schoolhouse this afternoon, and this group of Rwandan kids saw me from about a block off. One of the little boys flung his arms open wide and started to run straight at me. I thought he was going to ask me for something, but I knelt down all the same and threw my arms wide open hoping for the best. This little boy ran straight into my arms and gave me a massive hug. And once you give one hug, you have to give a lot more, so they all ran up to me in turn to get a hug. It was great.

The rest of the afternoon/evening was spent back at the schoolhouse where we had a fall festival with the kids and families. One of the moms made caramel and there were cut up apples. There were fall cookies to decorate as well as pigs in a blanket, deviled eggs, samosas, and wassel (don't worry, I'm eating just fine here). I played some games with the kids. One of my favorites is Giants, Wizards, Elves, which is like life-size Rock, Paper, Scissors as a team game. It's amazing. Then there was a fire and some marshmallow roasting, and now we are home watching The Sword and the Stone before bed. Really, the perfect way to end the day.

If you have any questions, please send them to me or through my parents to me because it may help me have something more to write about.

I felt the rains down in Africa

I hear wild goats cry out in the night.
(A little Toto reference for you there. Classic.)

But really, I did feel the rain, and here is that story.

Taking a page out of my dear father's book, I went for a run to get a better sense of my surroundings and learn more of my neighborhood's ins and outs. I went out with my running buddy, my cousin, Lydia. Lyd took me to this old airstrip (still channeling my father). It is definitely the flattest stretch of earth I've seen since getting here, but I wouldn't say that it is level because of the vast number of ditches and potholes that one must avoid. We ran the full length of it and were accompanied on this run by a Rwandan man who ran up, shook my hand and said Bonjour!, and then ran the rest of the way with us. It was great.

We managed to make it back to the house right as it started to rain. As I've said before, the rain moves in out of nowhere, but, as I have not said before, it also gathers speed the longer it rains. It starts as a light rain and, in a matter of seconds, it starts to all out pour like the floodgates of the sky have been thrown open. So, Lyd and I made it back into the yard just as the rain was really starting to pick up. From inside, we could see that it even started to hail (because when you think Africa, your mind immediately goes to hail). Lydia looked at me with this huge grin and said, "SJ, do you want to go play in the rain?" To which I responded, "Yes!" and we immediately ran outside. I was drenched in seconds and frozen to my core. We ran through the puddles and saw who could stand under the gutter run-off the longest (channeling Gene Kelley at this point). Lyd won, of course.

Playing in the rain makes me think of all the songs that reference God and the rain.

Hallelujah, grace like rain.
Mercy it falls like a sweet spring rain.
Your love soaks me so completely, til I'm drenched in your great love.

(That last one is one we sing at camp with the kids written by Bonzai, one of the coolest people on the planet.)

The point is, if the downpour of rain can soak me instantly, how quickly can God cover me in his love, mercy, grace? Pretty neat, huh?

driving a thousand hills

Y'all. I sat with my computer and refused to let it fall asleep and the internet didn't drop out, which means that I was able to put up some pictures! 

Jesse and Moses, the triumphant archers. Every banana tree quakes in fear at the sound of their names.

Sunday after church, I went with the Kings and some other families to an orphanage a host of towns over that was opened and run by Ros Carr, the woman who wrote Land of a Thousand Hills. (Don't worry, I haven't read it yet either.) She wrote this book all about her life in Rwanda, and I think it's fairly well known. And she wasn't kidding about those hills. I had to seriously concentrate to ward off car sickness. She was good friends with Diane Fossey, the gorilla lady whose life/work were featured in the movie Gorillas in the Mist. (Yep, haven't seen this one either.) We got to see her house and the gardens around it as well as the orphanage, which no longer houses children but is to be converted to a community center and museum. We had packed a picnic lunch, so we all gathered in a small clearing in the gardens to feast. As lunch was winding down, the Intore dancers arrived to perform some traditional Rwandan dances. 

There was a joy and grace to their movements that no picture could adequately capture, but I did my best. The dancers were backed by a drum line and singers.

I actually can't emphasize their grace enough. Every movement was perfectly fluid.

The men and women had large clusters of what were essentially bells that rang out with every movement. Moses, Lydia, and I bent down and put our hands to the ground to feel the pulse that shot through the ground of their every jump. For one dance, the men had these long white hairpieces (made from a plant) that they would whip around sending pieces of grass and dirt flying into our laps.

This is the moment that all white people grow to dread. There is a performance going on that requires rhythm, and we don't have any, but it seems that they may be pulling up audience members to perform with them. I tried in vain to make peace with my dear and fluffy lord, but I was the first audience member to join the drum line. Thankfully, the man next to me has a simple one-two beat going, so I stuck with him. I guess that some bit of my mother's African upbringing traveled from her heart to mine and I was able to keep up with the other drummers. Eventually, Moses took over the drum on my other side and we laughed so hard while giving the drum beats everything that we had. On the drive home, I confessed to Moses that I had been concentrating as hard as possible and hoping with everything that I had that I would not mess up the beat.

I have been reading a lot. It's the dream because I read so much in college, but none of it was by choice and so much of it was dense textbooks and papers. (Did I read everything I was supposed to? No. But it was enough. Trust me.) I finally have the time to read whatever I want, and it is amazing. The book I just finished is called Running the Rift written by Naomi Benaron. It is a historical fiction account of the genocide in Rwanda. I put off reading it for a super long time because I am here, and I honestly don't want to think about what happened likely on the street I walk down to get to school every day. So much pain, so much brokenness, too much real. But, I need to learn these stories, and I need to know what happened. When you live with people, you get the honor of walking in their mess with them, and you can only hope that someone decides to walk with you in your mess right back. So, I started reading. 

The book is about a boy who lives in Rwanda and has hopes of running in the Olympics, but he has the wrong mark on his ID card. With each tap of my finger (I would say "turning of a page" but I was reading on my Nook, so there weren't actual pages to turn), I felt this sense of impending doom. I knew what was coming as the book progressed. And just now as I wrote that sentence, I have to wonder what people felt like in 1993 when/if they knew something was coming and each day was the turn of a page. I won't ruin the story, but I recommend that you read it if you are at all interested in Rwanda and the genocide. The main character was so easy to relate to, and the writing made such a horrible tragedy just digestible enough for me to make it to the end. It was a wonderful book.