If This Isn't Nice, I Don't Know What Is

Author: Levi Rokey

My First 16 Months as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Rwanda
Following are a list of reflections and ruminations that have entered my noggin throughout 2019, presented in no particular order, but covering a wide range of topics on philosophy, culture, and the meaning of this life we live.

It’s my attempt at unpacking my stream of consciousness in this life.

On integrating as a Peace Corps Volunteer…

You aren’t going to befriend every person in your village nor every teacher at your school. Would you do the same moving into a new town and a new job in America?

I think not. Mainly because it’s impossible. Therefore, don’t be hard on yourself when you can’t recall a person’s name whom you spoke to once three weeks ago or even yesterday. Or a colleague whom you speak to rarely. Today, I had a slight sense of deliverance in the knowledge that my co-teacher couldn’t recall the name of his primary teacher colleague who had worked at the school for years.

Make friends, yes, but make lasting friendships. Superficialities shan’t win the day for effective integration, whether here, or anywhere.

My English counterparts and I last year. Pay no attention to my “business in the front, party in the back” hair.

Trying to learn Kinyarwanda by talking to children in your village may be less humiliating for your pride, but they are children.

They are also learning to speak. Often, what they are attempting to say will make no sense whatsoever.

Why do Rwandans laugh so much when I speak Kinyarwanda?

I’m told it’s because they are surprised and happy that a umuzungu can speak their language, but perhaps that’s only the polite response to their chuckles…

Habarurema Jackson teaching me Kinyarwanda with the utmost patience.

You will have time on your hands.

You will get lonely. You will get bored. You cannot fight or change this, but what you can do is use this time you have wisely, for self-care when needed. When you get back to America you may not get an opportunity like this again. So read all the books you never had time to read. Binge-watch all those shows you’ve been told are amazing (within reason). Learn a new hobby.

For me, after one year in service, this time has led me to:
- - Watch way too many different TV shows. I had a strict rule of only sticking to a certain number of total shows (since we all know how much good content is available right now). That rule was broken all too often last year.
  - Read at least one book every month. At least that was the plan. ‘Peak TV‘ has made this harder. PCVs always share the latest TV shows with each other via external hard drives, so even if you can’t access good internet, you can always get the good stuff. Saying that I highly recommend anything written by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, especially ‘Half of a Yellow Sun‘ and ‘Americanah‘.
  - Practice gardening vegetables directly from seed and then obtaining seeds from those same veggies further on in the season. I’ve also learned what can and cannot be grown here in the Northern Province and I’ve had the pleasure of sharing the bounty and surplus of my harvest with friends and colleagues in my community.
  - Playing guitar again, which admittedly has been much harder to make a habit than almost anything else here.
  - Writing for this blog, which I’ve found tends to bring me great joy when I’m satisfied with the final product, but it also lends itself to procrastination. Infinite procrastination.
On teaching English…

You will have bad days and good days. But I promise you, by the grace of your god (or lack thereof), those good days will far outweigh the bad ones.

When you see a student stand up and stumble through some English in class, it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect, because that student is trying their best. And the smile on their face when you let them know that?

Well, it’s priceless.

At the end of your service, if you think you’ve accomplished nothing at all, just remember those moments. Remember that you have helped mold hundreds of young lives for the better.

A school meeting preparing students to march in remembrance of the Genocide Against the Tutsi. I was teaching adverbs of frequency at the time and had my students repeat “Never Again” and how important those words are.

On Rwanda…

The fruits and vegetables are so fresh.

Imagine. Every fruit or vegetable you chop or cook or consume has been immediately harvested withing hours. That is Rwanda.

If you have to take a minibus/twege to move around the country, always try to sit in the front passenger seat. Always.

An express bus?

Never sit in the last row (the bench seat doesn’t lean back at all), nor the middle row of aisle seats (mostly broken and you’re always getting up to let people thru), nor any seats where the wheel well takes away your leg space.

No one in Rwanda knows how to use Google Maps or what the street names are in Kigali.

It can stretch one’s patience rather thin. Listening to how directions are actually given by Rwandans is extremely intriguing and also confusing. It’s all about the landmarks, even if to me most of the landmarks look relatively similar and involve boutiques or buildings with advertising for Airtel, Mutzig, MTN, Primus, or SKOL.

The weather is perfect here, period.

There is something to be said for changing seasons and what that means about where you are in life and your present year. Here it’s just a long/short rainy season or a long/short dry season with an otherwise perfectly temperate climate.

In Peace Corps Rwanda, riding a motorcycle on paved surfaces or anywhere in Kigali is not allowed.

It’s a ‘no-no’ of the highest order. It’s considered illegal. It gets you kicked out and sent back to America immediately. So whenever I happen to be walking around Kigali or my regional town and motos see this tall, lanky umuzungu, they swarm like bees to get my attention and business. Or they hover and attack like vultures when not in packs. They swoop right in front of you on the sidewalk to get your attention (I find this action especially infuriating). Expect this to be the norm if you are in Kigali or a regional town. Note: I do not fault them for their actions, they are just trying to do their job. Except for the sidewalk swoop. That I quite disdain.

Rwandans dress SMART.

I used to think that was a silly way of describing in English a person who dresses well, but here it’s culturally important that the clothes you wear (and especially your shoes) always look clean. That means shoes always look brand new. The while soles of sneakers gleam and the browns and blacks of dress shoes shine with polish. On a day with neverending rain and muddy roads, you will marvel at the dance moves that must be required to arrive at work looking spotless.

Dressing SMART also means stylin’ and if you spend ten minutes walking in Kigali you’ll understand what I mean. This applies to the villages too, but the styles are more traditional. Americans, for the most part, are slobs in comparison.

My friends and colleagues, Jackson and Jereminatha looking fly in matching igitenge.

Plastic bar chairs are the La-Z-Boy of furniture.

They are more comfortable than any other chair made in Rwanda. Period.

Rwandans are never alone.

Even when they are sleeping. Oftentimes that specifically is due to the necessity of needing to share a bed, but for the most part, being introverted is not considered the most normal of personalities.

If it’s raining in the village, nothing is going to get done.

With most roads consisting of hard-packed stones and dirt, foot travel is a no-go. Even if you have an umbrella and coat, your pants and shoes will get dirty (bad culture).

For instance, today I was supposed to meet my co-teacher at her house to lesson plan, but due to a thunderstorm, I can’t go anywhere at the moment. And I don’t need to inform her I will be late because that’s already implied. You just don’t walk outside when it’s raining. It’s an unwritten rule. Unless it’s an emergency.

In addition, the majority of houses and schools have tin roofs, so hearing anything other than the rain pounding that roof is next to impossible when inside. So even if I theoretically and heroically attempted to reach her house, we wouldn’t be able to do much. And I’d end up with shoes/pants that need to be washed.

The doomed fate of such heroics was learned in my second week of teaching last year when I ran to class in the rain attempting to teach. And what an attempt it was. Nothing was accomplished.

After traveling to South Africa and Zanzibar during my school break…

When is ignorance bliss?

I’ll tell you. It’s knowing what the developed world has and you yourself cannot afford, no matter how hard you work. The knowledge of all those luxuries leaves one wanting.
January 29, 2020
Guest Post: A Tour of Rwanda’s Nature and Culture– A PCV Shares the Country He’s Serving

I recently had the chance to visit my good friend Levi Rokey in Rwanda, where he is serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer teaching English. Rwanda was not a country that was on my list of places to visit beforehand. However, it turned out to be one of the best travel experiences I have had, providing a real chance to interact with the local culture in a way that can be quite difficult without knowing someone. The country’s friendly people, great natural beauty, pleasant climate, and safety all made it a perfect introduction to Africa.

The trip started off on something of a rough note, as an airline error caused me to nearly miss my flight into Rwanda- I had to spend hours arguing to get on board and wasn’t sure I would actually get to travel until my plane took off- and then the airline lost my check-in bag. I arrived in Kigali tired, stressed, and without a clean pair of clothes to change into. Nevertheless, with travel things don’t always go the way you want them to, and you have to adjust. So, I ended up spending my first day with a far more authentic cultural experience than I expected early, going to the local market to haggle for a new pair of clothes. Levi, who was taking care of some Peace Corps errands, texted me some advice on the haggling, and I managed to get a new set, saving 10,000 RWF in the process.

Already, Rwanda had shown itself to be a wise choice due to its safety. In so many other developing countries of the world, it would not at all be safe for an obvious foreigner who did not know the country’s language to walk alone into a locals market and start buying things with cash. Rwanda lived up to its reputation on safety, and at no point did I feel threatened. In contrast to many other countries I have been to, nobody walked up to me trying to scam me. When I handed over my cash to get change, they gave me back the full amount and didn’t try to rip me off. Levi had told me about Rwandan’s honesty and commitment to order, and this proved to be the case. This market trip ending up saving the Rwandan vacation, since my bag would not arrive until days later- meaning I would only have the clothes I flew in with which were unsuitable for any kind of long-distance walking, along with the clothes that I bought.

After a nap, I met up with Levi for drinks at the Inema Art Center, one of Kigali’s hottest nightlife spots where you can grab drinks and admire some pretty cool art. It had a lot of modern art using many bright colors- my favorite was the psychedelic looking neon elephant.

Inema Arts Center

After chilling with Levi over some Rwandan craft beers, we met his Rwandan co-teacher Jackson at an Indian restaurant in Kigali. Levi was quite fond of his co-teacher and wanted to show his appreciation by treating him to a cuisine that he hadn’t eaten before.

The Indian restaurant was delicious, but the real highlight of the evening was getting to meet Jackson. It’s something of a cliché among travel junkies to say you like meeting people in a country and having experienced more than just monuments and museums, but the reality is, that is often easier said than done. Most of the time, the locals in a country are busy with their own lives and have better things to do than talk to tourists, but because Levi had actual connections, I was introduced to many Rwandans who I could have real conversations with. Jackson was a cool guy to talk to, very funny and personable. Jackson talked about his background and his goals, and it gave me a good sense of how this Rwandan viewed the world- and to me hearing people from very different backgrounds show their point of view is one of my favorite things- it’s a way of getting to really see a different slice of life- and how life is similar and different in different countries. I heard Levi and Jackson talk about their school and some educational strategies- their passion and commitment to their work was quite clear. I really got a sense from how Jackson valued Levi’s input, that Levi was really adding value and was a respected member of his educational team.

Khana Khazana Kiyovu

The next day we set off in an express bus to Levi’s village. Getting off the beaten path is also somewhat of a cliché among travelers, but this was really that. We went to a regional town and then had a taxi drive us to his remote northern village. Being far away from everything, it was a chance to see an unfiltered view of rural Rwandan life. I saw how valued Levi was in his community by how excited the people there were to see him.

I got to meet many different people Levi introduced me to, and I chatted with those that could speak English. I met Jackson’s wife, and she took us on a hike around the area. The landscape was green and beautiful, and we had several sights of the local farmers working in their fields. The air was clean and fresh, and it was one of the better mountain hikes I had done.

We finished off the day at the local village bar, where I dined on Rwanda’s specialty, goat brochettes, essentially meat kebabs. Tasty, filling, and delicious, it provided a hearty meal that was perfect for finishing a long physical day- I can confirm that Rwandan cuisine will make any meat lover a happy person. We got more interaction there, as a local came up to talk to us, and he chatted with us about his life in the village. I talked about how beautiful Rwanda was and how I was grateful to be there. I went back to crash at Levi’s place, but not before sharing a banana beer with him- a unique drink which I very much enjoyed.

The next day, we got another authentic local experience taking motorcycle taxis out of his village. In Rwanda, moto-taxis are often the cheapest and fastest way of getting anywhere. Taking the motorcycles along the hilly mud roads of rural Rwanda was something of a thrill ride in and of itself, like a roller coast ride through some gorgeous scenery. The motorcycles dropped us off in a local town, and from there we went on a hike to meet another of Levi’s co-teachers. We were now far away from any place where there would be any foreigners, so we received a lot of interest from everyone nearby. Huge crowds of children gathered around to say hi. I have traveled to many remote places, but nowhere else do I remember receiving such curiosity for being a foreigner.

We hiked through the mountain pass to get there, passing more amazing views, including the deep blue Lake Burera. Rwandans would stop and say hello to us along the way. I took the opportunity to learn some of Kinyarwanda from Levi- there would only be so much I could learn, but I learned how to say “hello”, “how are you”, “my name is”, along with a couple other phrases so I could have something to say to all Rwandans who ran up to us.

Lake Burera

We then met Levi’s other co-teacher, Bazarama, who brought us into his home. We met his family, who seemed happy to have the chance to welcome a couple of foreigners. We laughed, joked around, and got to see his newborn calf. The family treated us to a couple different types of Rwandan bread. While I usually try to limit carbs, this bread was well worth it, one slightly sweet (irindazi) and another with a more earthy taste (imbada), both unique and delicious.

We proceeded to the town of Musanze, which would be our base for exploring Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda’s top tourist attraction. We had a dinner of fried pork (akabenz) which was quite tasty.

The next day, we went to Volcanoes National Park, starting off by seeing the golden monkeys. These monkeys were cute and adorable, but what really made it awesome was how close we could get. Before arriving in Rwanda, I was in Kruger National Park in South Africa, where you could only see animals from your car. Here, you could walk right among the monkeys. The monkeys didn’t mind us at all, and many times they were only a couple feet from us. The monkeys ran around us, wrestled with each other, played, ran from tree to tree- it was too adorable for words. I didn’t think it was possible to have such an up-close experience with wild animals. The golden monkeys were quite beautiful, and I was glad to see them.

Golden Monkeys

That afternoon, we got a nice tour of a local cave system that was formed by the lava for which Volcanoes National Park is named. The caves were deep and impressive, having an eerie otherworldly beauty. We saw a bunch of bats flying around, which was also quite cool.

Musanze Caves

Our final activity was the most challenging hike I had ever done outside of the Himalayas, climbing Mt. Bisoke. At 12,175 feet, the mountain which is at the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo is one of the highest points in the country. Due to the location, we had a contingent of Rwandan army soldiers with us to make sure we were safe.

Before climbing Mount Bisoke

While it would have been challenging on any day, it was extremely hard because this was the long rainy season and the mud was almost up to our knees. We had to climb up for nearly four hours, powering our way through deep, thick mud.

The mud slowed us down, to the point where our guide warned us that we weren’t going to make it the top. I’m extremely reluctant to fail at any hike, so I turned on the gas and started speeding up, walking up with the Rwandan soldiers. Our guide allowed those of us in our group who were faster to split ahead so that we could get to the summit. Going at a near-run pace at a 45-degree angle, where I frequently had to scramble and pull myself up with my hands, all through deep mud, was tough indeed. But it was worth it and I kept pace with the soldier at the head of our group- I impressed them as they cheered me and called me “Commando”.

After what seemed like forever, Levi, me, and one other hiker reached the top.

The view was glorious, with a beautiful crater lake at the center of the volcano. It was all the more rewarding because of how hard it was.

After climbing Mount Bisoke

We celebrated that night with a true Rwandan specialty, a whole fried tilapia fish. We ate it with our hands, and I can say without reservation it was one of the best fish I have had in my life.

Fried tilapia

Finally, it was time to head back to Kigali so I could catch my flight. Along the way, I stopped by the Kigali Genocide Memorial, the local museum to remember the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi. I won’t say too much about it, other than that it was one of the rawest and brutal things I have seen. The displays that the museum had really brought to life the cruelty and suffering caused by this event, and I left the museum somewhat shaken. Trying to process what I saw at the museum- I compared the horrors I had seen with the beautiful, friendly, and optimistic country I had visited over the last week. Trying to keep a positive view, I realized that it was an incredible testament to Rwanda’s resilience that it had made so much progress since the horrors of 25 years ago.

I finished my visit by treating Levi to lunch at one of Kigali’s best restaurants, where we discussed what had happened 25 years ago to where Rwandans are today. The upscale restaurant, with its very high-end African food, was another example of the progress Rwanda was making as a country. I’m glad I saw the memorial, but I’m also grateful I saw it after seeing what a beautiful, friendly and kind country Rwanda is so that I could put it all in context. I really liked Rwanda and wish it the best for its future development. I suppose the progress it has made shows that even from the lowest horrors, things can always improve.

To summarize, Rwanda was an incredible place. If you are serious about wanting a true African cultural experience, Rwanda provides just that. If you know any Peace Corps Volunteers and they are willing to have you as a guest, visiting them gives you an unparalleled chance to connect with a country’s culture.

It was great to see my friend Levi, and I was proud to see how he clearly was making such a positive impact with his work and giving off a good impression of America to the world at a time when our image as Americans is being challenged. Many thanks to him for giving me such an incredible experience getting to know Rwanda.

-Thomas Maloney

December 13, 2019
‘The Umuzungu Price’ / ‘Making it Rain Inzogas’

Before diving into this small rant of a post, it should be noted that the following words were penned shortly after moving to my current site. My Kinyarwanda wasn’t the best, my patience was wearing thin from constantly being asked for free things from people I had just met, and my frustration was high because host country nationals (HCNs) were trying to charge me outrageous prices for foodstuffs and housing items because I was a foreigner.

As to why this hasn’t been posted until now?

Great question…

The truth is pure procrastination. Every time my Google calendar appointment came up to edit and post this, I just kept rescheduling and bumping the task back, for almost nine months.

I try to make it a point of walking around my village every day to meet others and better integrate into my community. All too often, someone asks me for money, or, more frequently, for inzoga (beer). I’m not setting a precedent early on that I’m made of money, nor am I going to ‘make it rain inzoga’ for everyone.

Recently, in attempting to board a mini-bus from Byumba back to my village, I was carrying three packages from friends and family in America. One rather large box, a behemoth if you will, a medium-sized box, and a smaller, Amazon-sized box. Upon arriving at the bus, I was told by the bus operator it would cost me 3,500 RWF (roughly $4). Now, I knew that it usually costs 1,200 RWF/person for this trip. Granted, I had the equivalent of another person with me, but that price still made no sense. Despite this, I was tired and nodded at the man’s asking price. My packages and I were then crammed like sardines into the mini-bus.

As the bus bounced up and down the steep terrain towards my mountainous corner of Rwanda, I started a conversation with the man crammed next to me and I knew the operator was charging me the umuzungu (white foreigner) price. I tried my best to form and memorize the Kinyarwanda words necessary to negotiate the previous rate I had been given.

Upon arrival, I gathered my packages and informed the bus operator that 1) his price was too high and 2) I wanted to pay 2,500 RWF only. I pointed to myself and said, “Umuntu umwe” (one person) and I pointed to the stack of packages and said, “Umuntu umwe kandi” (one person too). “Rero, kubera iki urashaka 3,500 RWF?” (So, why do you want 3,500). After a bit of shouting, bargaining, and the help of locals telling the bus operator that it was unfair, he agreed to 2,500 RWF.

The whole experience had me rather flustered and due to my limited Kinyarwanda skills, I was a bit shaken up and just wanted to get home. But my house was still a 15-minute walk away and I had three packages of tow. I then bargained down with a local moto driver from 800 RWF to 500 RWF to help take my packages to my home. He acquiesced after a local man helped me again. Mind you, this was the same local man in the past that would very loudly point at me and yell “UMUZUNGU.” The previous Saturday, I approached him and we had a conversation. He now knows my name, doesn’t call me an umuzungu, and in this instance, he was quite helpful.

ASIDE: The man’s name is Félicie (FEH-LEE-SEE). He still calls me umuzungu to this day. Probably because he’s ornery, obnoxious and slightly crazy. In return, I pronounce his name Felicia. Which, to be honest, based on the way he had me spell his name, it is indeed feminine. It’s a little song and dance of wordplay we use every time we see each other. We are friends and I have met his father. To me, he will always be my Felicia. ASIDE OVER.

This story isn’t over. Arriving at my home, I realized I had no food for lunch. So I walked to the local boutique only to have a young woman I’d never met try to sell me a kilo of tomatoes at twice the price.

I told her, “Ni menshi! Gabanya.” (It is expensive! Reduce.).

She smiled and continued to pretend 800 RWF/kilo was acceptable when I knew 400 RWF/kilo was the rate.

I went to another boutique and asked what the price should be, just to confirm. Then I returned and told her, “Ndashaka kwishyura 400 RWF gusa ku kilo. Nibyiza.” (I want to pay 400/kilo only. It is good). She grinned sheepishly and agreed.

What’s the moral of the story?

Make sure you’re not paying the umuzungu price. I’ve found it to be usually double what other locals pay. And it’s unacceptable.

After re-reading my words above, this story could be reflected upon now as one of integration and, at the time, ignorance. In hindsight, some critical thinking helps lead me to certain realizations.

Most obvious, an umuzungu carrying three large packages must have money. Most Rwandans I’ve spoken with do not utilize the post office, nor do they receive large packages full of goods from abroad. Of course, I would be perceived as being rich in that context.

While I am a volunteer that has been invited here by the Rwandan government to help teachers, students, and the community learn and speak Engish well, to local villagers, I do have a lot of money and comparatively, it’s true. Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) English teachers in Rwanda make the equivalent monthly salary of a senior secondary Rwandan teacher who has a four-year college degree. At my school, I can easily stress this to my colleagues, but compared to most who live in the surrounding area, we do have more money. Couple that with a history of white saviorism in Africa, and for some locals who have dealt with abazungu in the past, asking for money or free things was usually rewarded. Finally, for safety and security reasons, our homes of residence chosen by the Peace Corps are comparatively fancier than most others in our village.

I should also emphasize that in Rwanda, especially in rural areas and in the markets, most foodstuffs and items do not have fixed prices. Historically, it is culturally acceptable and required to negotiate and bargain for the best price. In America, the price of goods is marked and requires no negotiation (unless you are at a garage sale, flea market, or used goods store [Thanks for the negotiating skills mom!]). This is changing though, and in many regional towns and everywhere in Kigali, boutiques with marked prices for goods are more prevalent.

I am now friends with the bus operators in Byumba, the owners of the nearby boutiques in my village, and the moto drivers near my local market. Most people now know who I am and do not attempt to charge me outlandish starting prices for food and goods.

Integrating anywhere in the world, especially into a place where 95% of the people (my estimate) do not speak your mother tongue, will always be a challenge. It will always require boundless patience. Luckily, Rwandans are some of the most welcoming, kind, sharing, helpful, and happy individuals I’ve ever met. I have come to know and love my village, my job, my colleagues, and my neighbors. And I am grateful for this opportunity.

Shortly after the Peace Corps was created in 1961, ad agency Ted Bates & Co. created the slogan that conveyed its hardship and rewards — “The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love.” It’s a slogan I heard many times before joining from returned Peace Corps volunteers (RPCVs) and elsewhere. It’s entirely accurate.

November 18, 2019
My Aspiration Statement for Volunteering in Rwanda

The flags of the East African Community and Rwanda.

A: Three professional attributes that you plan to use during your Peace Corps service and how these will help you fulfill your aspirations and commitment to service.

First, I have a strong work ethic that was forged while growing up on a farm near the small town of Sabetha, KS. In my early years before college, that involved a variety of household and farm chores, what many would define as hard work, oftentimes in uncomfortable conditions in the outdoors. I never shied away from such things and I have always been willing and available to help with any task that needs to get done. My parents and grandparents always taught me that if you’re going to do anything, do it right the first time to the best of your abilities. This lesson has stuck with me throughout my life. On the good days and the inevitable bad days, I promise to be focused and committed to my service.

Second, I am a strong believer in planning and preparation, but I also recognize that plans must be flexible to account for unforeseen events. In my previous professional position, as part of the onboarding process for any new client accounts, I created detailed project implementation plans that mapped out all necessary stages of a new client project and the tasks and deadlines associated with each stage. These plans were extremely complex and involved the participation of internal teams located around the globe in different time zones. No project plan was ever immune to unforeseen challenges and frequently had to be adjusted accordingly. In my personal life, I often took the lead in planning social events for my various friend groups in Washington, D.C., and that same lesson applied as well. As I continue to gain more experience into the effective practices for being a good teacher, this attribute will be useful when it comes to creating lesson plans and always being prepared for the days and weeks ahead.

Finally, I am an organized individual. In my professional career in public relations, I have managed multiple client accounts, each with its own set of unique requirements, project deliverables, deadlines, and employees to oversee. To do my job effectively, I had to be organized or every single task could take twice as long as it should have. In the public relations industry, no two days at work are ever the same. Both in my professional and personal life, I list out my priority tasks each day, as well as any secondary tasks that I work on only if my priority items have been completed. Being organized will be invaluable as a secondary English teacher and in my everyday life in Rwanda.

B: Identify two strategies for working effectively with host country partners to meet expressed needs

I have never lived abroad, and I have never been to either Rwanda or the continent of Africa. I recognize that each day is going to be a learning opportunity for growth. I am going into this service with an open mind and no expectations as to what I may experience. I will be patient, flexible, and adaptable to whatever needs or changing conditions may arise.

I will listen to my host country partners and learn as much as I possibly can from their experience and wisdom. I will always be inquisitive and ask questions if there is something I do not understand or requires further clarification. I will ensure that I know what is considered a priority each day and week and I will utilize a calendar to stay on task and organized.

C: Your strategy for adapting to a new culture with respect to your own cultural background

Major decisions in my life can be traced back to my curiosity in the world, its numerous people and the diversity of their cultures. The person who I am today and the perspectives I have gained are the result of my past experiences shaped by that curiosity. I thrive on being a lifelong learner. I will get out of my house each day to meet and greet new people, help individuals when they need it, and learn from their culture. Gaining the respect of my community is important to me.

I grew up on a farm outside of Sabetha, Kansas, a small town in the northeast corner of the state. It was a 20-mile drive to the nearest movie theater and Topeka, KS, over an hour’s drive away, was considered a big city. The local community was culturally conservative, agriculturally focused, rural, religious, homogenous, and tight-knit. From what I have read about Rwanda from current and former volunteers, I recognize many of these similarities in Rwandan culture. There will also be norms and practices different than anything I’ve ever experienced. Life will likely be at a much slower pace than what I am used to in the United States and specifically in Washington, D.C. I will not rush to judgment when I see something that in my country could seem disturbing, inefficient, or arcane. Instead, I will be patient, kind, and open-minded.

D: The skills and knowledge you hope to gain during pre-service training and throughout your service to best serve your future community and project

I am entering this position with no direct teaching experience. I hope to gain a thorough knowledge of the practices, both good and bad, that make a great teacher of any subject first and foremost. Secondary to that, what strategies are most effective for teaching English and how can those be applied to the Rwandan classroom in which I will be assigned.

I recognize that learning Kinyarwanda is going to be tough. From others in my cohort who already speak a second language, as well as via the local Peace Corps staff in Rwanda, I hope to obtain best practices and strategies on how to learn this language during pre-service training, and then immerse myself in it during my service. By the end of my service, I hope to be fluent in Kinyarwanda.

I have read that many Rwandans subsistence farm via their own personal gardens. Once I have been placed at my site, when I have free time, I hope to work with local farmers to learn their farming practices and perhaps start my own garden. I have always loved growing my own vegetables, getting my hands dirty, being outside, and tasting and cooking the results of my labor.

E: How you think PC service will influence your personal and professional aspirations after your service ends?

My service will provide me with a greater perspective of the world that we all live in. I hope to grow as an individual, both personally via learning a culture entirely different from my own, as well as professionally via obtaining the skills necessary to teach English as a second language.

My service will inspire me to seek out new experiences and adventures and to not be afraid of what life changes can bring. That could involve teaching English in other countries after service via my TEFL certificate, going to graduate school abroad, starting my own urban food production business, or applying for positions working and living outside of my home country.

August 10, 2019
Why did I join the Peace Corps?

For many prospective Peace Corps volunteers, a July 1 deadline is approaching for applications to serve in various countries and sectors around the world. To that end, I’d like to help as best I can by providing my Peace Corps application essay (also known as your personal statement) as an example.

I’m also sharing this essay to shed some light on my decision-making process for those friends and family who may still be wondering why Levi decided to do what he did. I still very much stand by these words.

As part of the Peace Corps online application process, you must submit an essay detailing why you want to be a volunteer. You are first prompted with this text.

*Peace Corps service presents major physical, emotional, and intellectual challenges. In the space below, please provide a few paragraphs explaining your reasons for wanting to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer and how you plan to overcome the various challenges associated with Peace Corps service. This essay is the writing sample Peace Corps uses to assess your professionalism and maturity as a candidate. Please spend time editing your essay/writing sample (4,000 characters, or approximately 500 words).

My Personal Essay

I grew up on a farm outside of Sabetha, Kansas, a small town in the northeast corner of the state. It was a 20-mile drive to the nearest movie theater and Topeka was considered a big city. The local community was culturally conservative, Christian, homogenous, and tight-knit, but I was restless and I yearned for more.

Moving to Manhattan, Kansas for college was my first encounter with significant groups of individuals that did not share my political beliefs, skin color, or morals. It was an eye-opening period of personal growth. I joined a fraternity, gained confidence in myself, and shed my awkward teenage years, all due to the relationships and diverse friendships I made while there.

After two separate trips to Washington, D.C. in the next two years after college, I fell in love with the city and decided to move across the country, away from family and friends, with only my dog, Dylan at my side. In the years since I have thrived in D.C. by building a personal network of friends. I founded a Facebook group to encourage and promote diverse individuals interacting and developing lifelong friendships through events, festivals, happy hours, and community volunteering efforts. What started with five friends has grown into over 200 amazing individuals.

I have developed extremely meaningful, lifelong friendships in Washington D.C. and I have been told I am a social connector that brings people together. I believe this can be tied back to the unique perspective of my upbringing and my ability to relate to both conservative and liberal mindsets. This ability will be a useful skill in navigating the unique cultures and beliefs of any community.

Major decisions in my life can be traced back to my curiosity in the world, particularly its numerous people and the diversity of their cultures. The person who I am today and the perspective I have gained are the results of my past experience shaped by that curiosity; never standing still and never becoming stagnate, I thrive on being a lifelong learner.

For these reasons, I want to join the Peace Corps. I want to immerse myself in the culture of another country, learn and become fluent in another language, live abroad, and create a new set of social connections: a karass, as Kurt Vonnegut would say. I realize how extremely lucky and privileged I have been, and I want to give back to this world that has given me so much.

I am fully independent and I have successfully managed my own affairs, both financially and personally for over a decade since graduating from college. I am confident in my ability to overcome all challenges associated with the Peace Corps. Moving away from the close friendships I have formed and even further away from family will be the number one hardship on that list, but it’s something I have done before in my initial move to D.C., and it is a small price to pay for helping those in need.

I am an avid outdoorsman who enjoys camping with no modern amenities, I grew up literally playing in the dirt on the farm, and I am used to extreme weather on both sides of the temperature spectrum. Acclimating to an entirely different standard of living and climate may take some time, but I will manage. In addition, living in a country whose pace of life may be different from America’s is something I welcome with open arms.

This past year has brought many changes to my life, including the death of my dog of ten years and the realization that my career path is no longer bringing about personal growth or fulfillment. In these times of polarization, serving in the Peace Corps and providing an example to the world of what America can do right is exactly what I want to do. This position, or any other position for which you deem me well-suited, would allow me to serve others using my past experiences, leadership skillset, and social connector abilities.

I thank you for your time and consideration and I very much look forward to hearing from you.

Back in late February, the landlord of my fenced compound installed a water pipe in the outdoor area, making my life 1,000 times easier. Naturally, I quickly carved my Rwandan name (pronounced Lay-Wee) into the drying cement after the workers left.

June 25, 2019
A Fallen Volunteer and “The Things She Carried”

Hearing that my good friend and now returned Peace Corps volunteer (RPCV) Eden Rose would have to be medically separated, it reminded me of some words I’d written back in mid-January. The below text was heavily influenced by Tim O’Brien’s stellar historical fiction of short stories on the Vietnam war entitled “The Things They Carried.” It was penned shortly after the loss of another good friend who had to return back to the states, Mitsu Gonsolus.

When a soldier falls in a live battlefield, oftentimes it’s nigh impossible to retrieve his body. In wars of the past, a body intact was considered a blessing for the family of the deceased. All of this is to say, of late, some of my closest PCV comrades in arms have been lost to PC policy.

In such instances of actual death, not literal, but intangible and true based on employment and purpose, one’s mind wanders towards the rather fucked up opportunity of the situation. Namely, a dead soldier leaves behind many things. And when a deceased soldier is happened upon on the battlefield, especially one from the opposing side, it’s only natural to pick that corpse dry. Find every bit of useful information, clothing that fits, and gadgets that work and procure them.

Selfish you say?

Nah. That’s life. Kill or be killed. Scavenge or die.

So, clearly that was a bit morbid at the time, but it’s what crossed my mind upon hearing the news of Eden’s impending departure.

To be blunt, as a Peace Corps volunteer, you will experience loneliness and loss when inevitably, a close friend and fellow volunteer has to be sent home for a myriad of potential reasons. On the flip side, that close friend who had so many plans and goals for their site may see their world and plans turned upside down when they have to leave service so suddenly and unplanned. What made this particular departure different was the patience, strength, resolve, and unbound adversity of the woman involved.

Eden had what seemed to be a neverending string of bad luck throughout her service, from dealing with a tough love living situation during pre-service training to fighting a battle against bed bugs at her site from the moment she moved in. They say when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade, and Eden sure knew how to make damn good lemonade.

Eden’s Peace Corps struggles reminded me of a passage from “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Victor E. Frankl. Frankl chronicled his experience in a Nazi concentration camp during World War II and he reflected on how a person’s attitude towards what life may throw at them meant everything.

What was really needed was a fundamental change in our attitude toward life. We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life–daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

These tasks, and therefore the meaning of life, differ from man to man, and from moment to moment. Thus it is impossible to define the meaning of life in a general way. Questions about the meaning of life can never be answered by sweeping statements. “Life” does not mean something vague, but something very real and concrete, just as life’s tasks are also very real and concrete. They form man’s destiny, which is different and unique for each individual. No man and no destiny can be compared with any other man or any other destiny. No situation repeats itself, and each situation calls for a different response. Sometimes the situation in which a man finds himself may require him to shape his own fate by action. At other times it is more advantageous for him to make use of an opportunity for contemplation and to realize assets in this way. Sometimes man may be required simply to accept fate, to bear his cross. Every situation is distinguished by its uniqueness, and there is always only one right answer to the problem posed by the situation at hand.

When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden.”

I know there were times when Eden told herself if she got bed bugs “one more time,” perhaps that would be it and she would early terminate (ET). It would be time to throw in the towel and head home. But she persevered. She bore her burden with grace.

This past Saturday, I was lucky enough to be there with her and other close friends to say goodbye. She held a raffle for many of the things she carried from her service. It wasn’t a cage match of vultures picking a corpse dry, but a celebration among individuals who knew how lucky they were to have met someone like Eden. She even divvied up “the things she carried” based on what she knew about each friend’s interests. In my case, that involved multiple cookbooks and more seeds for my garden. Unbeknownst of what may lie ahead, she was still giving and thoughtful.

So future Peace Corps volunteers, cherish every moment of service (and life) that you have. Because you never know what may happen, or who may be sent home.

As this past Saturday night wore down and we became glued to our bed, bellies filled with red wine like STICKS IN DA MUD, I drunkenly proclaimed, “RIMWE NA RIMWE, life is like a box of goats, you never know what you’re gonna BAAAAAAAAA.”

This post is for you Eden. You didn’t just “carry things.” You inspired me with your strength in adversity. Your kindness and positive attitude in the face of tough luck. I’ll be seeing you on the flip side. Turi kumwe.

June 18, 2019
Spreading the Green Gospel of Kale

I love kale. Anyone who knows me from back home in America knows this.

I love it so much that I have a shirt that says “kale.”

So much so that when I applied to the Peace Corps, I talked about growing my own vegetables, and specifically mentioned kale. I talked about how I would share the vegetables I grew with my neighbors and teach them about foods different from those they consume, including cooking my favorite dishes for my friends, neighbors, and colleagues.

So much so that when Peace Corps Rwanda asked me what I considered to be my most important factors regarding the location of my future site for the next two years, I requested somewhere rural that was cold vs. hot. Essentially, perfect kale growing weather.

The Peace Corps Mission consists of three goals. Of those, goal number two is “to help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.” To that end, American’s have a recent cultural love affair with kale, and I wanted to pass along my love for this leafy green to my friends and colleagues in Rwanda. Especially considering that so many Rwandans still subsistence farm (even among teachers) and kale grows so perfectly here, I wanted to spread the knowledge of this nutritious and delicious vegetable.

Sharing is also held in high regard here. If you eat your food in public, you are expected to share it. If you don’t, you are being rude. When someone visits your house, you provide tea, a beer, or Fanta. It’s an extremely generous culture. My host family here at my site has shared their homegrown veggies with me on numerous occasions, and my compound neighbor has frequently shared local Rwandan dishes she cooks with me.

So, on this rainy day in the midst of the rainy season, I became a good Kale-Bor (ha, HAA) and traveled around sharing the green gospel of kale with my host family and numerous teachers at the school where I teach who saw me cultivating next to my house and had asked about this strange looking vegetable. It made me quite jolly to do so.

Since many of you haven’t seen a photo of me in a while, here I am, with increasingly longer hair. I’m turning into a bushy mountain man.

Here is my counterpart/co-teacher Niyonizeye and her husband Habarurema (my Kinyarwanda language tutor) with a few large bunches of kale on a rare, sunny day earlier this week.

There’s a truth to what they say about not needing a green thumb to grow food in this country. The red dirt here is incredibly fertile.

Toss some seeds in the ground during the rainy season. Forget about them. Two/three months later, voila. Set it and FORGET IT.

I’m still smiling now, as I finish writing this.

May 10, 2019
(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Farm!)
This is a tale about site integration, the correct way to go about laying claim to land for gardening, and the growing reservoir of patience required to say what you mean to say in a tone that does not come off sounding like an obnoxious jackass, with limited Kinyarwanda at that.

Background

Growing up on a farm in Northeast Kansas, my family had a huge, one-acre garden on our farm.

That’s me on the left, next to my older and younger sisters.

When I moved into Washington D.C. in the Spring of 2012, I wanted to start a garden again. In the high-stress environment of public relations, where I spent most of my time staring at my computer analyzing media for clients, being outside and tending to a garden was a therapeutic endeavor. I got to use my hands, be closer to the earth in an urban environment, and see and eat the tangible results of my labor.

Washington D.C. (not a state, even though it should be!) contains the limited space one would imagine being available in an expensive, cosmopolitan area. Couple that with its height restriction, and not only is there a lack of affordable housing, but also a lack of land for gardening. Every communal garden in the city at the time had a multi-year waiting period for admittance.

I also had a scruffy, five-year-old spazz of a mutt named Dylan, which meant having a yard of some sort was a requirement.

In the ensuing five years, I rented four separate row houses, each with its own unique name either associated with Kansas, gardening, or pop culture. At each of these locations, I offered the Gods my best attempt at gardening prowess.

Some years experienced bumper crops, while for others, the tomatoes consistently got the BLIGHT.

First, there was Eisenhower’s Historical Residence.

Then, there was Eisenhower’s Castle of Enlightenment.

Many a fond memory was had at this fine corner row house a block off of H Street NE.

My last two residences were named after gardening.

There was the Garden of Eden, an in-law suite in the basement that was too musty for this tall, lanky gentleman.

And then there was HighGarDen. This was a reference to Game of Thrones, the fact that we had a garden on our rooftop deck, and a throwback to my roommate’s previous residence, known fondly as “The Den.”

It had an amazing deck that was always filled with friends, veggies, music, laughter, and dancing.

So, with that background in mind…

Back in October 2018, when I first visited my future site, I asked about having land for gardening and where I could do so. At the time, my headmaster informed me it shouldn’t be a problem and it was only a matter of asking the landlord.

Upon moving to my site in December, the land surrounding my abode looked as if it had recently been harvested of its crops, which had me chomping at the bit to begin planting. Inyas, the security guard at the local health center and a good chap who was instrumental in helping me integrate in the first week at my site had said I could start planting on this land. Little did I realize at the time that he didn’t exactly have the power to make such decrees.

Inyas and I a few days before Christmas.

Early one morning, one week after move-in, I successfully pissed off some abahinzi (farmers). While not fully awake, I went to fetch water from the underground, tarp-lined rainwater cistern in my compound. I peered over the tin roof and saw a female farmer encroaching on the land I was promised for my garden.

I smiled and said, “Mwaramutse!” (Good morning!) and then immediately followed that up by proclaiming, “Nzahinga hano” (I will cultivate here). Bad idea.

The woman did not take kindly to that. Luckily, Inyas happened to be walking by. He doesn’t speak a lick of English, but he took over in talking to the farmers.

I went outside to explain I only needed part of the land and definitely not all of it. Then I tried to say if they had already planted potatoes that I could wait until they were harvested, but I’m not sure if that got thru with my limited language knowledge.

I retreated back inside and I could hear their frustrated chatter outside. I imagined they were talking about me as the privileged umuzungu who thought he could just come in and steal land with no recourse. In my head, all I could think about was how I was going to have veggies that were abused, stomped on, and ripped from the earth due to my actions.

Ntakibazo (No problem)!

INTEGRATION.

And then I saved it.

I had a good chat with the family that was out front. A peace offering if you will. First, I nailed down a location for my portion of the garden. I told them that when my veggies mature, I will give them some. I gave them half of my tomato and green pepper seeds and met their son, one of my S1 students.

I showed them the aforementioned picture of me when I was a child in my family’s garden surrounded by green beans. I wanted them to know that I knew how to grow vegetables and this wasn’t my first rodeo.

I talked about how my dad was a third generation farmer. He had been a dairy farmer and he had many cows.

Me on the right with my sisters riding a hay wagon (feed for the cows in the wintertime).

They were impressed because to have many cows in Rwanda is a sign of success. Historically, such individuals were well-respected and cattle are revered. In addition, the majority of Rwandans (70%) are still engaged in the agricultural sector, whether as subsistence farmers or otherwise.

Boom. Integration.

Fast forward to today. Other than having to adapt to the constant, unwavering stares of Rwandans curiously and amusingly watching me work in my garden, my small plot of land is thriving.

From left to right, onions, spinach (two types), kale, Swiss chard, and beets. Some irrigation was required in January during the dry season.

Kale loves the chilly, Northern Province weather of Rwanda.

And over time, my neighbors and the local children have realized a white man can also cultivate too.

Why did I write this blog post tonight?

I just had my first harvest of kale!!! And anyone that knows me knows how much I absolutely love kale. And I am missing my friends and family back home. If it wasn’t obvious, this wasn’t just an ode to gardening, but an ode to a wonderful life back in Washington, D.C.

This is one of four different varieties on their way to feeding me dependable, healthy greens.

It was quickly turned into a steamed deliciousness. Kale with garlic, onion, cayenne pepper seasoning and a lime vinaigrette dressing.

Bring on the eventual Rwandan version of my kale salad, which I refined over many, many moons back in America and recently created at the request of my brother, Josiah Rokey (see the recipe below).

Lewi’s Big-Ass Kale Super Salad

Ingredients
- Kale (stems removed): half a bunch
- Extra virgin olive oil (California Olive Ranch recommended): three/four tablespoons
- Balsamic vinegar (Find a brand you like, but Costco’s Kirkland brand is good): five tablespoons
- Kalamata olives (Recommend buying a huge tub of Roland’s brand via Amazon. Otherwise, find a brand you like, but know that the taste can drastically change based on the brand): half a cup, chopped and pits removed
- Capers (Ensure they are non-pareil. Costco sells a huge jar of these for a good price): three tablespoons
- Lemon (get a real lemon, not juice from concentrate): use the juice of half a lemon, save the other half for your next salad
- One can of Sardines (Recommend Wild Planet brand or at least a brand that soaks them in olive oil vs vegetable oil. Boneless is easier to handle. Otherwise you have to carefully remove the spine/bones). Optional Substitute: smoked salmon or any smoked fish, canned tuna, anchovies, chopped chicken/bacon, one/two runny eggs (breakfast salad!), hummus, or quinoa/lentils/chickpeas (if you want to go meatless)
- Feta cheese (Recommend you buy one soaked in brine. Do not buy any that are low-fat. It’s a flavor destroyer of cheese. Costco sells Dodoni Feta in brine. It’s the shit): 1/4 to 1/2 cup
- Cashews: half a cup, chopped. Optional substitute: sunflower seeds, pine nuts, almonds, etc
- Tomatoes (Recommend cherry tomatoes, halved): one cup, chopped
- Purple onion: 1/4 cup, chopped
- Mushrooms (Recommend Cremini vs White): 1/4 cup, chopped
- Kosher salt/freshly ground pepper: Add in small amounts until desired taste is reached
- Optional: A dash or two of cayenne pepper or curry powder
Instructions
- Rinse the kale in water and then chop it up, ensuring you remove the thick-stemmed parts of the leaves (freeze them for later use in smoothies). Drop that kale in your big-ass salad bowl.
- Add in all the other ingredients listed.
- Mix everything together THOROUGHLY for a few minutes with a big-ass spoon. Your whole salad should be drenched in the dressing of olive oil/balsamic/lemon. If it’s not, add a bit more of the oil/balsamic, but not to the point where there is a large puddle of liquid in the bottom of your bowl.
- Once thoroughly mixed (this is known as the kale “massage” stage), let it sit for five/ten minutes. This is important. The kale will soften up and absorb the dressing and other ingredient’s flavors.
FLAVOR-TOWN
March 5, 2019
A Day in the Life of Lewi

I’m currently sipping a small cup of Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky out of a Tupperware container in pure darkness. I’ve had quite the day.

The proof is in the plastic.

This morning, I fried my electrical supply.

I was making coffee with my kettle and there were a series of frenzied sparks followed by the pungent smell of burning plastic and a cloud of smoke around the electrical box on the outside wall of my abode. Luckily my home doesn’t contain much flammable carbon so there was no fire, but my power no longer works. I think there was a faulty plug in my kitchen. And the way things work with my landlord, it’s likely to be months before it’s fixed.

After almost burning my house down, me and my counterpart teacher, Jereminatha, introduced our S1 A, B, and C students to a new set of classroom rules. Yesterday, after a frustrating attempt to review unit one test results that were rather horrid because students wouldn’t shut their yappers, I found this initiative rather necessary.

Side note: Grading tests–and I suspect homework–takes a long-ass time. So a shout-out to all you teachers out there. Your work doesn’t go unnoticed.

Working with Jereminatha, we came up with a list in English and Kinyarwanda and I got as artsy as I could in making three versions of this beauty.

Guess which rule was emphasized as the most important to students?

Number six!

After some back and forth among teachers about whether we should permanently hang these rules in class or remove them for fear of having them destroyed, tenacity won out and we put up our first of three posters. Numerous teachers asked to take a picture of it and many talked about wanting to use the rules for their class as well. It was a good feeling. Change is in the air.

As for the students?

May the iron fist of god have mercy on your souls.

After our first two periods, Jereminatha slyly invited me to lunch. It was done as if she had a trick up her sleeve. Her husband and my Kinyarwanda tutor, Jackson, also mentioned the invitation and how they would be serving a traditional Rwandan lunch.

Upon my arrival, we had heaping piles of potatoes, beans, and chayote. It was all cooked together using a block of ancient salt from a local lake (and one of many sources of the Nile River), all without any oil added whatsoever. This is an important point. Traditional dishes here do not utilize oil. I was told cooking the dish is a tricky process and can be easily messed up.

We ate with our hands. It reminded me of eating ubugali with my host family during pre-service training. For such basic ingredients, it was delicious. Jackson told me it is one of his favorite meals and reminded him of growing up as a child. And at that moment, I kind of felt like Anthony Bourdain.

As we finished up, Jackson smiled, exclaiming, “You passed the test!” While he and Jereminatha laughed, I realized he was referring to me eating with my hands. Touché my friends, touché.

It’s these little experiences that make me appreciate being where I am, right now. Live for today, folks. Live for NOW. You never know what can happen.

This evening, I almost fried my brain as well…

I zapped myself trying to separate the hot wires near my electric box that may burn my house down tonight. It felt like one of those hot wire fences back in Kansas that we use to keep cows from getting out. My neighbor, Florence, got a real kick out of the whole ordeal.

So if you don’t hear from me tomorrow, tell the world I love it.

Welcome to THE DARKNESS, Lewi.

May the gods forever be in your favor.

Under his eye.

February 21, 2019
A Morning Adventure to Byumba, by Minibus Taxi

Yesterday, I woke up bright and early at 6:20 a.m. Not as early as I’d hoped because the alarm I had set for earlier in the morning was accidentally scheduled to release its unflattering vibrations on weekdays instead of a Saturday.

The reason for this?

I had two packages from friends and family in America to pick up from the post office of my regional town in Byumba, Gicumbi. From my village, the only time to catch a twege is within a one-hour time frame in the early morning when a few pass through my village.

What is a twege you ask?

It’s a Toyota mini-bus share taxi. They are everywhere in Rwanda and are the cheapest form of transport from one location to another. They are much cheaper than a moto, but they do have their many, many downsides.

Let me tell you about riding a twege in Rwanda.

First, note that locals call them “twegerane”, which means ‘let’s sit together’ in Kinyarwanda. This is important because if you think a twege is full, you’re mistaken. Room will always be made for everything. Personal space is fiction. One seat will become two seats, or even three. The front of the bus in the passenger seat (not next to the driver) is always the best spot if you can snag it. No matter how uncomfortable you are, I guarantee you the most recent, unlucky soul that has been crammed in like a sardine next to the usually half-broken door is much less comfortable than you. Most of the time, your bus buddy or someone within touching vicinity of you is transporting a large grain sack chock full of potatoes or some other type of hard, root vegetable. And damn it that sack is going to fit under that seat, leg room be damned.

The pace will be tortoise-slow. It’s as if the driver cares not how his flock feels, nor that they even have feelings. Stops will be made so that random passengers can obtain random items given to them by seemingly random people through the vehicle’s open windows. Oftentimes, your journey will start with a trip to the gas station. Because why do something silly like fill up the tank before cramming in the passengers?

Your ass will get chapped. Chapped raw. These past few weeks I noticed my bottom was, in fact, chapped. I could not pinpoint the source of this mystery until yesterday, while sitting my bony ass on a well-worn twege seat, weighed down with packages and my bookbag in my lap. At times, I’d stuff my hands under my bottom to provide my butt cheeks some much-needed relief from the bony pressure points.

At some point, you’ll also start to question which is safer. Riding a moto and having your brains potentially bashed in when it crashes, or being crammed into a bus that could veer off a cliff and kill everyone in a crushing tangle of limbs and body parts at any second. Such is life getting across Rwanda cheaply.

All of this to say that every journey here is an adventure. And while it can be uncomfortable and frustrating at times, it also shows you the spirit of cooperation, patience, and grace required of everyone involved.

“You’re either on the bus or off the bus.”

-Ken Kesey, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968)

I love this quote. As Colin Pringle writes in wild-bohemian.com, “The idea was to put individual differences aside and work as a group…an attuned group. Those who weren’t attuned were seen as rocking the boat, disrupting the trip. These were the people who were considered “off the bus.” The ones who were attuned to the group consciousness, those who did their share of the work, and smile rather than pout, these were the ones who were “on the bus.” Thus, the literal meaning of “You are either on the bus or off the bus” is “You are either attuned to the group consciousness or you are not attuned to the group consciousness.””

There is a corollary to this statement in Kinyarwanda which essentially means the same thing. “Turi kumwe” (We are together).

Pringle’s description could aptly apply to many things in Rwanda. Sharing is simply something that you do here. Case in point: Upon arrival to Byumba, initially the post office was closed because the chap who was supposed to be there happened to be absent. While waiting, I committed a heinous act. I ate outside. In Rwanda, to do so, by default, means you share your food with others. Otherwise, it’s considered bad culture.

It was nearing late morning and I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I was partially hidden by a bush next to the post office gate, and I had just purchased three steaming hot sambusas and a boiled egg. I removed the first sambusa from the brown paper bag and sneakily bit into it. The feeling I had in doing this reminded me of the time I scarfed down a footlong Subway sandwich on the Washington D.C. metro while hiding behind a partition (you aren’t supposed to eat on the metro).

At that exact moment, a teenage boy came dashing towards me from across the road, yelling incomprehensibly and pointing at my sambusa. He jovially sat beside me, smiling and repeating words that made no sense. He then tried to grab my half-eaten sambusa. All I could do was yell, “OYA!” and swiftly put it back in the bag. It was at that moment that I realized the boy was mentally challenged. I felt horrible and quickly extricated myself from the situation.

What else did I purchase whilst in Byumba?

Mushrooms!

I had no plan to do so, but upon seeing them at the market, I had to have them. It had been almost five months since I’d last eaten them.

Upon returning to my village, I transformed those fungi into a late lunch.

Mushroom, egg, onion, and parmesan cheese sandwiches (with bread originating from The Women’s Bakery in Byumba).

Mushroom and onion stir-fry, topped with parmesan cheese.

The trip as a whole, coupled with opening the packages and letters, was (and is always) worth it. I am extremely grateful, blessed, and lucky to have a karass such as I do back in America.

“…Buy the ticket, take the ride…and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well…maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.”

-Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971)

February 10, 2019

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