Big loaded question there, but the most frequently asked! While I know you don't have hours to delve into an essay long of deep moments and lessons solidified on my trip (as I also don't have time to write), here is a quick, short and sweet list: (in no particular order):

1) The past is a story we tell ourselves.

2) A kindness to yourself is a kindness to others.

3) You choose what matters to you.

4) Never underestimate the power of an encouraging compliment that is genuine.

5) I am a sinner saved by grace and my identity lies in Christ alone.

6) It is okay to feel deeply and to let it out.

7) Blame and negativity towards someone or something only crowds out the possibility for change.

8) Live moments, not consequences.

9) Come as you are.

10) Empathy and humanity is exercised; and is the best muscle we have.

11) Kubaho n'ukubana = to live is to be with others; Turiumbwe = we are together

12) Doing for come from being with.

13) What enriches you may rob or violate others.

14) Be ever humbled because Jesus can deal gently with the wayward and ignorant, since he himself is beset with weakness.

15) 2 Corinthians 5:14-15- For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.

I have been so blessed with this opportunity and chance to discover more of what it means to be human and know that these lessons are but the initial tip of the iceberg (I actually made this list about 3 weeks after coming home and was starting to meet up with people; it was compiled from reading and skimming through my journal when I was there). Even up to now, some of these lessons have evolved and new ones are forming, but nonetheless I am still breathing it all in.

Visuals are much more captivating than my words! Here are some pictures from my trip, sorry it took so long! For more pictures...please wait patiently for a video/ppt/pdf i'm making to document my trip and for a more thorough update for all those amazing supporters and donors I have yet to meet with and thank!

Hard to believe that its been three months since I was in Rwanda, gushing with excitement and adventure; its seemed like light years away but also like it was yesterday. So, what have I been up to?

A little preface...
Learning to move on with your life and not dwelling too long on things seems to be the crux of early twenty-somethings, at least thats my generalization. While opportunities are endless and even overwhelming to choose from, its also a time to confirm what you know about yourself and have the willpower to remind yourself every single day. Yet I am so excited to see where I will go and how my past and experiences can inform my becoming as a person. It's that crossroads times and I strive to find the balance between living now and seizing opportunities with focussed and driven goal-setting that is more long-term. That is where I am at. Maybe some of you can relate. I know myself, just searching for how to best express that self in a vocation and lifestyle.

August:
Upon the first week of coming back, my mom already had a potential job connection lined up for me to send my resume to, so why not? I had relevant experience but I was also underqualified for this job to be a Behavioural Intervention Therapist for children with autism. The use and knowledge of ABA techniques (basically derived from Skinner's operant conditioning for those who are curious) within an ethical clinical practice of behavioural intervention seemed way over my head at the time. But I still opted to apply for the instructor therapist position to see what comes of it; even volunteering. Within two weeks, the director asked me to come in to observe and be a volunteer for the last two weeks of summer camp. These two weeks were almost disorienting...my room was a mess, my baggage came a week later, my heart was aching and I was dreaming of Rwanda every night; even waking up wondering where my mosquito net was. Parts of it were unsettling and others I was surprisingly okay with; I wasn't necessarily ready to talk to anyone at length about it but I was still beaming and happy from what I had experienced. The director of the IBI (Intensive Behavioural Intervention) centre and school said they were willing to train me and offered me an in-vivo internship as an instructor therapist. How can I not take it, even just for the training? It was an opportunity for me to gain hard skills, a clinical placement and hands-on experience.

September:
By this time I was hired and already had 4-5 clients. I was learning the ropes, familiarizing myself with bussing and my colleagues (a mixture of Seneca College students, Masters students and people doing their placement hours). It didn't faze me too much that it was all way over my head; as with anything I committed to, I just dove in. It was a very stressful month of feeling "forced" to be disconnected from myself, my church, my other job in which I co-run the program with a committee and my parents (moving back in with them after 4 years living on my own). Some days it all got too much. I wasn't grasping my routine as well as I used to; everything was like slime that kept changing consistencies.

October:
UCC and the work they do there plus the experiences I had gained through being part of that community kept me going. I knew the skills I had gained working at this centre can be valuable for training or even informing a more proactive program at UCC. I also relished at being back there and making a bigger difference. It's a place I know my soul will be challenged alongside my intellect, but also where I learned to exercise the willpower to care for myself and not destructively handle my relationships in assumptions laced with insecurity. Afterall, learning to be gentle and caring to yourself will help more people than aimless giving. I struggled in that this month as I plateaued in my learning at work and had to find a new mentality to sustain my motivations. It's a time to focus, also not to forget.

What is coming up for me? Art. Social work. Creative living. Diversity. Ministry. Challenges. My long-term goal is to become an expressive arts therapist, taking clinical practice alongside the stuff of life (art in all its forms) to lead programs and create new approaches of using art and living artfully as a process of healing. And along the way, if I can do community development work alongside these pursuits; I'll be there. Time to work on my portfolio!

God Bless you in all your passions and pursuits! He gave them to you for a reason; so run flying with it :)

For lack of a good label or term to put it, I would say I'm in reverse-culture shock; something that is truly played out differently for everyone. I had no idea how I would react being home after such an experience, but I must say I have handled my new-found cynicism and "depressing thoughts" much differently than I would have in the past. I believe that my journey still continues from here; with a new view of the world and new friends as well. I am hopeful and enthusiastic for where God will take me after this and can see more and more the lessons He was trying to teach and solidify in my heart; it really does take time. Up till now, its been a week since I even touched or cracked open my over-stuffed journal of memories...soon I will need to delve it up and relive it; I must learn to be gentle with myself as many emotions, thoughts and memories can come into my mind...

My last two weeks in Rwanda shattered all routine I laid in my life there. For my last three days off (we get a total of 7 days off), contrary to the rest of the girls I came with (who went to Nyungwe National Park), I decided to break off and have a vacation of my own. I headed to Musanze for two nights and stayed with a good friend there who had hosted Intercordians in previous years. I decided to climb the volcano, Mount Bisoke, during my visit as well. Little did I expect these days off to reaffirm my yearning to belong and love, through relationships and true-quality being-with. The adventures I had from trekking through the forests of Bisoke with a fellow Canadian to having my camera stolen and reclaimed to chance encounters, late night talks, long day walks and Chinese food, all came in a whirlwind of socializing; just the style of vacationing I liked and savoured-just the right excitement, adventuring, reflecting, travelling, conversing and plenty of uncertainties. I discovered that you can establish a deeper-than-lifelong-friendship with someone just through being with them wholeheartedly and without distraction, some deep talks and insight. Your undivided attention is usually all people need and a propensity to carry their story and values as gently as possible; is humanity at it's finest. I had never been more happy meeting people and meeting them where they are and just as they are. There is very little that you need in life to truly have vitality and resilience; it is more simple than we know and think. 

As I said my goodbyes to the friends and colleagues I had made in Rwanda, I can feel that though it was the end of an era for me and for them having our presence there, it was also just the beginning of a new mindset we had fostered by being together during our three months there. That is the value I have realized and that came into fruition during my trip there. I am changed by it; by every interaction I had with my new Canadian, Rwandan, Ugandan, German and French friends I had also met along the way, that there is something to learn from each person you encounter. 

Beyond the superficial adjusting to a new place and climate, food, languages and customs, I have discovered how deeply I yearned to see past those things into a culture different and also similar to my own. Its the values and morality that touched and challenged me, that I can never see the world the same again, and that is a wonderful change and challenge I wish to welcome everyday of my life.

My last night sleeping at a hostel in Kigali, I watched as the sun set over the sloping valley and hills, the warm breeze soaring through the windows as I witnessed the orange glow that was paint-brushed across the bumpy horizon, knowing that the upcoming nostalgia would never leave my heart and also secretly glowing at the thought of all the ups and downs I had experienced knowing the experience is truly never over.

Everyone wants Africa, so there is pressure to develop to the "world's" standards. That is the impression of three colleagues (including Mama Abigaelle) I have talked to about at length about this. My thoughts and reflection on these things:

1) Political Involvement is encouraged so much more so than education in the eyes of educators like both my host parents. We often talk about money and the price of things (which tend to not be comparable to prices in Canada in terms of salaries and revenues). Mama Abigaelle told me once that those who teach in Rwanda are among the poorest of the population. She told me that all the money goes to those in politics, government and banks; everyone else needs to claw their way for better living or conditions; as in a competitive capitalist society. Because I am Canadian and our government puts so much money into education, I wondered why President Kagame doesn't do the same. My impression prior to being in Rwanda has been that Kagame wants to put education close to the top, but public schools (even though free) are often 70-80 people per class to one teacher and private schools are pricey for many families (with many of them single parents). The logical thing to me would be to give teachers better salaries if they are so important to the future of Rwanda producing businesses in English and French. Perhaps the demand doesn’t meet the demand of teachers (which is surprising because you don’t need any special qualification or certification in teaching in order to teach…anyone with a secondary school diploma can teach primary and anyone with a bachelor’s degree can teach secondary school). But teaching seems to be the prerogative of each family now; difficult to know and integrate English as most parents grew up learning only French, yet English is so desperately wanted now. It is a rough transition with most families knowing 4 + languages. Can language be a means to "progress"? Perhaps that is the wrong question as the culture is infused with languages; it seems more like the pressure of the government, even from a far, imposing on the minds of its citizens. Whether positively or negatively, seems to be someone that is duly trusted without question (namely President Kagame), with large framed pictures of him in homes, in schools, offices, and hotels. Perhaps putting hope in a person drives a people differently than ideologies or "dreams" do.

2) Kagame cares about property?! Or conservation? Is this a white-imposed sentiment?

In another conversation with my mama, she told me that they used to live in a house on Rubavu mountains, but was kicked out without given any compensation for the house they built with their hard earned money and only given one week to leave; an adamant eviction from the government itself. She expressed that it was so unfair and illogical, without any regard to the money used and their transition to find a new house, which is really hard to find as most Rwandans choose to build their own house. Apparently, everyone has been pushed off Rubavu to a certain imposed line for "conservation" purposes. Later, I heard from mama Quinne (another host mom) that they were sent away because the position of their house violated flooding regulations; this seemed like a more of a neutral response to me and I made me wonder what conservation really meant in the minds of the Rwandan government and to the citizens. Is there conflict between how an ideology and value is implemented and the vision itself? Perhaps this is the work of people working towards development; a struggle between a bigger vision against the perceived needs of a people. This may be what makes “progress” such a hard concept to put one’s finger on because everyone’s immediate predicament not only creates tangible inequality but inequality in the form of ideas and thoughts that fill ones person’s mind the majority of the time.

3) There is a deep wanting to get out of Rwanda for many young Rwandans, but a desperate sense that it won’t be so easy and nearly impossible. Walking with one of my good Rwandan friends one evening, he was in a deep trance as he smoked. I asked him what he thought about usually when he would reflect on life while smoking (to take the edge off he would always tell me). He said most of the time scenarios and fantasies of how he would one day get out of Rwanda and this life and make a living in a developed country like America, Canada or Europe. This response was definitely not out of place to how he lives and what he speaks of and strives for, but I was still shocked but how deep this wanting is. Perhaps it doesn’t help that he has so many friends from these places telling him how good it is and he feels left behind in all of it; in the whole “having-my-life-start-or-get-better” ideal. Money consumes him and the need to connect internationally as well. But he believes in hard work and not cheating his way to another country in other ways; though he sighs each day because of it; the borderline impossible for him right now because he has to live with several other families and can barely have his own place in Gisenyi. In Rwanda that is the standard and mark of a man: money to sustain a household and the means to be able to provide for a family. It is stressful to be living on the fence of two cultures and being pulled so much by both; one because it was ingrained in you and was chosen for you and the other something you painfully pursue because of where you have been and what you have seen and believe. I am familiar with this pulling as mentioned in my first reflection.

I am never sure whether people in the villages of Rwanda are happy to see “muzungu’s” (people who are not visibly African) or scowl with unease; most days this could depend on the person. In a sense, I am sheltered from the full variety of opinions and responses as those who do approach me seem to reassure me that most Rwandans don’t really discriminate in the same way segregation and racism was propagated in America. Most times I don’t doubt it as their hospitality is unprecedented and unselfish beyond words. But my experience being viewed as a foreigner has been quite different from the other girls in our group, who are mostly European or American in appearance. I am visibly Chinese, a difference lot of people and children can tell as I walk about in the village every day. I get called Chine, China, Chinois and even Jackie Chan or shouted at in Mandarin (Neehow! – which means hello) sometimes and even proposed to once (though thats for most “muzungu’s”). While my travel partners all notice the USAID logo on the tarps covering the charcoal in the market or the abundance of toys and knick-knacks with pictures of famous celebrities from Canada or America, I often see the large commercial trucks rolling in with Chinese characters on the sides or that one truck on the military base on the main strip towards town. Three thoughts interwined with conversations and stories, come to mind surrounding these instances:

1) Dambisa Moyo (author of Dead Aid) and President Kagame’s inclination towards the development of China as a model for “progress” within Rwanda has truly trickled down to the people. On a pleasant early evening walk with my host parents I asked them what people and children think about Chinese people. Up to this point, I've had many conversations about what European/muzungu means (with other Rwandans) but I never expected to be blatantly categorized as Chinois (because we are also muzungus). But somehow there is a difference. My parents told me children here just call it as it is and some of them know from movies and maybe even school the different features of a Chinese person. But for adults, their impression tends to be of positivity towards the economic prosperity and technologies of China; that "we" can make everything. At least that is what I was told. In a book called "Land of a Thousand Hills" Rosamond Carr writes of her time in Rwanda during the 20s: "As a rule, foreigners were perceived differently in Rwanda than in most African countries. Never in Rwanda have the Europeans or Asians been expelled or even harassed. At the time of Rwandan independence, leaflets were dropped from airplanes that read in Kinyarwandan: "Europeans and Asians will show us the way to economic prosperity."

2) Often when I am recognized as Chinese, many adults would yell, "NeeHow!” I've always seem to be at odds with what my culture/identity is, even in Canada. There are moments when I want to tell them that I speak Cantonese, English and French and not Mandarin. Other times, I keep walking. I am sure when they want my attention; it is less of a taunt but more of a friendly greeting. But because I was raised in Canada and had experiences of my language being laughed at or being called "chink" in a New York City bus terminal in a crude way, I’ve sided with sticking to my fluent English and my working French, to separate myself from Chinese culture; as if English and French are more refined and respected. I'm often on this cultural fence because I personally find Chinese culture rich with traditions and knowledge, expression and eloquence, but growing up mostly in an environment that never really understood that makes me choose the former option of proclaiming myself as only "Canadian", because I can. I never want to be ashamed of where I am from, but I end up always hating myself for not embracing my heritage because of the negativity I feel about people “trying” to imitate Chinese language. It is something I constantly struggle with, how much of each culture can I really adapt to?

3) But people in Rwanda, that I have met, have been fascinated with Chinese culture, sometimes asking me how to say certain words or being confused about how chopsticks are held and used. Even conversations with University students in Rwanda telling me they may study Chinese as one of their electives in school. It is the same curiosity of people who speak of learning Mandarin, because it’s the next most important language in the world, in Canada. All this possibly as a means to economic prosperity; an example that Rwanda seems to admire and strive for in terms of the progress of material goods and fast production of technology, the efficiency of businesses. Seeing this difference between myself and the other girls in the group has sometimes alienated me sometimes set me aside in the eyes of my colleagues and expected to be different too. Whereas many Europeans are approached by children pleading, "give me money", I get asked this question less, but have more adults scream greetings to me than they do. The difference is subtle but I am reminded that it is a result of a political ideology trickling down to its citizens, a yearning for "development" through economic prosperity and progress through an exemplar.

As the weeks have gone by working at UCC, I’ve gotten to know my two fifty-child classes quite well; their dynamics, the names, the teacher’s teaching styles and how each have chosen to interact with me. School has become both a source of great joy and pure laughter and also a source of frustration with myself and others. But the relationships brought out of it have been unexpected and truly unique. Far from just being greeted enthusiastically by all the children every single time we meet or they see me (including when I walk by a classroom to go to the kitchen or the washroom), my lunch time breaks walking home are spent with a group of my students walking with me, sometimes fighting for my hand to hold (even as we sweat profusely), or me supervising when they try to climb over dangerous rocks. Simply said, my walks home for lunch are never dull and are sometimes filled with short melodramas and chasing kids up and down the rocky paths. There are many moments that can never be put into words. But of one of these developments built a relationship with a kid in P1 and started with no language and just smiles, actions and intentions. This five or six year old boy, Christian, in primary one class (one of the classes I don’t teach) would always walk with me and Abigaelle (my host sister who is in middle class) home along with his younger brother Yvince (also in middle class). But one day in the afternoon I noticed Christian outside at the front of UCC (the main building/community centre part that is separate from the school) playing by himself and seemingly waiting for someone to take him home. I know he knows the way but he had stayed long after school to wait. I saw him and he waved at me with the sweetest smile and I went to ask him if he was waiting for me to go. He nodded and I immediately told my other colleagues I would be back after I walked him home. We would walk in a comfortable silence hand in hand that felt like home. Every lunch we still walk home together and we would play or say some Kinyarwandan, but usually there are no words ever needed, just to be walk and be together with his friends. It has been good because he showed me where he lived one time and brought me to meet his grandma, father and uncle and I was able to bring him home safely when he cut his toe on a rock one time. I will truly miss the easy way we can interact and the unfiltered acceptance we have for one another; something that is not usually easy to come by.

My house in Bugangalee (the region of the village I live in), like most houses there, is made completely of reinforced concrete. As the sun sets over the hills (Rubavu) that the front porch faces, the four grey walls seem to settle into a stupor of a dark cave. We have one energy-efficient light bulb that lights up the dining table and living area, hanging high so that the light spreads just enough for us to see. However, there is nothing ominous or unwelcoming about this solitary light. Rather, my family who spends each night relaxing from a longs day work and the laughter and idiosyncrasies of the children, the visitors that come over and Papa Abigaelle's loud booming voice (that is usually tinted with mirth and genuine kindness, often ending his sentences with Merci Beaucoup!), the patter of children's feet on cool concrete and that one song they like to have on with a ridiculous animation of a lion-person dancing in front of a band, that fills the house with warmth, passion, fire and plenty of light.

I've never regretted being an only child, but I remember sometimes wondering what it would be like and praying for a chance to see what that could be like. Over the years, I have found friends like sisters and brothers in Toronto who have become like family. But this time's answered prayer is of a different kind. My three Rwandan siblings, Abigaelle (4 years), Agape (2 years) and Gloria (8 months) have time and time again taught me what it means to live presently each day and to be with others every moment as if every time we meet it is a new day. I can always expect Abigaelle to run into my arms every time I come home from work, for Agape to make vroom vroom sounds when he is on my lap and we are pretending to be on a moto-car, for Gloria to want to put my fingers into her mouth or make cooing noises when amused. It softens your heart how relentlessly loving they are in every moment of everyday. I've come to get to know each one of them at different levels and interact through faces, a few words in Kinyarwandan or bonding with my host parents about how ridiculous and "foolish" (is the word they use) the kids are when they strut around sassily through the living room, dance to Kinyarwandan worship songs or make silly faces or noises for prolonged periods of time while we eat at the table at night. The energy and antics of children never seize to amaze me and keep me focusing forward and positively through each day's stories and challenges. This amazing opportunity to have siblings in Rwanda has often filled me with pure joy at the simplicity of their love and their uninhibited ways of showing affection.

Our concrete house with the four grey walls and no ceiling and one hanging bulb is never dreary, barely dark and all together pleasant; a haven after a long days work, filled with laughter or conversation, learning, singing, music, visitors and children.

Monday, June 16th, 2014

While everyday has its new surprises and really is never typical at all, here is a skeleton breakdown:
The noises of the morning that stir my thoughts and meddles with my dreams are often a mixture of my siblings running and screaming, Gloria crying, Mama pouring large gasoline-like jugs of water or Diane washing the floors, my papa listening to the Congolese news on the radio or French music, the beeping of the electricity box, and a rooster crowing every 10-15 minutes at around 6 am each day. Activity is abundant but swift and I groggily rub my half-swollen eyes to bring into focus the cascading mosquito net over me to clamour for the headphones that have shifted in my sleep (I sometimes sleep with music on) and to find my glasses beside my pillow. Time to down my vitamin pill and open my room to my animated siblings and family; always happy and ready to go in the morning. I would croak in my dry voice: Mwaramutse (good morning) and mama would respond with the same and sometimes ask me if I slept well. N'byeeza, I would croak again. Soon after she would tell me to go wash. Grabbing my towel, toothpaste, toothbrush and face cleanser I would walk myself to the small chamber (like the size of a small walk-in closet) with one hazy window at the top and kneel down to wash my face in a blue basin that mama has put some lukewarm water into just a few moments ago. I would use the water in the water bottle on the makeshift cardboard shelf on my right to brush my teeth, so much more aware of how much water I actually need to rinse my mouth (turns out only half of a standard 500 ml bottle most days). After using my toilet outside (an outhouse of sorts with thick concrete walls and a hole in the ground for the waste), I would go to my room to change and pack my journal, camera, pen and phone in my bag; locking my room behind me, I am often greeted by Agape (age 2) and Abigaelle (age 4) either waiting outside my door or eating already at our long wooden dining table. There is always tea in a thermos and a cup and teaspoon waiting for my use at the table along with slices of bread (usually also the breakfast for many tiny tiny flies), bananas, passionfruit and avocado. I settle myself down to prepare the best (yes everyday the best) avocado, banana sandwich I will ever have and on most days devour it as Abigaelle and I make faces at each other or peek out from under the table or behind the thermos. By around 7 am, we are all expecting Marta (another Intercordian from Canada) and Mama Quinn (her host mom) to be at our porch and ready to walk together to UCC school (called the House of Children). My host mom and mama quinn are both 28 years old, best friends and teach baby class together at the school; so Marta and I often walk together and talk, while our moms walk behind or in front talking as well, its a small joy I look forward to, our morning treks to the centre. Sometimes we pass through the isoko/marketplace, sometimes we take a nice serene path, but we always pass by the two churches on our way to UCC. At UCC, we often enter at the back where the nursery school building is located and are greeted by some early kids just dropped off at school by parents (some on motos/motorcycles (the "taxi" of Rwanda) and usually greeted by the always gentle Headmistress of the school at the yellow gates. Since we are always early, Marta and I would make our way to the main building to sit for a while before activities start at 8 am. We are greeted by the people of the centre as they slowly make there way in any by the regular attendees with mental and/or physical disabilities. The smiles on their faces as each person is greeted, with no one left that is not. All my mornings are spent at the nursery after 8am either in middle class or top class, each with two female teachers and about 53 children in their blue and yellow uniforms (for gym days they are red and grey); I am still learning all the kids names, but I am getting close. Most days I assist the teachers by teaching one English lesson as planned by them, simple things like recognizing the letter G or repeating the names of different animals over and over again and having the kids all yell back the repetition. For the rest of the time, I am usually writing exercises in all 52 of their notebooks for that day or later in the week. After so many weeks, I love seeing how the class dynamics for middle and top class are so different because of many factors, such as the kids, the style of teaching and the teachers (more on ishuri (school) in another post). At 10 am there is a break time where the students all have to eat the provided biscuits and tea or porridge and indazi (like a fried donut like thing, depending on the day) in disciplined peace and silence (sometimes); afterwards the get to go out and play on the metal jungle gym outside for about 10 minutes. School ends each day at noon, when all the parents come in to take their kids home for the afternoon. I walk with Abigaelle home and usually a swarm of other kids going in the same direction as us as Mama Abigaelle waits for the rest of her class to be picked up and return shortly after we finish lunch at home. Turning the corner to my house, a friendly and kind-faced old man is always lounging on his porch; we greet each other happily every afternoon; him waving enthusiastically with two hands and a big smile. After a satisfying lunch with some time to lounge or nap, I leave home alone around 1:30pm to make it back to UCC for 2pm. Afternoons are usually lax and anything could happen; from random conversations to just being with the kids and adults with disabilities watching their daily movies to singing with David in the music room, to making indazi's at the nursery kitchen, to Kinyarwandan lessons or sign-language lessons or playing volleyball with the community on Fridays or dancing. Many happenings. Work ends at 4pm, I usually tend to go to the internet on Mondays (except for the past 3 weeks) or stay around the centre talking to people or go for a walk while it is still light out with various people to learn about what they do usually after work, or I just go home. I am greeted energetically by Agape and Abigaelle, mama Abigaelle and Diane are usually at the back preparing dinner and papa Abigaelle is usually home from teaching at an all-girls school in the Congo. Sometimes I cook with them or just be in the kitchen with the kids and mama and Diane, other times they tell me to sit in the living room to watch tv or drink tea. Cooking can be a two to three hour ordeal and there are usually frites  (fried potatoes) and rice (umucyeri) because the kids like to eat those two things. We usually eat around 7:30pm to 8pm and have conversations with mama and papa or watch Fifa (recently) on our small television set with six channels. Sometimes we watch a Nigerian movie, music videos (from international artists like Celine Dion- mama really loves her voice) or the Congolese news. After dinner (another post on food and dinner time conversations) and clearing the table together, sometimes I wash the dishes with Mama and Diane or play with my siblings or papa and I teach each other languages, both whipping out our various dictionaries. Close to 9pm we all decide its time to sleep; igoro gweza we say to each other and return to our bedrooms. A time for me to relax and to think, journal, listen to music, make some crafts or just crash after a long days work.

I know I have been horrible with updating this blog, as so much has happened and not enough time for my mind to process what I  have experienced as much as I want; I have high expectations for what I want to write to you, the reader. But while I sit here in semi-darkness listening to the sounds of the Rwandan town below, I am just grateful that my time here has been so filled with all sorts of ups and downs, hills and valleys; frustrations and pure joy with myself, with others and with new friends as I have never imagined. There was no way to anticipate anything I have felt nor anyway to know how I would react. Nonetheless, I am alive and well and hoping to learn and realize even more. Without having a lot of time to tell all, here is a quick list of some important, funny, inspirational moments that have stuck with me during the first half of my adventuring: (some may be a bit vague, so please ask me when I get home for the full story...:)

-singing a worship song in Kinyarwandan with the music director at UCC
-mountains, hills, valleys, volcanoes and farms
-making Rwandan coffee from scratch
-visiting Gishwati forest and Cyhimbili region
-being called chinoise, chine, china, chine, muzungu and.... Jackie Chan!
-waking up daily to the sounds of my host siblings jumping around for a new day and roosters crowing
-the sound of rain on a tin roof and the smell of the air after
-cooking for 6 hours straight for a teacher's party
-eating bananas, bread and avocado every morning
-flying a top a safari car (in a literal sense...)
-being greeted ever so enthusiastically every single morning by school children
-peeling of a huge blister on my foot the size of a tin can lid
-being welcomed by people so fully and without reservation or expectations
-meeting lots of people all the time!
-hearing the stories of my family and my new friends
-a morning eating the best breakfast facing the glowing green hills and lake
-attending bilingual churches
-the rocky roads that I walk in every morning 
-chasing and playing with Abigaelle on our walks home for lunch
-hearing the hopes and dreams of people here
-being offered men to be married to so I could stay in Rwanda longer
-talking about culture and perspectives with people at the centre
-greeting everyone wherever I went
-being surprised by ever so many visitors at my house
-long walks, long talks
-learning an enriching language

I am hoping this would be only scattered-brain post in this blog and others hope to be more though-provoking and reflective. What I will end with in this particular post is that progress not only looks different from the ground up, but is different for every single person that lives it. Maybe development is more about searching for what is human; the instantaneous growth of a friendship or a connection, with or without language or an anticipated give and take. And the world seems beautifully bigger and grander when you are but a puddle on the ground than on the top of a mountain looking down.