Welcome to On Sunday Morning. I’m the voice behind the blog and the person behind the camera. I’m an eager explorer, wannabe writer, capable chef, creative conversationalist, aging athlete, and proficient photographer. Queer in its original meaning is an apt adjective to describe me. I even have a day job working in healthcare. Social media is making us sad; let’s go for a walk somewhere together or trade tales around a campfire.
"I'm a big believer in winging it. I'm a big believer that you're never going to find perfect city travel experience or the perfect meal without a constant willingness to experience a bad one. Letting the happy accident happen is what a lot of vacation itineraries miss, I think, and I'm always trying to push people to allow those things to happen rather than stick to some rigid itinerary."
Usually, sometime around the middle of September all I can talk about are the bears of Katmai. Sadly, for all my friends bear talk started in July and never really stopped. Every year since 2014 Katmai National Park and Explore.org has hosted fat bear week. Ok, back in 2014 it was just Fat Bear Tuesday. However, from 2015 on, it’s been a full week of bear bliss.
My sweet Oatie Bear [RIP] is a 4x and lifetime achievement winner, Beadnose [RIP] was massive when she won in 2015 and 2018.. Holly is another fat bear champion [2019]. 747 aka Colbert aka Bear Force One is another gentle giant 2x winner [2020 and 2022]. In reality, it’s a fun contest raising awareness of the Alaskan Coastal Brown Bear. All bears that get fat and survive the winter are fat bear champs in my mind.
During an Alaskan winter, these big bears lose up to a third of their mass during hibernation making it crucial for them to fatten. up during the summer. Last year’s salmon run was sort of pathetic leading to a lot of bear fight and some not so plump bears heading in to winter. This year’s salmon run was nothing short of spectacular and we had so many fat bears and even better fat cubs.
Every year, the first Tuesday of October is known as Fat Bear Tuesday. Although this year it fell on October 8th, FBT occurs when Katmai’s fattest bear is crowned. Fans from all over the world vote on Explore.org’s website. And the winner is—GRAZER!!! She’s a two time champ defending her 2023 title this time being the first bear to ever win FBW with a spring cub in tow, Grazer is mama bear personified.
And since we are humans and we assign human emotions to animals, think on this. Grazer beat Chunk to win the fat bear title. During the summer, Grazer’s smallest spring cub went over the falls and directly in the path of Chuck. Chunk did what bears do and Grazer did what mama bears do. There was a fight. And while Grazer saved her littlest cub that day, it died about a week later. Grazer said ‘Fuck you, Chunky Bear’ and took her remaining cub on a walkabout and both Grazer and the cub got FAT. Fat enough to beat Chunk in a head to head match-up of Fat Bears.
When I went to bed on Thursday, September 27, 2024, I had no idea how much life would change over the next few weeks. As a native South Carolinian, I’m no stranger to wind, an occasional tornado, and lots of rain associated with hurricanes. I’m located approximately 150 miles from the SC coast. Most hurricanes weaken significantly over land and such was expected with Helene.
However, Helene didn’t get the memo to do what she should have done and normally hurricane safe areas like Augusta, GA, Greenville, SC, and Asheville, NC took the brunt of this storm. As of today Sunday, October 6, 2024, a full 9 days after the storm, I still don’t have power. Or running water. Or flushing toilets. In the grand scheme of things, I’m OK, the kitties are OK, and the house is OK. There is a lot of property damage and probably close to 100 trees down, but all the work this summer of tree maintenance really paid off.
Roads turned into sink holes
Rivers overflowed their banks and flooded neighbourhoods
On my way into work on Friday morning [because #healthcare] my normal drive of 30 minutes took 2 hours. I stopped counting after 25 downed trees partially or totally obstructing road. Not to mention trees taking down power lines literally everywhere. Even my detours had detours.
One of many, many detours I had to make on Friday morning
Regular people out with chainsaws early Friday morning before officials even had time to make assessments.
It was even worse in North Carolina as all the rain caused mudslides and rock slides in addition to the flooding by rivers overflowing their banks. Interstate 40 between North Carolina and Tennessee is gone. It just fell into the Pigeon River and it’s a universe miracle that no one was actually on the part that fell into the water. Two weeks later, transportation officials are estimating that it *should* be restored by 2028! As someone who drives to Knoxville, on a some-what regular basis, this makes my commute nearly twice as long. So that sucks.
I’m thankful that the trees missed my house.
A lot of coworker and friends have made regular trips to Asheville area, myself included. The damage is catastrophic. Words like that are used a lot in the quest for sensational journalism, but actual towns are gone. Rushing water [24 inches in 2 days!} bent sSteel beams holding bridges up got mangled by rushing water.
I mean I can’t even tell what this was. Now, it’s just storm debris.
We’ve gotten a lot of assistance from the National Guard. I’ve seen linemen from Canada working on my road to cut away trees, rebuild substations, and restring. electrical lines. Who knows when the lights will come back on. Despite everything that has happened over the last week, I’m still grateful that it wasn’t worse for me.
Since August 1, I saw the most popular concert in my lifetime. {It was amazing.} I made and traded friendship bracelets with strangers/ new friends. {So much fun and really cool to see international Swifties come up with some neat ideas–My favorite Je suis Calme.} It was a whirlwind of transportation {planes USA –> Canada –> Switzerland –> Germany –> Poland–> Germany–> USA] and everything aligned just perfectly to get me to Poland and back in time to take a final exam–wait what?!?. Yeah, right in the middle of all this chaos I had a final exam on Aug 5.
After seeing Taylor in Warsaw on August 3, I high-tailed it back to South Carolina in order to sit for my Psychopharmacology Final. (That I won a silver medal in. In honor of the Olympics, I’ve decided to rename grades Gold, Silver, and Bronze because anything less than 82.9 on any exam., final, or class is my one way ticket out of the program. 9 more months…9 months to go until graduation)
Sparkly. Swiftie. Ready to party
Holy crap. It’s Taylor!!!
you’re right, I do
After that emotional weekend, I hit a Trauma-Informed Care conference (required training), and then a different whirlwind in a different direction. Off to Alaska. To see the bears I’ve loved since 2014. Sadly no Otis, but still BEARS! Big giant brown bears. So close I could almost touch one. (I didn’t; I know better, even though I don’t act like it most of the time).
oh you are a sexy beast
Gully–I love how happy you are about catching a fish
It’s the BEADY BUNCH–a bunch of girl bears is a force of nature
Colbert–I love being your BBF (best bear friend) said her #164 Bucky Dent
I get this way too after too much food or too long of a hike
It’s all still so overwhelming–seeing two things in three weeks that I often wondered if I’d eve see. Personally, I feel like I’ve turned a corner. Breaking up with a long term partner is never easy. Even if it is the right thing to do. Even if the reasons make sense. When you have love a person, faults and all, and then that person is no longer in your life, it’s human nature to feel like a failure. I’ve experience a lot of loss and misdirection in the last two years, but I finally feel like I’m back on track. Thanks to the bears at Katmai and a singer called Taylor Swift.
“Is this seat open?” The handsome stranger asked in accented English. I made an exception to the ‘don’t talk to strangers rule’. I’m a lot better at being open when I’m 8000 miles from home as opposed to being in my own town.
“Yes”. I replied as he sat down.
“Do you know those people?” He was referring to the three people in my group of 7 who pitched a total fit about sleeping arrangements.
“No. I only joined the group this afternoon. I don’t even know their names.”
A scheduling snafu, or perhaps this is how it’s always done, had me sleeping in a tent with two guys. One–from Hong Kong, who barely spoke English, and the second–the handsome stranger with the accented English who was my current dining companion.
We started chatting, the way travelers do when they first meet someone. “Where are you from?” [Me: the United States; Him: Italy, Milan specifcally]. What do you do when you aren’t traveling? [Me: I’m a RN; Him: journalist] Why are you in Kenya [Me: to teach; him: to explore]. Verbal parrying continued, each trying to suss out whether the other person would make an interesting companion past tonight’s dinner.
Dining Companions
Dinner was a simple meal; white rice and a meat stew on top. I’ve learned not to ask what “kind” of meat is in meat stew. Most often, it’s goat, or chola in Kenya, and while I’ll not be eating any goat in the US, when in Kenya….
After dinner we leave the communal dining room together. Despite the long travel day and our early morning start tomorrow, I’m not quite ready to turn in. I notice you following me to the bonfire. I’m a sucker for a bonfire. Any bonfire. Any where.
After the sun sets, it’s surprisingly chilly. After nearly a month in this country, the nighttime chill shouldn’t surprise me. Yet, it does. Every time. “I’m going to run and get my jacket.” I say to no one in particular, but especially to you so that you won’t leave.
I run back to our shared tent, which seems a lot more intimate than it is, and grab my flannel shirt. That’s what’s been serving as a ‘jacket’ these last few chilly days., and run back out to the bonfire. You are writing in your journal as I quietly take a seat opposite from you. I stare into the fire, somewhat lost in thought, when you blurt out, “What do you think of the state of the world right now?”
Borrowing a line from Harry Potter, I reply, ‘The whole world’s gone topsy-turvy.’ I hope that satisfies you, because the truth of it is, I don’t enjoy discussing politics. Or religion. People generally have forgotten how to have intelligent discourse and disagree without resorting to personal attacks.
“Do you know who the prime minister of Italy is?” he asked.
“I do. Her name in Meloni. Georgia, or something like that.” I can tell you’re impressed. I didn’t volunteer that I’d only just learned that recently due to a listening to podcast. “Most Americans don’t know that” you replied.
“Most Americans don’t know who their own representatives are” I countered.
“You’re not like most Americans” you assess with certainty although we’ve only known each other about 3 hours.
“Well, I try”
Things suddenly got serious. “Well, I don’t know many Italians to compare you to. Italian-Americans, maybe, but actual Italians, not so much.”
You laugh. “What is it with Americans claiming to be “something”-American. No other country does that.”
Now, it’s my turn to laugh. ‘I have no idea. My European ancestors literally came over on the Mayflower 400 years ago. And they were from the UK. I don’t go around saying ‘I’m British-American'”
You laugh again.
The Conversation Turns Serious
“Do you have on-line dating in Italy? Like Tinder?” I don’t know why I ask this.
“Yes. Of course. Why? Are you on it?
“Me? No.”
“Why not?” you ask.
“Well, I was in a relationship for a really long time and now I’m not. But picking someone out and ‘adding to cart’ like an Amazon purchase seems like the wrong way to go about meeting a potential partner. Besides people are superficial. Especially online. No one takes the time to get to know anyone anymore.”
“You mean like this” you ask.
“Yes. Exactly like this. No one in America has time for hours long dinners that lead to chatting around a bonfire for two hours. It’s go-go-go. All the time. And, besides, I don’t like small talk.”
“So what do you like to talk about, then”
“oh you know, ones hopes and dreams and fears. Goals in life. And bears”
“Bears?” you ask questioningly.
“Specifically the coastal Alaskan brown bear. And even more specifically, a bear named Otis” I reply.
You laugh.
“Well tell me about Otis” you say.
And I do. At length. At times, I wonder if I’m following the unwritten dating rules. Or is this an exception since this isn’t really a date. I decided to go with exception and talk way too much about Otis. And Pete. I do not mention my ex. No matter the situation, that’s definitely not an exception. You talk about Italy. And Ukraine. And South Sudan, You avoid mentioning other humans.
Somehow it’s midnight and the fire has almost burned out.
“I suppose we should get some sleep. We’ve got an early start.” I say to myself. And you.. As we walk back to our tent, I feel your hand brush against mine.
A Truly Magical Day
Who the fuck puts on make-up for a safari I thought as I carefully applied eyeshadow. Wait scratch that–Who the fuck BRINGS make-up on a safari. Apparently I do. If this isn’t some irony. A person who rarely wears make in the everyday life is putting on make-up to go on a safari.
Safari ready, make-up and all.
Shortly after our breakfast of beans and toast, we loaded up into our (separate) safari jeeps and set off to chase animals around Amboseli National Park.
It was amazing.
So many elephants.
And flamingos.
And some hippos.
I saw hundreds of zebras.
And giraffes.
I even saw the one animal I really wanted to see
After the safari was over we met back at the campsite and compared stories and animal sightings over dinner. You said it was cute how excited I got over seeing a lion for the first time.
“Better than seeing Otis” you joked. “Only because I’ve never actually seen Otis in person I replied”
“Come with me. I want to show you something even better than Otis. And lions.”
We walk outside, and the full moon is rising over snow-capped Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was an awe inspiring sight.
“I know you said you don’t kiss strangers, but I’ll hope you’ll make an exception. Besides we’re not really strangers anymore, are we? We’ve known each other exactly 26 hours.”
And standing there, in the shadow of Kilimanjaro, with the full moon shining overhead, you kiss me. And then we walk hand in hand back to our shared tent.
“They” say if you toss a coin in the fountain, you’ll guarantee your return to Rome.
Everything you ever wanted to know about that famous Roman fountain, including a guaranteed way to get back to Rome… and then some
How did that famous fountain get its name?
The Trevi Fountain stands at the junction of three roads, ceremoniously marking the end point of one of Rome’s earliest aqueducts, Aqua Virgo. It’s location led to it’s rather literal name- Fontana di Trevi means Three Street Fountain. It’s believed the name was derived from the Latin word trivium, which as you might have guessed, means three streets.
History and stuff
Trevi fountain has not always been spectacular. In 1629, Pope Urban VIII was unimpressed with the earlier version of the fountain, claiming it lacked drama. The Pope asked prominent architect and artist, Gian Lorenzo Bernini to design possible renovations for the fountain. The renovations were never completed though, as the project was abandoned when Pope Urban died. Fast forward to 1730 when Pope Clement XII organized a contest with the winner of this contest being commissioned to redesign the Trevi Fountain. The original winner was Alessandro Galilei, but Romans were outraged that a Florentine had been chosen. To silence the outcry, the second place contestant, Nicola Salvi, was awarded the commission. [Rome and Florence always seem to be testy with each other].
Salvi soon began designing the new fountain around the theme “Taming of the Waters”. Construction began in 1732, with Palazzo Poli serving as a backdrop. The fountain’s facade and sea reef were made from travertine, a form of limestone deposited by mineral springs. The statues were carved from Carrara marble. Unfortunately Salvi would not live to see completion of his masterpiece. After his death in 1751, Giuseppe Pannini took charge of the project, completing the fountain in 1762. The finished fountain would be the largest Baroque fountain in the city- 26.3 meters high and 49.15 meters wide.
Want to get back to Rome & What happens to all that money?
Legend has it that if you turn around and toss a penny [eurocent?] into the Trevi Fountain, you’ll find your way back to Rome. Who am I to argue with a legend?
When I travel, I like to do all the fun little rituals that promise everything from good luck to falling in love. So like custom dictates, I turned my back to the water and using my right hand, tossed a coin over my left shoulder. There… now I have guaranteed I’ll be finding my way back to Rome at some point in the future! Legend holds, that if you toss in a second coin you’ll fall in love with an Italian. I’ve even heard that throwing in three coins means you will marry an Italian.
Let’s just say I only tossed one coin in the fountain. Falling in love is the last thing I need in my life right now… especially a long distance, international affair.
With all that coin tossing, there is a lot of money that ends up in the fountain! Every night about 3,000 Euros are swept up from the bottom of the basin. The money is donated to Caritas, a catholic charity, who uses the money to provide services for needy families in Rome. Some of the money is used to subsidize a low cost supermarket. So at least you know that Eurocents are going to support a good cause.
On the surface Mr Wendel actually has nothing to do with this post. However that is one of the first songs I remember hearing played on the radio, It’s all about poverty. In the US. Not some rural village in Rwanda.
Wealthy
When I worked my last shift at the hospital on June 2, 2018, I didn’t have a sudden feeling of insecurity when I pulled out of the parking lot around 7:30 because I was suddenly unemployed. Even though I knew I was choosing poverty, it didn’t hit me then. That came about a month later when my first disbursement was paid to me… in cash. 47,000 Rwandan Francs (about $50) which was to be enough for two weeks of living with my host family in Rwamagana.
A lot of that 47000 RWF was spent at the Rwamagana market on lunch and supplementing breakfast and dinner.
As I pulled out of the parking lot for the last time I mentally calculated how long this last American paycheck would last in Rwanda. Having this money in the bank allowed me mentally prepare myself for the poverty to come It was measured in months, not days like in the USA. The cost of living is significantly less and my expenses are less too, but my income is much, much less as well. My monthly living allowance in Rwanda was nearly equivalent to ONE 8 hour shift at the hospital–without any shift differentials. I knew that by choosing to join the Peace Corps’, I’d be choosing poverty.
Then Not
Much like in the US, I spend a lot of my Rwandan income on food. But instead of going to restaurants, I’m going to the markets. I’m what I call a ‘Village Vegetarian.’ Meat products are too expensive and too raw to consume. I occasionally buy UHT shelf-stable milk in 500ml bags, but other than that, no dairy. Eggs are pricey (proportionally) 100RWF each, and I walk a lot to avoid paying 500RWF (or more!) for short moto rides. These little relatively small amounts are what we call being ‘nickel and dimed to death’. On their own, it won’t break me, but added up, over time, my monthly Peace Corps income diminishes rapidly.
Market finds… You can’t always get what you want
Budgeting
Just like being in the US, you learn to cut corners. What is necessary vs what will be nice to have. A nice push broom with a long handle vs a standard Rwandan sweep broom. For example, imagine something breaks. Let’s say a handle on a bucket. Some big and some small. Back home I would have just gone out and bought one the next day. But here, it’s not so simple. If I buy a bucket then I have to cut out something different, likely a more luxurious food item like potato chips or apples. When a hole developed in my favorite skirt because the laundry detergent is really that strong, I had to do without.. Because having one made would cost about 20,000 RWF, and 20,000 RWF is equivalent to my food budget for the week.
This may sound alarming to you, and sometimes it is to me too. Rwanda is in transition from a third world (or subsistence) country to a second-world (or middle-income) country. Village life is still quite cheap. If I never took a moto, walked everywhere I needed to go, only bought the ten items sold in our local market, I could live like a king, but alas, escaping the prying eyes of village life is as much of a necessity to me as apples. Thus, I escape to Huye every chance I get.
And while Huye is not Kigali, it is not cheap. Food costs more. Motos cost more. There’s a swimming pool (two actually), and hotels with decent (read fast) wi-fi that one can hook up to and surf the net to one’s heart’s content as long as you buy Something. And for me that’s usually a Fanta Citron.
A fancy coffee milkshake… while tasty, quite expensive on a Peace Corps’ budget
Choosing Poverty
It is easy for it to be about me every day. Worrying about what I can and can’t buy. Worrying if I am eating healthy enough. It has no importance when I compare myself to my community members. Because this is a choice for me. (And I also get care packages containing vital amounts of protein in the forms of American peanut butter and tuna fish). When I took the oath to be a Peace Corps volunteer, I knew that for the duration of my service that I would select to live below a means that I have been accustomed to my entire life. And that when that time is over, I will walk out of poverty and back into (relative) luxury–real luxury compared to my Rwandan neighbors and co-workers.
I won’t have to work hard for that to happen. I have a furnished house and driveable car waiting for me upon my return. I’m almost certain I can return to the same job I had before I left as soon as I set foot on American soil. I will go back to working in the hospital for 30-40 hours a week and in that amount of time make more than my Rwandan neighbors make in a year. I will still have more than 100 hours of ‘leisure’ time each week. Time where I will not have to do back breaking manual labor such as washing clothes by hand or dig in the the hard Rwanda red clay with hand tools.
If I do laundry, it will be in a machine with the accompanying dryer. Dirty dishes will also be done by a machine. If I work in the garden, it will be a choice–a stress reliever–not as a means of survival. I won the citizenship lottery just because I was born where I was born. My neighbors in Rwanda cannot even comprehend the level of freedom I have.
Laundry done by hand–including shoes
The 1%
We don’t realize in America that being the 99% (as in the not exorbitantly wealthy 1% of Americans) still puts us in the 1%. In comparison to the rest of the world, we all all rich. We don’t see how even a lower-middle class lifestyle is so excessively over the top as compared to how billions of other people are living. And it is hard for me to wrap my brain around it even after living in the midst of the 99% here in my village. Even with my modest little Peace Corps living allowance, I am in the top 10% in my community.
What I have in my American savings accounts is more than what most people in my village will make in a decade or two. To them, wealth is having a concrete floor or land for a cow (and a cow). To us, it’s having 3+ bedrooms and a corresponding number of bathrooms. Wealth is marble or granite countertops and a 2+ car garage. It’s fancy electronics and that extends into the bedroom with the advent of adjustable base beds. Here, even having a mattress signifies wealth. And even though RwandaFoam is a company that boasts of its quality mattresses the fact is its foam flattens out in about six months. Here, I am wealthy because I can afford a 47,000RWF mattress just for me. I am wealthy because I alone live in a two room house.
I chose to join the Peace Corps and move to rural Rwanda. According to the numerical standards used in the US, I live below the poverty line. Poverty is a choice for me. I used to feel ambivalent about my ‘friends’ protests and rage about being the 99% in America. Now I am pissed off by it. It exposes our lack of exposure to the rest of the world and the conditions they live in. The real 99%.
What does this mean for you? I don’t know. I’m not saying everyone should choose poverty. I am not that you should feel guilty or motivated to take drastic action. I am sharing how amazing I think it is that I chose when to be poor and when to stop being poor—relevant to the rest of the world. What does this mean for me? It means I won’t ever take my choice for granted. Because to me, that is the respectful thing to do after I thrust myself out of poverty.
The land of a 1000 hills
Shout out to Arrested Development’s Mr Wendel for this post’s title. As a side note, this was one of the first CDs I ever bought.
On Tuesday August 14, 2018 despite any reservations anyone may or may not have had, I, along with 22 others was sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer in Rwanda representing cohort Health 10.
Swearing in day
I wore a fancy dress. I even put on make-up. We danced on live TV. I listened to speeches given by my fellow trainees/volunteers. And another one by the Charge d’Affairs. And still more speeches by the Country Director, the Program Manager, the director of Training, a Ministry of Health official, and a tuitulaire. Some speeches were in English; some were in Kinyarwanda. Around noon, after starting nearly an hour behind schedule, I stood, raised my right hand, and swore to protect the constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic.
It’s the same oath everyone who works for the government takes including the US Military. I felt a momentary surge of patriotic pride. After becoming an official volunteer, we munched on snacks and Fanta, and mingled with the people there. All in all, it was one of the happier days since arriving in Rwanda.
All good things must come to an end, and around 1:30 we were escorted to immigration to get our Rwandan ID cards made. These cards mark our official residency status and in theory gives up Rwandan citizen status especially at places that charge a higher price for foreign tourists [Rwandan national parks, I’m looking at you].
Spending the day with Immigration
On Tuesday evening, after the ceremony and after immigration, nearly everyone went out for drinking and dancing. I know myself well enough to know that would have been a mistake on my part, so I spent a quiet evening at home—home, one again, being our Catholic nunnery.
Before anyone starts to feel sorry for me for ‘missing out’ on anything, having the nunnery to myself was pretty awesome. I had unlimited food and drink [I think I had 5 fantas and at least 2 plates of food], I was able to take a hot shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes [seriously, only my second since leaving America. The first one being at the PC infirmary a mere two weeks prior]. Without any competing devices, I was able to use the internet to my hearts’ content, download books to my Kindle, movies to my hard drive, and even video chat on WhatsApp. I had a perfectly enjoyable evening doing the things I love with the people I love,. Bonus points for no hangover the next day!
Thanks to a Catholic holiday, we had a free day on Wednesday saving the actual moving until Thursday. Most stores thankfully not Catholic and were open for business. I’m not a huge shopper, but I did enjoy hanging out at the bookstore with the rooftop bar, getting my gas stove and a few other home goods, and going to the grocery store getting some food favorites in preparation for my first weekend alone.
Final good-byes
Thursday morning involved moving all the stuff that had been stored in a room up to the parking lot. From there things were divided into smaller groups. Finally things were loaded in a moving truck. I was surprised as anyone when everything was loaded, and two volunteers’ stuff for two years fit in one Toyota pick-up truck. Good byes were said; tears were shed, and off we went [I admit to remaining mostly stoic until one of my Northern friends hugged me and had tears in her eyes. Then my eyes did the same]. With bananas and bread in hand [who can eat breakfast at an emotional time like this] plus a couple bottles of water, my fellow volunteer and I set off to the South.
I see my orange backpack in the mix of PCV stuff
I still can’t believe nothing fell off the truck while we were moving. This is two volunteers’ things.
We dropped her off first, and I was a little envious of her site. A proper house with a small front porch, right in town, with neighbors for visiting. Her HC happened to be a 15 minute or so walk which is just about perfect. [I can hear the babies being vaccinated from inside my house].
Somewhere between her site an mine
After she was ‘installed’, we bumped along back roads for about an hour until we reached Nyanza. The dirt roads once again turned to pavement. Another 30-45 minutes later, we pulled up to my house. We unloaded things and tested the gas stove [it worked!], and suddenly I was alone. Truly alone for the first time in quite some time.
You’re on your own, kid
I had planned for this eventuality, had ample international phone credit and data, and set about to making my first meal in my ‘new home.’ [It was delicious]. I unpacked a few things, hung some wall decor, made my bed [pulling out my quilt for the first time], and listened to some tunes. Later on, I called some friends. Past experiences have taught me that I don’t make the best decisions when I’m either hungry, angry, lonely, or tired, and on my first night here, I was two of the four.
On Friday, I made my way down to the city, to get a few more food items, went to the bank, met some current volunteers, had some Chinese food, and start to figure out how all this works.
I am in a small village in rural Rwanda. The old way of completing tasks is no longer an option.
In Kinyarwanda, Umuganda roughly translates as ‘coming together to achieve a common goal’. It was originally started after Rwanda achieved independence in 1962. In the beginning, Umuganda was often called ‘umubyizi’ –and was a day set aside by friends and family to help each other. It officially became a government program in 1974. The last Saturday of the month is umuganda day and lasts from about 8am until 1p. Officially.
History of Umuganada
Initially, Umuganda did not go over well with Rwandans. Rwandans considered it forced labor, but due to its significant achievements in erosion control and infrastructure improvement – especially building projects– people came to like it and participated in it voluntarily. The 1994 Rwandan genocide disrupted the spirit and practice of Umuganda. It was re- introduced in 1998 as part of reunification efforts. Often times Umuganda projects are still the way community projects are completed.
Who participates in Umuganda?
On Umuganda day, the Rwandan government encourages Rwandans and others [*ahem Peace Corps Volunteers*] to participate. Rwanda requires citizens between 18 and 65 to participate [unless medically compromised or pregnant]. Participation by those above 65 years and below 18 year is optional. To *encourage* participation, public transportation is stopped, restaurants are closed until noon, and most market stalls are closed. [Woe to the PCV who is not in his/her community because getting there is a bitch, and Thanks Peace Corps Rwanda Staff for scheduling almost all our training sessions to end on the Saturday morning of Umuganda which makes getting back to site before dark a real challenge.]
Additionally, Umuganda also serves as a forum for leaders at each level of government to inform citizens about important news and announcements. Community members are also able to discuss any problems the community is facing and propose solutions. So it’s easy to see how umuganda can last all day.
Benefits of Umuganda
Rwanda is the cleanest country in Africa. Rwanda first banned plastic bags in 2008 in an effort to limits the amount of roadside trash. Incredibly, one can be jailed for using plastic bags. [This knowledge did not stop me from smuggling in nearly 250 ZipLoc bags of varying sizes. I know, I’m a rebel.]
The tourist sections of the country are incredibly clean as umuganda projects are often about cleaning up the roads; however, in the non-tourists areas, rural areas, or ‘real Rwanda’, trash is still a problem mainly because there is no centralized collection. People burn their trash or throw it in the latrine. I’ve personally taken trash from my home (especially plastic bottles) and threw it away when in cities where public trash cans were sometimes available. I don’t know that this is the best solution, but living so close to a larger city, it’s an option for me. I really don’t like burning plastics.
Economically, Umuganda adds a lot back into the local economy. Since 2007, labor associated with Umuganda contributed more than US $60 million to the country’s development. Some reports estimate more. Like a lot of things in Rwanda, umuganda sounds good in theory but often translates poorly in practice. Sometimes too many people show up for one project; sometime not enough people show up. In the poorer areas, people often refuse to show up especially during harvests because time is literally money. Some people see the value of education. Some are too poor to pay school fees, and therefore don’t want to waste time on a school.
It’s difficult to enforce umuganda laws if one simply stays home. However, the government imposes a fine of 5000RWF if one misses Umuganda duty. Here’s a link from NPR about a story they ran in July 2018 about umuganda. Here’s a clip showing Rwanda’s president participating in Umuganda.
It’s about four weeks until I go. You see, in theory, I should have something heartfelt and sincere to say. Perhaps a few final thoughts I care to leave behind? A legacy? A farewell? [Wait, I’m not dying].
But I don’t. I’ve got nothing.
I’m still working… being a nurse and all, saving every $ I can so that I can fit some adventures in during my Peace Corps service. I’ve packed, but only because I moved out of my apartment in October. When I moved, I got rid of all the things I didn’t want to keep. I haven’t done a lot to the house other than make it stronger to weather any particular storm. I’m doing a lot of overnight camping and hiking/backpacking. I’m crashing with friends. Molly and Lucy are in charge, so to speak. I essentially bought a house for the cats. They even have their own expense account so their new caretakers can provide for them like I have.
I have always been more on the private side; careful of what I say out loud, or in this case, put in print. Truth be told, I have very little that I care to say out loud. I, alone, am privy to my thoughts, as they are rapidly changing and I can’t seem to keep up.
Thoughts
I’m nervous. Of course I’m nervous. No matter how much I try to prepare, it’s still the unknown. I’m scared. Of course I’m scared. Even though I’ve done some version of this before, this is a unique period in my life. I’m excited, thrilled even. I know of no one in my family, friends, or even acquaintances who has been a Peace Corps volunteer. In many ways, this is everything I’ve always wanted. And in many others, it’s nothing I ever expected.
Of course, I’m saying this now, before I’ve even begun. What will I say when I am two weeks into training? How will I feel? Will I be as self-assured as I imagine I will be? Or will I be as the other PCV’s (Peace Corps Volunteer) say; wondering what on earth possessed me to do such a thing?
How can I, now, at this very moment, possibly make a statement? There is so much I don’t know. How am I to predict how I’ll feel in the coming weeks and months, when I can’t even get a firm grasp on how I feel right now? My mind is a chaotic whirl. I’m busy preparing for my departure, anticipating my arrival, and trying to juggle work and spending time with friends in between. Everything has been moving so fast, and in these next final weeks, they’ll only continue to speed up. I have a to-do list at least a mile long. I’ve essentially got to set up my life for two years so that someone else can manage it. I’ve got to get what’s need to apply to graduate school for when I return. I need all those addresses and phone numbers now. I’ve got to get friends to download WHATSAPP, and before I know it, it will be June 4
6/4.
D-Day.
My world will likely be flipped upside down in ways that I never saw coming. I will say goodbye to my home, my friends, my kitties, and my family. I’ll give up the creature comforts that I knowingly take for granted. And I’ll bid farewell to a community for whom my appreciation came unexpectedly.
But these are the thoughts running through my head. Every time I get in my car and drive around the country. When I am in a store looking for something I *need* for Madagascar. When I sit in my house and look around and think, ‘we’ve only just begun.’ I’ve had my house for a total of four months and yet it’s already filled with me. At night, with Lucy curled at my feet, and Molly by my side, I stare at my ceiling and convince myself to stay calm…
Good-bye my green eyed girl
Because I wanted this. I wanted the uncertainty. The fear. The unknown. 18 months ago, I decided I was ready to give up what I know in exchange for the adventure of a lifetime. The world is mine and my future belongs to me. The Peace Corps will test me, push me to my limits, and force me to rise above. I will grow and I will change. I will not be the same person I was when I started, but I look forward to meeting her in the end.
Bring it on.
Bring it on–Seal–is the musical accompaniment for this post.
When I share with someone that I’m joining the Peace Corps, I get one of two reactions:
“OMG, how long is that? TWO YEARS! How can you afford to do that? What about work? What about your house? What about [fill in the blank]________________?”. This exclamation is often accompanied by a facial expression of woe and angst followed by “I could never do that”
“Oh wow, that is so cool. That’s so brave. I’m really excited/I really admire that you’re doing that.” This is usually said by someone who is not a member of my generation, or someone who is a really close friend and knows me well.
Having written this out, I feel like these responses to my decision are a pretty accurate timeline of my own feelings about Peace Corps.
I received my invitation to serve in July 2017. At first I was really excited, and then lurking worry and fears of the unknown starting to sneak their way into my subconscious. Eventually, I sucked it up and got my fingerprints done, checking off the first task in a surprisingly long litany of Peace Corps related tasks. This is probably one of the finer decisions I have made in life.
Nearly every adult older than me I spoke with about my Peace Corps decision encouraged me without reservation to pursue that unknown horizon (Reaction #2). They spoke of looking back on their own lives to places where they met a fork in the road, and now with near unanimity wish that had taken that less trodden path.
My biggest hang up was money, though it shames me to say it out loud. I have always prided myself in not being a consumer, not letting things or stuff tie me down or control my life. I never appreciated that instead of stuff, I was consumed by the need to horde money for my future’s sake. Every single adult assured me that there is always time to make money, and really, money doesn’t make your world go ’round. Certainly it is important, and I know there are certain things I want to buy that will require some savings and a steady job, but those things are worth delaying for something like Peace Corps.
Making the decision to let go of monetary wealth for the next two years was really difficult for me, but I’ve come to the point where I can put it out of my mind for the sake of better things that I’m sure will make me poorer monetarily speaking, but much richer in life. Wealth, after all, is just what you make of it.
Hooray for personal growth!
But not everyone is supportive of this decision and here are some of my thoughts on the most common questions or concerns I get concerning Peace Corps.
Q: That’s like TWO YEARS of your LIFE! (concerns about commitment)
A: Yes, yes it is. However, it’s not like I wouldn’t be living those two years of my life anyway, right? You have to live them somewhere, and I can either live them in a way where that it is easy to predict my day-to-day, or in a way that it is not. If I weren’t going into the Peace Corps, I’d being going to graduate school, so it’s not exactly as if I’d be carefree and unencumbered anyway.
Q: Oooh… doesn’t that mean you have to live with no running water/electricity/indoor plumbing/car/etc?
A: Quite possibly yes, it does. But you know what? The lack of conveniences really doesn’t bother me in any significant way. Yes, I love hot showers and all of the joys of plumbing, but they aren’t huge priorities for me. I’ve lived without them before, and I would do it again.
Q: What if you get sick/robbed/homesick/lonely?
A: I fully expect all of those things to happen, probably all at once and probably more than once. And it will be miserable. Without a doubt, there will be moments where I want nothing more than to catch the next donkey cart back to South Carolina. But bad things happen to people everywhere, all the time. They happen to me living here, and I deal with them. They will probably happen to me there, and I will deal with them there, too.
Q: Oh, so you’re out to go save the world/postpone adulthood/some other irresponsible choice? That probably won’t look too hot on a resume.
A: Oooh, judgy-judgy, aren’t you?! I am joining Peace Corps for my reasons, and my reasons alone. They consist of pursuing what I find to be personally fulfilling, important, and meaningful, as well as how I see my own place within the world and life. It’s such a challenge to get out there! To see the world for what it is instead of what it is portrayed to be! I love that, and want to be part of it. Peace Corps is not perfect in any way (is anything?), but they offer an opportunity to serve myself, my country, and maybe in some small way, someone else who shares in my fellow humanity. I think that in itself is cause enough for anyone.
And no, I would dare to disagree that joining Peace Corps is “postponing” anything, except perhaps a fat bank account. It has taken me a lot of thought and courage to apply and pursue Peace Corps, and if anything, I see it as a remarkable testament to my character, perseverance, and ability to withstand nearly anything. Also, perhaps it demonstrates a marked tolerance for misery, which is just fine with me. Putting a successful Peace Corps tour on my resume will be a very proud moment in my life, and honestly, would I even want to work for someone who didn’t agree?
And finally…
Q: Oh wow, Peace Corps? I could never do that.
A: Yes. you. could. I hate to hear people downplay their own ability to adapt, change, and remain resilient against the unknown. Women, especially, seem to always discount their own strengths and ability to do something hard. If you are reading this blog and contemplating your own application to Peace Corps, I would urge you to dismiss outright those fears of what is unknown or unfamiliar. Don’t be discouraged by your own trepidation, or shy away from discomfort.
If Peace Corps (or anything in life) is something you feel calling to you, whispering in your ears with an unheard voice of temptation, then take those reins! Seek that far horizon and do not stop until you find whatever it is that drives you. For me, Peace Corps is the hand that will open many doors I could never have opened or perhaps even dreamed of myself. Yes, I feel fear, and yes, I feel anxiety. But everything that may ever be gained by stepping into the chasm that is the unseen future is worth the immense challenge it is to rise above those concerns. It is a process. It will take time and thought and my utmost concentration. But, I have no doubt, that I am ready to serve.
