Tonight is my third night living in Gisenyi, Rwanda; I’m currently sitting on the bed in my concrete-walled room under my beautiful, yet functional mosquito net. I am surprised I am awake after walking probably over fifteen kilometres on constantly rocky roads, on which I almost tripped too many times. Also that I have been so fatigue (excuse if I use French randomly...) the past three days to even journal or blog; so much as happened, I can’t even relay to myself. My feet are dusty all day, reminding me of how Jesus would walk in sandals and how the culture of His time was one of constant walking and dusty feet as well. Frankly, it feels really good to not be held to the same standards of hygiene as in Canada (although the standards here are also quite high for cleanliness, just different) and no mirrors anywhere! I barely care about my appearance or think about all those negative thoughts I always have about my body and my face and blotchy skin back home. This is my new home now as my host parents joyously told me over bowls of potatoes, beans and lots of fruit! MarakohJay (in phonetics) is the name for passionfruit there and it is simply scrumptious!
Our arrival at the Ubumwe Community Centre (UCC) was greeted by most of our host families almost dragging us out of the car to greet and hug us like grand old friends. Excited chatter in English, French and Kinyarwandan abounded as my host mom grabbed my hand and held on as she showed me around the centre’s main building and inclusive pre-school building (or House of Children) at the back. We hung around the front of the building in a classroom talking to our new families and the Rwandan volunteers there. The first we met was Jeff, then Hamza, Francine, Innocente, Christopher and finally Zachary (the man who ran the centre since he was 25 years old and who organized all our accommodations, pick-up and anything we needed). My host mama is called Mama Abigali (after her first born’s name). Jeff decided to show me around again as we waited for the rest of the girls who were in Andrew’s car that unfortunately broke down around Musanze (a town on our way to Gisenyi from Kigali). Already there for only 5 minutes and I felt such peace, contentment and comfort amongst excited jitters left over from my slight vigilance of new encounters with strangers. I could tell right away there would be lots of transparency, honesty and smiles! I quickly found out that my host mama mostly spoke French and Kinyarwandan, my mind constantly buzzing to dig out whatever broken French I had from my 8 years of French classes. Definitely not fluent but good enough to understand and be understood; for that I was grateful and also surprised by how much I did remember!
Our arrival at the Ubumwe Community Centre (UCC) was greeted by most of our host families almost dragging us out of the car to greet and hug us like grand old friends. Excited chatter in English, French and Kinyarwandan abounded as my host mom grabbed my hand and held on as she showed me around the centre’s main building and inclusive pre-school building (or House of Children) at the back. We hung around the front of the building in a classroom talking to our new families and the Rwandan volunteers there. The first we met was Jeff, then Hamza, Francine, Innocente, Christopher and finally Zachary (the man who ran the centre since he was 25 years old and who organized all our accommodations, pick-up and anything we needed). My host mama is called Mama Abigali (after her first born’s name). Jeff decided to show me around again as we waited for the rest of the girls who were in Andrew’s car that unfortunately broke down around Musanze (a town on our way to Gisenyi from Kigali). Already there for only 5 minutes and I felt such peace, contentment and comfort amongst excited jitters left over from my slight vigilance of new encounters with strangers. I could tell right away there would be lots of transparency, honesty and smiles! I quickly found out that my host mama mostly spoke French and Kinyarwandan, my mind constantly buzzing to dig out whatever broken French I had from my 8 years of French classes. Definitely not fluent but good enough to understand and be understood; for that I was grateful and also surprised by how much I did remember!