Taking A Bearing: Inform and Rethink

"But you've probably heard about the conflict in the Congo."
"No. What's going on the Congo?"
Lately I've been assuming that everyone's aware of the mess going down in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, our neighbors, because its so everyday for us here but am realizing more and more that maybe its not getting much play in the United States of Ay, so I put a link for people to check it out! It's getting really bad. And doctors are getting deeply concerned about a possible epidemic of cholera in IDP camps. Cholera. I swore we had eliminated that with Polio. The victims can't come back to Rwanda because they're probably wanted by the Rwandan government. Genocide complicity. It's really bizarre to be four hours away from a war and still feel isolated from its sting.
http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2008/11/200811121854913189.html
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Questions I appreciate and am think-thinking over:

• Is poverty a virtue? Or do we fail to take into account its dynamism?
• In what ways do I create stipulations in my daily life about how much I will give or do? Is that okay to do sometimes?
• What is my perspective of my position: Do I have, so I give in order to create restoration? Or do I have nothing and participate in communal restoration?
• When children are begging or singing for money, what do you do??
• If I'm honest, am I about issues or people?
• How can we discern the heart of our actions?
• What are some examples of how the inequality of the world has been made personal for me?
• Do I let the existence of inequality change me?
• What is rich?
• Does being materially rich = blessing?
• What does the Word say about who is rich and who is poor?
• What does it mean to renounce all we possess? What do you make of this condition of discipleship? Was Jesus literally serious or symbolically serious? Is it more about obedience? What should push us to respond? What does obedience look like?
• What do I consider to be the evidence of God's favor?
• Ownership. Would we have resource problems if we rethought what ownership is or rethought its value? Is equality more about membership?
• It is easy to interpret poverty from the premise that they are the ones with the needs; whereas I have need of nothing. Are there areas of wretchedness and blindness where God is pointing out our own poverty?

Being here has warped everything I once believed about "rich", "poor", "development", "compassion" and "discipleship". I don't have answers but am learning to ask better questions.
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We do have fun too! We went to Kivu Lake in Kibuye for holiday and slept on the comfiest beds in East Africa. I rolled over in the middle of the night and smiled, they were so soft. I had really good, brilliant conversations with Hazel, Allison and Kirsten. I took the complimentary soap before Hazel could steal it from me. The next day we climbed Bat island. I'm so out of shape! I thought I was, no joke, going to pass out but I made it. And got sweet pictures of 236643928374659383621 bats. No one, however, got any pictures of Kyle's speedo. We don't want to talk about it.

Rejoicing and Mourning

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn."

Romans twelve, verse fifteen.

The phone rang and the news was in. Obama was winning. He was winning! I felt a bit overwhelmed and slack-jawed. This was really happening. The man was going to win! I was so happy for him and confused about what in the world (!) was going on. Here I am in Rwanda watching the election of the century on the BBC, talking on the phone with LA. It was all too much to take. McCain gave the best speech that I've ever heard and Obama spoke with hope and honesty about how these next years were going to go. He couldn't make change alone. It was going to be long, hard, and necessary for the cooperation of the American people to achieve it. I wanted a flag or something. BBC cut to a shot of Kenyans celebrating and I FINALLY had an understanding of what African partying was like. I hoped Rwanda would break out the drums soon. Kenya was declaring a public holiday. The apocalyptic facebook statuses were hilarious. Holy crap. I could feel the paradigm shift on that couch and the whole world celebrating. Oyee! Oyee!
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I sat where a frightened person once sat. Sitting on the edge of a low, wooden pew in Nyamata sanctuary, I was trying to take everything in. A church. People had fled to this church for safety. In 1992, before the official genocide, muhutus practiced genocidal behavior by killing 600 of mututsis of Nyamata village. People fleed towards the church and the Interhamwe left them alone. Holy ground or something. Two years later, the Genocide began and people fled for the lives to Nyamata church and barricaded the doors. The Interhamwe came with machetes and tried to break in but couldn't, the refugees inside promising to defend themselves.
It was quiet in there. There were piles of clothes on every one of the pews beside me, in front of me, around me, and layered around the altar. People wore these clothes once--bled in them--died in them. Piles and piles of clothes lay moldy, brown, and decaying. The smell in the room was strong and acrid. This wasn't as sterile and pretty as the memorial in Kigali.
The Interhamwe couldn't break through but then the army showed up. With grenades and artillery, they shot into the church and watched the people inside fall one by one. The resistance stopped and they broke in, finishing the women, children, and men with machetes. Machetes created more suffering than bullets. The sanctuary was brimming to capacity:10,104 people. Not one survived. Not one. Bullet holes scarred the baptismal fount and the display of skulls, femurs, and other bones awaited downstairs and in the tombs. You could see the blunt trauma of a sharp object in these bones that were once people. Mother Mary looked down over the altar and clothes, praying. I wasn't sure if it seemed mocking or intercessional. In the house of God...for goodness sake. Where I was sitting, someone sat begging for their life; and no one answered. Sometimes faith hangs from a very fine string.

I couldn't stand to take a picture. Not in there. So I took someone else's picture, on someone else's blog to give you an idea. It was just awful. I feel like some of my innocence has been taken away. It was a big day today.

Genocide Memorial

Irene Umutoni & Uwamwezi

Age: 6 & 7
Relationship: sisters
Favorite Toy: a doll they shared
Favorite Food: Fresh fruit
Behavior: daddy's girl
Cause of death:
a grenade thrown in their shower.

"When they said 'never again' after the Holocaust,

was it meant for some people and not for others?"

-Apollon Kabahizi

:sigh: The sin of omission and the capability of humans is too much to bear....

Rwanda--we're sorry we didn't know what to do. We're sorry that we probably would have made it worse. We're sorry that you few survivors lived in fear for 65 days and will mourn and distrust for the rest of your lives. We're sorry we didn't call it what it was.

a massacre.

Atrocity.

Genocide.

We called it a civil war and waited for it to work itself out.

Rwanda, we're so sorry.

"Adventures in Getting the Point" or "Manifesto"

I love being in Rwanda. I look like everyone else.

"There's a definition of a word and it states that, um, a word is composed of two parts: and that's reflection and action. So that means if one part is sacrificed then the other suffers as well. So I'm sure to tell the students in my writing classes, that, um, we must be mindful of the words that flow from our mouths. And we should also be concerned about how they come out. You know, we talk about things like compassion...."
Compassion.
I think I've talked about compassion until I was blue in the face, but I didn't even understand what the word meant. Naturally, humans see themselves as compassionate because, honestly, who wants to say they're not (?) but often times what we're really talking about is kindness. Compassion and kindness are not the same thing. I didn't understand. Kindness is to pull those who are down up to where you are. Compassion is the shifting of one's inner bowels to tremble with the mourning of others. Compassion is being down and staying down to bring all up. Ugh. That is different.
Tons of people in Kigali are built just like me, facial structure similar. Wasn't the problem invisibility on your practicum? Didn't you want to be seen? Didn't you want to remember that you were somebody? Yeah, it definitely was hard for this little girl from nowhere, California, studying in nowhere, Indiana, with a skin color setting her back from birth, trying become to my family's dream. A somebody seen. But moreover, my problem was that I was trying to live my life for myself. Practicum was debilitating because no one was clapping for me.
It's simply amazing how insiduous pride is.
I wanted development and poverty to become names for myself, to validate my existence, and be known for what I did to alleviate it. It would be sweet if I was the next black Shane Claiborne female. (laughs) But I didn't know that trying to make my life as exciting and interesting as possible was killing my compassion in a field where this should be non-negotiable. I was wearing skills of research and education about social problems that I didn't even have on my shoulders. I couldn't feel for anyone else because I was spending too much of my time trying to be special.
This is what practicum taught me: I don't know anything. I thought I did but I don't. I don't have very much capability. I thought I did but I don't. Development and poverty are very very very hard. Joy for ones work and helping to alleviate poverty does not come from seeing results. People work their whole lives for the smallest difference, long after relatives have stopped liking what they do or praise their efforts. Often times, people stay just as sad, poor, sick, and miserable even after all our attempts. So is it worth it? Is development worth it? It is if you're not trying to be acclaimed. It is if something more than youthful idealism drives you. Youth is fleeting. It is if you believe something bigger will complete it. Gratitude pushes much more than title.
I no longer want to do this because I think I'll be someone or that I'll move mountains (uh. that's stupid) but because I want to thank God for the compassion she's shown to me by asking for some of hers. She can move far more mountains. I want to make sure I keep moving from comfort and the tempting ordinariness of "proper life", not to surround myself with misery or being creepily masochistic, but because I believe God is there waiting to show me what He means by all this existence business and pushing me to feel this way. Nowhere is somewhere. Voluntary displacement helps me remember that I don't have it all together and that in community of poverty, I experience our true condition. Messed up. And that's giving up that job, that title, that applause, that rat race for something better. Right, hidden and compassionate. Not interesting.

"As long as our primary concern in life is to be interesting and thus worthy of special attention, compassion cannot manifest itself. Therefore, the movement of compassion always starts by gaining distance from the world that wants to make us objects of interest." -Henri Nouwen.
If I become small, I can feel a pain of a population that I couldn't before. I'm beginning to know who I am. I have a face that matters: broke backs of field workers and silent victims of past, present and future.
I love being in Rwanda. I look like everyone else.

Tie your children to your backs.

Write your sponsor kids many letters. It makes a difference to them.

The Story about the Circumcision and Other Tales (I have to catch up on)

I don't know why blogging has been so DAUNTING for me. I have started and stopped this blog four times already, for real. You don't even want to know what a disaster trying to make a photo blog was. I will defeat you, back log!

Circumcision
It was my day in Bufukhula (buh-ffoo-hoo-la) village and at the end of my it, during a sponsor child home visit, drums could be heard in the distance. "A CIRCUMSICION! Would you like to see it?!?" A circumsicision? These are really big deals in African culture. My book said to attend a cultural function! At least it wasn't a female one. Uh.....sure, Paul! I climbed on his boda and we drove down the road where the crowds were gathering. It seemed like the whole African village was gathered, hoisting their sticks in the air, pounding drums, crawling slowly on bicycles down a narrow, rural road. Our boda and my accent stuck out like a....something that sticks out. Oh my god, I'm on my way to a circumcision.

Passing hut after hut, women were running in the brush in front of us, shaking their hips, gearing up for the party. A circumcision in Africa is a really just a big party. I wished I had those dance skills. Finally after an hour of riding with the mob, the mob broke into a sprint toward some large hut to receive the candidate. "The boy is 17, 18. Around there! The circumcisor comes and cuts. Without any injection. That would compromise his manhood," Paul beamed. I cannot believe I am at a circumsicision.

I couldn't get into the crowd to see the moment, but Paul squeezed in there and got pictures. "You MISSED! YOU MISSED! This is the boy. This is knife. This is the pain." Paul was SO proud to narrate it all to me. My grimace was becoming too hilarious to everyone, but I was excited with everyone else. No one parties the way Africans do. Finally it was time to go--i felt I had see enough--when Paul asked me if I wanted to "see him". Well, yeah. I'd like to see his face. But I didn't realize that Paul meant more than a portrait shot. He talked to the crowd of men around the boy in Liguisu and the crowd parted like the red sea. Oh god. I stepped forward, feeling the weight of my presence as (1) the only female and (2) a foreigner, and as I walked closer, the stone-faced boy opened his sheet. "They want to know if you can send the photo!" I nodded slowly, holding my forehead. Paul, they could have the one burned in my head too. The boy was so brave.

Foreigner

A man was staring at me really hard. "Hello. How are you?"

He walked closer to me and gave me a quizzical look that I found hilarious. I tried not to laugh too much.

"You're not....You're not.....African........." No, no. I'm not. I'm American.

"Obamamerican! A sister to Obama!?!?"

-sigh-. I've never had my ethnicity synomous to a person as much as I have had here in Africa [I'm really not even sure that clause was correct], but I've been associated with worse things. (^_^) shrug. Obama Oyee!

Sophie

There was a beautiful orphan sponsor girl that had seemingly been lost in the Child Development system. Social workers had been so busy and she had been moved around so much that no one even knew what school she was at now. When Livingston and I interacted w/ her in the principal's office, we couldn't get her to smile. Outside, I tried everything and she wouldn't break out of her shell. She seemed so morose but I loved her. I loved her with a love I just didn't understand. I wanted to honor her with everything that I had. I loved Sophie. And still can't explain why she's in my mind still.

Safari

A family of elephants chose to station themselves outside of the hostel guesthouse we were watching a movie in. A few wild screams later and surveying of the porch, a mother elephant ended up fake-charging three of our team members. That's what you get for intimidating a mother elephant's baby. Oh yeah, and Kyle jump kicked a scarab beetle as large as a frog.

and now we're in Rwanda! I'll post more about my overall experience of practicum today or tomorrow.

(Untitled)

The laughter of African children rings like bells and chimes.

Conflict Theorist

[Electricity sputters and goes out]
[Darkness]

Meghan + me: "Ohhhhhh Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
Me: "You're kidding."
Meghan: "Noooo way!"
Me: "You are being unserious right now!"

We're alive! I haven't been able to blog or do anything in the electronic sense because FH-Mbale has been experiencing a black out for a week and a half. The sketchy thing isn't that you never know when they'll be a bit of electricity, but you never know when the water will shut off. There is this uncanny connection between the power and the water source. And sometimes they play games. No power, water. No water, power. But mostly it's been the lesser scenario for a bit now. When there's no water and power, Meghan and huddle around our candles trying to figure out if we want to brave the toilet (that won't flush) that has bugs living in it or if we should use the latrine (where our aim is bad). Or try to figure out when will be the next time we'll be able to take a bucket bath since these are the only kind to take here; but if there's no water how can we take them? Or wash our faces?

Candles are becoming familiar.

I don't have enough time to go on and on but I promise I'll fill you in when I get to Rwanda.

African Names: Meghan--Nashisa (the one who is merciful). Roe--Muyeti (the one who is helpful).
Community Assessment progress: frustrating
Challenges: slow concept of time, efficiency and miscommunication with key informants.
FH-Mbale CDP: doing really great things for their sponsored children.
Praises: Child sponsorship is making a big difference in the lives of parents and children. Last Christmas, every sponsored child received a goat.
Concerns: There are only a small number of sponsored children in the scheme of things. The children who are not sponsored feel bitter and unloved that they are not in the program. Are not provided lunch like the sponsored children and have a higher probability to drop out of school at P7 (11-12 years old). Teachers are concerned for the well-being of the unsponsored.
Next on Research Agenda: Maybe Public forum with Makhai (Muh-hye) church. Emphasis on maybe, since nothing ever really works out the way you want it to, ahahahahah.

Our office attendant, Vicki, is amazing. Every day we thank our stars for our new friend. And? She's a freaking outstanding cook. Nigerian Films are..................interesting.

I had a really bad day a few days ago, but I'm feeling much better. This practicum is beating me up, but without conflict there is no growth. I can't get better if I'm not thrown down, humbled, and made to realize my pre-conceptions are not as true as I think they are. In the really hard times, I wondered "UGH. Why didn't I just stay back in the states and do something practical. Why can't I just live a life of comfort and apathy where things never get hard? What am I doing here?"

But then a friend spoke comfort into the dark:

"We have to hope that God respects our struggle to follow his/her will."

I'm hopin'.


-Muyeti