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

Tag: Levi Rokey

  • When in Rome…

    When in Rome…

    I flew into Rome via Fiumicino and took the airport train to Trastevere, switching to another train that dropped me at Quattro Venti in Monteverde. I had once again packed too many bags for this overseas journey and carrying them the few blocks to my Airbnb was absolute hell. It actually felt like that. It was the hot, sweltering heat of early August 2021, and—around that time—Sicily had just broken the heat record for Europe.

    Santa Severa. August 20, 2021.
    Or get gelato. August 25, 2021.

    Why was I in Rome?

    Over the COVID-19 summer of 2020 in America, I’d been accepted into the Master of Arts in Food Studies: Policies for Sustainable Production and Consumption graduate program at The American University of Rome (AUR). While another university accepted me in America, AUR offered a 25% scholarship. And it was in Rome! Fearing potential Zoom classes and COVID lockdowns if I attended in the Fall of 2020, I deferred for one year and went to South Korea to teach English. Editor’s Note: Excellent decision!

    Castello Santa Severa. August 20, 2021.

    Since the summer of 2018, I have been in the midst of a meandering, oftentimes unruly, multi-continental transition towards a career related to my passion for sustainable agriculture. This stemmed from my upbringing on a small family farm in rural Kansas and never left me in the decade I lived in Washington, D.C. Completion of this graduate degree will get me one step closer to that goal.

    Fontana dell’Acqua Paola. August 27, 2021.

    Worldwide, the global agri-food system is responsible for roughly 21-37% of annual greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions contributing to global warming (IPCC, 2019, p. 10). This system must drastically change towards more sustainable, regenerative, agroecological production and consumption practices to ensure we can meet the needs of an ever-increasing human population and mitigate climate change. In my first month of this graduate program, I realized my life has a purpose. That purpose is to aid in halting and reversing climate change. To safeguard future generations’ ability to enjoy earth’s bounty.

    “What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”

    Jane Goodall

    In the first month, I met many intriguing, passionate, artistic, and driven individuals, both within my own program’s cohort, and also locally within Rome. Many will continue to be lifelong friends well after this program has been completed.

    My food studies cohort. Celebrating us. April 25, 2022.

    Often in those first few weeks of a waning summer, I spent the evenings meeting new friends down by the Tiber river, after the sun had vanished over Belvedere del Gianicolo. At night, the heat became manageable while lazily sipping chilled, Pecorino wine on Isola Tiberina.

    Views of the Tiber. September 18, 2021.
    Picnics with friends on Isola Tiberina. September 5, 2021.

    Below is a random assortment of thoughts and observations over the course of the nine-and-a-half months I resided in Rome.

    August 10: One of the first things I noticed about Rome is the graffiti. Mind you, I’ve only been to a few neighborhoods so far, but it’s everywhere and on everything. Buildings, trash cans, public transit/road signs. Even the Airbnb host apologized for it. Well, more likely he thought I would assume it was a bad neighborhood due to the graffiti.

    Mad Max street cleaner. Monteverde.
    Graffitied car. Trastevere.

    August 11: I’m still getting over my cold, which may be affecting my mood. Also, the creakiness of the ceiling fan in this Airbnb is driving me nuts. It either doesn’t work in the low setting, or it sounds like Mussolini’s fascist army is marching through Rome to attack me in the middle of the night. It is loud and it can’t be pushed off as an ‘Italian thing.’ Thank God the good sir AirBnB host Dalesioooo has agreed to provide me with another fan. Editor’s Note: In Rome, most apartments do not have air conditioning. I quickly adapted to this as best as possible.

    August 12: I’m slightly hungover after meeting some graduate colleagues. I had a few too many with Alex from Austria. He’s a cool dude, younger, and has a baby face. On the flip side, it’s been a rough day. Rome is full of trees. Majestic, grand trees. A walking city, which I love. In this August heat, it’s entirely possible to walk to many locations and stay within the shade of these magnificent trees the whole time.

    My bodyguard. Halloween 2021.

    August 22: Italians know how to drink outside. Everywhere you go. Perhaps it is due to COVID and some structures may be more short-term, but the idea that you sit outside in this beautiful summer weather, nighttime being key, and enjoy aperitivo is perfection. You can do nothing but be joyful. For that, today I am thankful. And for finding places with an excellent deal for pizza and drink.

    Editor’s Note: I suspect this is the day I found “The Spot,” otherwise known as Antico del Moro.

    September 9: Is there a soundtrack that you associate with living in a new place or experiencing a new experience? Whether that’s food, travel, sport, a woman, a man, or whatever it is, is there a soundtrack that you associate with that?

    That’s a good question to ask someone whether on a date or just in general when you want to know more about someone in your life. For me, in the life I’m living, constantly traveling and moving to new places, experiencing new people, things, cultures, and foods. It is the soundtrack that has also been my alarm for over a decade now. It is the soundtrack from the song Why Not by Jonsi from the “We Bought a Zoo” soundtrack. To this day, I can still associate that song with going to the Art Museum on the National Mall in Washington, DC while I was still living in Springfield, VA. I recall being slightly buzzed and really experiencing that art in a way that I hadn’t ever experienced before.

    September 10: 30 days in. My Italian is horrible. When I do try to speak Italian, instead I want to speak in Kinyarwanda. The memories and the synapses associated with speaking another language are reopening and I’m remembering words that I otherwise thought I’d forgotten.

    Camping and climbing in Tuscany with Arianna and friends. September 25-26, 2021.
    My 36th birthday. November 15, 2021.
    Matera, Basilicata. November 2021.

    December 4: You know how kids play when they are younger and they don’t care what anyone else sees or if anyone is looking at them, they are just in their own world and in their own space, doing their own thing? But as they get older, they start to realize people may be watching them when they are in public and maybe they are too cognizant and self-aware that other people are present. Therefore, they can’t be fully present and enjoy the play that they once had because they are too focused on what other people may think of them. As you get older you start to lose that. You should never lose that. You should always be free to do what you want, feel how you feel, and play without worrying that someone else may judge you a certain way because of the way you are acting.

    Frascati vineyards. September 4, 2021.
    Biking to Fiumicino. February 19, 2022.

    December 7: I’ve been burning through half a bottle of wine and roughly 8 cigarettes per day. Coping mechanisms I suppose. Albeit this has been coupled with healthier alternatives like biking, listening to happy, chill tunes, wandering around outdoors, eating a primarily plant-based, seafood diet, and high-intensity workouts. Perhaps it all balances out? Such is the life of a grad student during the last few weeks of deadlines and finals before a Fall semester ends.

    Editor’s Note: From mid-December to the end of January 2022, I traveled around Europe during the Winter break. This included Germany with my brother in December and a solo trip to Ukraine, Poland, and Spain in January.

    Me and my brother in Munich, Germany finding saving fair maidens. December 2021.

    January 13: You can tell a lot about a country based on whether people lock up their bikes. In Munich, Germany, some locked their bikes and others didn’t. If they did, it was mostly locked to a wheel. In Berlin? Different story. Everybody is locking up their bikes. In Poland? People lock up their bikes but in places, it seems safe to not do so. In Rome? You don’t leave your bike out at night, period.

    Trastevere. November 10, 2021.

    January 19: Madrid, Spain. I just saw a blind lady crossing the street. Think of someone who is blind and ventures out every day into a world they can’t see, yet still, they do it. And you’re afraid. Of what? To live. To do the thing that makes you happy, that you love, that you are passionate about because of what? Because of money, fear, the unknown, of change? It could be a variety of things. This lady, every day, she does this. She can do it and you sure as hell can too. Stop being afraid of the life you want to live, just do it. Do it now, don’t do it tomorrow, don’t do it in a few months, do it. Don’t regret that you didn’t do it.

    April 6: Social science academic journal articles are 25% bullshit adjective filler words. Some uppity academics try to paraphrase the person before them and the person before that person. Kill me. Editor’s Note: Clear frustration is present as Spring finals approach….

    April 10: I’ve lived here long enough to develop some observations in comparing Italy to South Korea. This has been tied to research for my thesis on rural development in Korea. In observing rural development in Italy regarding multifunctional agriculture, I have realized that Korea has many things in common with Italy. They just don’t have the myth or the worldwide attention that Italian food gets. I think there is a lack of knowledge about the history of Korean food and the fact that it is the original ‘slow food.’ I digress… the point is that I was on a field trip in the mountains of Abruzzo to a sheep farm. I realized that when you are looking at these old towns in Italy that go back hundreds of years, the reason you can still see them is that they are made of stone. Koreans have similar ideas and traditions in regard to agronomy, agriculture, and sustaining rural livelihoods, traditions, and cultures of a region. But quite a bit of that history was destroyed by Japan in the late 16th century and due to the early 20th-century occupation of Korea. Furthermore, Korean homes were primarily made of wood. In Korea, I noticed that the same types of things you would notice and admire in Italy that garner worldwide attention are the same things that I think Korea should be promoting themselves and be proud of. In many cases, for Korea that history goes back just as far as Italy. Korea obviously wasn’t Rome, but there are things they should be proud of. I suspect some of this has to do with Western people’s finding Eastern cultures and peoples unfamiliar, foreign, mysterious, and somehow uncomfortable, but I’m not about to unpack those thoughts.

    Late April: Having a strong heart physically is helpful when your heart is weak emotionally.

    May 4: Things that I’ve learned about my apartment and my living space… I can survive on 30 sq meters or less. My bedroom can be my kitchen, dining room, and office. I think I am ok with that. As long as the bathroom is separate and as long as I have a window that gets a fair amount of sun and looks out on a beautiful view of Janiculo. I can hear the sound of the sea in the form of seagulls. That makes me ok. Such realizations about living alone lead me to believe such a small space would be manageable were I to have these pleasantries.

    Apartment views in Trastevere as the sun sets.

    May 5: Ways that I am maintaining sanity during finals week of the Spring semester. Once again, cigs. Also, exercise on a daily basis to relieve stress. Dancing around my apartment while listening to positive music and looking forward to next week when I am done with everything I can I go to the beach and soak up the fucking sun.

    Ostia beach. Post-finals celebration. May 12, 2022.

    May 9: If you want a bike while living in Rome, buy a mountain bike. It is necessary for a variety of reasons, including cobbled streets, infrequent, disjointed bike lanes, numerous potholes, and edged sidewalks with no entry and exit ramps at street crossings.

    The Park of the Aqueducts. February 12, 2022.

    May 11: When you leave a place you leave a little bit of yourself behind. The part of you that was who you were before you lived there. Before you were impacted by the people, the food, the culture, and the experiences of that place. When you leave you are a different person, changed by what you experienced and the physicality of the site you lived in. If nothing else, over the last nine months living in Rome, studying in graduate school and meeting beautiful individuals, all these experiences have left an imprint on me, and I am no longer the person I was when I arrived.

    Editor’s Note: On May 17, 2022, yours truly embarked on a jet plane back to Korea to do fieldwork research for his graduate thesis. An unsettling, emotional roller coaster ride, to say the least. As he pens this post (July 27, 2022), he is about to return back to Rome.

  • Let America Be America Again

    Let America Be America Again

    I was lucky.

    I’d spent two months cooped up at my brother’s apartment in Kansas City from April-May 2020, sleeping on a free futon mattress I’d been bequeathed from a former RPCV in the KC metro area, waking up around 10 a.m. and researching my options for roughly two-three hours each day, followed by afternoons soaking in a bathtub, listening to music, reading, drinking too much wine, and generally being depressed. I couldn’t just ‘be’ present in the moment. I couldn’t just do nothing. I had to keep my mind active. Reflection was too sad a journey to wander down. If I hadn’t applied for a job, researched a new opportunity, or contacted another potential mentor for advice, I would have felt I had wasted the day. Sure, in such times of trouble there’s something to be said for doing nothing. I couldn’t. Not entirely anyway.

    These were the early days in America when lockdowns were still in place and staying home was acceptable. For me though, I had no home anymore, or at least it felt that way. Just family and friends willing to take me in and no idea what I was going to do next. Thus, it was a period of discovery and scattershot attempts to determine next steps. A stream of applications sent to private and public sector employers, in most cases doing so with no real skin in the game. No real heart or feeling towards wanting the positions I was applying for. Just blindly going through the motions. To some degree, I think many of us returned Peace Corps volunteers were all doing the same back in those days. But what choice did we have? All 7,000+ of us were evacuated back to an America under lockdown and led by a narcissistic assclown in love with the finer cleaning capabilities of Lysol injections.

    One must start somewhere. If it wasn’t job applications, it was researching graduate schools. The problem with this option was rearing its ugly corona-shaped mug and spreading itself everywhere in the world. What would grad school, or any school be like in the Fall of 2020 with this virus? Would I really want to attend classes virtually and deal with the helter skelter nature of the constantly evolving situation? No matter. Research was done, input into a Google spreadsheet, and over time, two options narrowed themselves down as relevant to my desires, interests, and future career goals. Motivation statements were written, both applications were completed, and in return I received the favorable news of admittance to both schools. But which to choose? Decisions that important to my future were not something I could easily make at that time, so I held off.

    So why was I lucky?

    One of my scattershot attempts to find work paid off. And it was doing something I would feel proud to be a part of. My due diligence led me to accepting a position managing a team of contact tracers for the Washington, D.C. Department of Public Health, helping to stem the pandemic tide. It led me back to the city I’d once lived in and loved before leaving for Peace Corps Rwanda. It led me back to all the friends I’d made who lived there.

    I was offered this position late May, which was right around the time another potential opportunity arose. I was steered towards teaching English abroad from a friend who had taught in South Korea for one month many moons ago. He introduced me to another chap who had lived there for over a decade as an English teacher. In chatting with this gracious fellow, he was full of guidance on what it was like to live in Korea, teach there, and survive in the age of coronavirus. As everyone knows, Korea was handling the pandemic quite well after being one country with an initial headline-churning surge in cases. Finally, the recent granting of my TEFL teaching certificate from Peace Corps helped solidify this is a valid opportunity.

    Summer of Confusion and Combustion

    At this stage in late May, I moved back to Washington, D.C. and settled into a temporary English basement in my old neighborhood haunt, H Street NE. That day was May 20, 2020; the murder of George Floyd.

    As I’ve grown older and lived in new places of varying diversity and culture, and especially due to my time in Rwanda, my feelings towards America had been evolving. This idea that America is exceptional which had been drilled into our heads as school children clearly had more than just a few cracks in it. In fact, it simply wasn’t true.

    The richest nation in the world was bungling their handling of a pandemic while the place I was evacuated from—Rwanda—turned out to be a much safer place to be, and with only a fraction of America’s GDP, healthcare budget, and influence. What Rwanda did have was a collective society, care for one another’s well-being, trust in their government, and a well-coordinated response. Was I surprised the country was handling things well? Not really. I was proud and grateful I’d had the chance to live there.

    Add to this mix of thoughts in my head, the deep and continuing history of racism that came to a head on that day in late May and led to months of protests that ignited worldwide and forced people to start having the types of uncomfortable conversations they had never wanted to have, myself included. And an American leader who did nothing but fan the flames of racial animosity and division. Did I want to stay in America? I wasn’t sure.

    I had a front-row seat to America’s handling of the coronavirus that summer due to my position. And a front-row seat was not something anyone would have wanted. Locally, D.C. was one of the first territories (it should be a state!) to hire and roll out a contact tracing team and they did so quickly, professionally, and admirably considering the circumstances. Nationally, there was no direction or leadership from the top. Each state had to institute its own methods for response, whether that included mask mandates, contact tracing forces, lockdowns, or in too many instances, nothing at all.

    When our teams in D.C. had a low workload (a good thing) because new daily positive cases were low, we could do nothing to assist with contact tracing for other states that were experiencing surges in cases, such as Arizona at the time. Why? Each state had its own system in place and those systems didn’t ‘speak’ to each other. It was grossly inefficient and exacerbated America’s bungled response.

    The Federal government could have streamlined its response in relation to what is required to effectively test, trace, isolate, and quarantine. It could have utilized the vast network of at the time empty hotels across America to be contracted out for individuals that needed to isolate due to positive exposure or a positive test result. It could have provided free food to families that couldn’t afford not to work, even if they had been exposed. It could have enacted laws making it illegal to fire someone who had to isolate due to positive exposure, instead of promoting the opposite with draconian executive actions that shielded companies from the legal liability to protect workers from harm.

    Meanwhile, back in my hometown of Sabetha, KS, people were being made fun of for wearing masks in public spaces. Heckled for caring about their fellow humans… Arguing for their freedom to be an asshole… Claiming coronavirus was no worse than the flu… I could go on and on.

    Something about this America just didn’t feel right.

    Que to Korea. A recruiter I had been in contact with informed me in mid-June of an available position starting in late August at a private English language academy in Busan, Korea. I had kept this option open moving forward, including all that the application process entailed (FBI background check, apostilled transcripts, TEFL certificates, visa processes, etc.) because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in America. Perhaps it was the reverse culture shock in returning to a country that seemed foreign to me after my first time living abroad. Perhaps it was the knowledge that were I to stay there, I’d be working from home, getting tested weekly if I wanted to see friends, and otherwise living an isolated existence that I’m just not meant to live.

    The opportunity to leave was a godsend. I told the recruiter I would only move to Korea if the position was in Busan. From my research, Busan was a city of 3.6 million, the second largest in Korea so it had a cosmopolitan, international angle, but more importantly, it had the ocean, beaches, seafood, and it was nestled in between Koreas many mountains. It seemed to me from my research to be that perfect combination of urban plus outdoor adventure around every bend. The country was also handling the pandemic better than almost anywhere else in the world. Life there was semi-normal. I could save just as much on an English-teaching salary there as I would have saved working from home in D.C. These things all turned out to be true.

    It was also around this time that I made the decision to defer my start date for graduate school until the Fall of 2021. In a way, I was also making the decision to defer ‘making a decision’ because I still wasn’t entirely sure whether grad school was the right path, and I also wanted to keep an open mind towards teaching in Korea, what that entailed, how I would feel, and where it might lead me.

    So, in late July I put in a two-week notice at my contact tracing position and on August 7, 2020, I began a new journey. But that’s for another post…  

    I’ll leave you with three things.

    First, I realized then that I had the privilege and luck to even have the option to leave when so many in America were suffering. So why not stay and aid in the country’s coronavirus response in a position that could be effective? Why not help contribute to ensuring new Presidential leadership and policy get put in place to end the needless death and suffering? Why choose to leave friends and family in a time of such uncertainty? To be blunt, my mental health came first. And my thoughts on America were like a pile of puzzle pieces that still haven’t been fully put back together again, even as I write this now, roughly one year later.

    Second, direct your attention to this stellar quote focusing on hopes for a brighter future in America from Kiese Makeba Laymon, who wrote the following article in Vanity Fair on November 19, 2020 (please read it): “Much of the beauty here has been sacrificed, and most of it stolen. There is no commercial, doctor, or wellness regimen to smudge that truth. Home is gone, but there is responsible pleasure to be found in the wreckage, in the pathways of the wrecked, and in all the goodness beyond where we’ve been allowed to discover.”

    Finally, takes some time to read and reflect on this Langston Hughes poem (below) entitled, ‘Let America Be America Again.’ It spoke to me then and still does to this day. America doesn’t need to “be great again.” It’s a constant struggle to improve. That’s what democracy is. That’s what democracy looks like. Hoping for some idealized version of the past when things were supposedly “great” is not the world I want to live in.

    If you disagree or feel uncomfortable with this poem’s message, I urge you to do some research, speak to people who don’t have the same beliefs as you, determine your own heritage, ancestry, and just how ‘native’ you are, or if you have the privilege to do so, please, please travel abroad and gain some perspective.

    I copied the full poem directly from Poets.org.

    —-

    Let America Be America Again

    Let America be America again.
    Let it be the dream it used to be.
    Let it be the pioneer on the plain
    Seeking a home where he himself is free.

    (America never was America to me.)

    Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
    Let it be that great strong land of love
    Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
    That any man be crushed by one above.

    (It never was America to me.)

    O, let my land be a land where Liberty
    Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
    But opportunity is real, and life is free,
    Equality is in the air we breathe.

    (There’s never been equality for me,
    Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

    Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
    And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

    I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
    I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
    I am the red man driven from the land,
    I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
    And finding only the same old stupid plan
    Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

    I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
    Tangled in that ancient endless chain
    Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
    Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
    Of work the men! Of take the pay!
    Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

    I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
    I am the worker sold to the machine.
    I am the Negro, servant to you all.
    I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
    Hungry yet today despite the dream.
    Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
    I am the man who never got ahead,
    The poorest worker bartered through the years.

    Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
    In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
    Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
    That even yet its mighty daring sings
    In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
    That’s made America the land it has become.
    O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
    In search of what I meant to be my home—
    For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
    And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
    And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
    To build a “homeland of the free.”

    The free?

    Who said the free? Not me?
    Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
    The millions shot down when we strike?
    The millions who have nothing for our pay?
    For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
    And all the songs we’ve sung
    And all the hopes we’ve held
    And all the flags we’ve hung,
    The millions who have nothing for our pay—
    Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

    O, let America be America again—
    The land that never has been yet—
    And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
    The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
    Who made America,
    Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
    Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
    Must bring back our mighty dream again.

    Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
    The steel of freedom does not stain.
    From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
    We must take back our land again,
    America!

    O, yes,
    I say it plain,
    America never was America to me,
    And yet I swear this oath—
    America will be!

    Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
    The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
    We, the people, must redeem
    The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
    The mountains and the endless plain—
    All, all the stretch of these great green states—
    And make America again!

  • EVAC Part 3: Quarantined for Days in a Dystopian Nightmare

    EVAC Part 3: Quarantined for Days in a Dystopian Nightmare

    After arrival in America, what follows is a log of my thoughts each day as I acclimated back into a weird version of the country it remembered.

    Day 1

    March 22, Sunday afternoon after landing at Dulles airport outside Washington, D.C.

    Upon entering the terminal after immigration, Peace Corps and family were there to cheer us. It felt good to have this welcome.
    My friend and seatmate Kerong, for the 18-hour flight from Ethiopia to D.C.

    Day two

    3 p.m. Monday afternoon after arriving at my hotel for quarantine in Kansas City, Kansas. A blur of American culture shock coupled with the odd realization that this is not the America I remember. This is an America in lockdown with empty streets, social isolation, and, from what I gather, toilet paper as currency.

    My mom is amazing, dropping off PBR to mix with tomato juice and other foods she cooked with love.

    Day three of quarantine.

    Today in a voicemail a friend noted how it’s “cold as f$$k” and there are no leaves on the trees. For me, since I arrived in Kansas City there has been no sun, only grey clouds, and rain. This is the complete opposite of the lush and varied green hues of Rwanda.

    I realized if I don’t eat leftovers or the food I bought yesterday soon, it will go to waste. That gives me anxiety. In Rwanda, over the past 18 months, I’ve probably had to toss out bad food equalling no more than two pounds.

    I constantly want to turn off the water when I’m lathering up in the shower. It seems like a total waste to allow it to just run right down the drain.

    Day four

    This afternoon I met a friend for a social distancing stroll around the plaza in KC. She was talking at 1,000 miles a minute while walking with such purpose as if she were in New York or Washington D.C. and was late for a meeting. Meanwhile, I’m calmly strolling along, just taking it all in, wondering if that was me just two years ago, way too wound up, neurotic, and constantly worried about the future and all the different tasks I had to complete with no time to do them.

    Day five

    The realization that we have no mission from anyone at the moment has hit me. Peace Corps was a 24/7 job. You were always representing America in everything you did. Even in being evacuated back to the states, we had a mission. It was to get home. Now, sitting here quarantined in a hotel room, it’s just….emptiness.

    We can either wallow in self-pity or help build ourselves up and find a new focus on what we can do next. Luckily, we all have years of experience in being resilient; The loneliness of living in a village with no Americans anywhere near you, forcing yourself to stay motivated and focused on your mission. That is a gig we are uniquely qualified to excel at.

    Day seven

    Everyone’s getting a bit stir crazy about this isolation and I get it, it sucks. For me, to put this in perspective, imagine you were in this isolation you are in now, except first you had to pack up all you could fit into four suitcases, then travel 10,000+ miles over a one-week period away from your home and friends, and stay in a random hotel room that definitely wasn’t your home in a country that feels foreign and be completely physically alone for 14 days. So yes, I get it that it sucks for people. But it’s not that bad.

    I went into a liquor store near my hotel and my head almost exploded. So many options.

    We may now be RPCVs, but in our hearts, we will never, ever stop being volunteers.

    Day eight

    You don’t have to be crazy to go crazy.

    Day nine

    “How’s my quarantine going?”, a friend asked.

    Well, my whole world has been turned upside down in the span of days/weeks and I have to figure out what I’m going to do next with my life when just two weeks ago, I had eight months to figure that out. That’s how my quarantine is going.

    Day ten

    I miss Rwandan coffee. It’s so damned good. And much better than this watered-down river mud that passes for coffee here in the states.

    Day eleven

    After taking a shower I put on a t-shirt that smelled like Rwanda and my home there. The slightly musty smell of Sunshine detergent and sun-drenched equatorial mountain air.

    Post quarantine, after moving into my brother’s apartment as a permanent couch surfing resident. Dazed and confused.

    Day 24

    I’ve come to the realization that my happy place right now is a nice, hot bubble bath. Bucket baths were a necessity in Rwanda, but a container that one could lay in, like a tub? Not so much.

    I realize it’s a luxury of even having the water to do such a thing.

    Day 25

    You know that feeling you get when you collapse into the familiar comfort of your own bed in your own room? It’s spectacular. I haven’t known what that feels like for almost a month now and I likely won’t for many more months either.

    Day 31

    This wasn’t just the toughest job you’ll ever love, as every RPCV likes to say, but for me, it was also the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.

    Day 32

    As I write these words, I know now that my life will never be the same. My Peace Corps service changed me, for the better. I can’t go back to the life I lived before, nor the job I had. I had a mission and I saw what positive change could bring.

    I am so lucky to have been given the opportunity and the invitation to be a part of my local community. To be welcomed into their lives and families and be accepted as a fellow teacher and colleague. Every day I think about the students I taught in my village. They changed my life and I am forever in their debt.

    I know I don’t just speak for myself when I say there are many of us ready, waiting, and eager to help stem the tide of this COVID-19 assault on our lives, our world, and it’s people. We Peace Corps volunteers are resilient, adaptable, hard-working, and eager to assist. Give us something to do. Allow us to be useful by giving us a mission to assist. To bring some flowers back to this dreary world. We don’t need large salaries, fancy accommodations, complex training, or benefits. We just want to help. Give us that opportunity.

    Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art’s Donald J. Hall Sculpture Park, Kansas City, MO.
  • EVAC Part 2: Murabeho. Turi Kumwe. Komera. Evacuated to America, a Foreign Country

    EVAC Part 2: Murabeho. Turi Kumwe. Komera. Evacuated to America, a Foreign Country

    This post goes out to all Peace Corps employees, and especially those from Rwanda. From the moment you found out we had to leave until the time we stepped foot on American soil, you worked non-stop, with little to no sleep, to ensure we reached America safely. I am deeply in your debt. I will never forget you all and look forward to the day we can meet again.

    In Rwanda, when you meet someone for the first time you say “Muraho!” with a smile. You give them two hugs, one on each side of their cheeks. This is done with sincerity, happiness, and affection. Rwandan culture is tactile, loving, and affectionate. Once you are friends with someone, you greet not with a handshake, but a hug. Men hold hands with men as they go on walks. Women hold hands as well. Friends drape arms over their buddies’ shoulders. I love this about Rwanda. And I miss it dearly.

    With any greeting, there is always, eventually, a goodbye. That is life. In Rwanda, when you leave someone for a long time, you say “Murabeho,” and you hug them goodbye. You may also express love and togetherness by saying “Turi Kumwe,” meaning “we are together.” It’s a powerful statement that Americans could use right now. Another is, “Komera,” which means “stay strong.”

    My co-teacher and friend, Niyonizeye Jereminatha

    Now, all volunteers around the world had just a few days, and in some cases just hours to pack up their lives into a few suitcases and say those goodbyes in their local language to those they loved dearly. At my site, many of my colleagues lived far from our school, making it impossible to say goodbye in-person. Not being able to do that tears at my soul to this day.

    My friend and Rwandan brother, Habarurema Jackson, and his son.

    Goodbyes were infinitely harder in Rwanda because human contact was now highly discouraged due to COVID-19 and saying goodbye as one usually does was suddenly frowned upon. Despite this, I know many PCVs over the next few days who still hugged those they had come to love and consider family. How could we not do so?

    My Rwandan family at my site. Attempting to smile for this picture was not easy.

    After leaving our villages via motos, buses, or taxis towards pick-up points we had been assigned by Peace Corps, we all streamed into a hotel in Kigali. Those last few days were an exhausting blur of emotion and administrative tasks. We discovered initial plans to take normal civilian flights to our homes of record in the United States were no longer possible since Rwanda was shutting down all commercial air travel on Friday, March 20. There were fears we could be stuck in limbo for days.

    kigali
    Kigali City Tower, a few days before the country went on lockdown.

    It was announced on Thursday we would be taking chartered planes that would pick up volunteers in Uganda, then our group in Rwanda, then another group in Malawi, finally arriving early Saturday morning, March 21 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for a ‘layover’ at a hotel near the airport that was full of hundreds of volunteers from all over Africa. Murabeho, Turi Kumwe, and Komera kept ringing in my ears.

    From this point onward, my experience of this evacuation will be told from my own, first-person perspective.

    March 21, 6 p.m., Saturday night at the hotel in Addis Ababa.

    Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It reminds me of the scenes in Home Alone where they are late for the plane and everyone is freaking out. There is a Madagascar PCV who is gesticulating madly as he discusses whatever the latest frustration is. One hour ago he ran towards the hotel front desk and preceded to get into what to him seemed to be an important argument as he pointed his fingers accusatorially every which way.

    We just heard the news a few hours before that Rwanda has effectively shut down. It is hitting us as we make our way towards that last plane to take us to America. Once a beacon of hope. Now a slow-moving disaster.

    March 22, 1 a.m., Sunday morning at the airport in Addis Ababa.

    Walking through the airport to get on our plane has been surreal. We’re surrounded by other travelers in masks and a small minority in full-on hazmat suits. I just walked by a mother carrying her baby son with a plastic bag draped over her head to attempt to somehow protect them both.

    As we stand in security line after line for hours, we are deathly silent and beyond exhaustion. There are no words at this moment that need to be said. Many of us know how we feel.

    Guilt, over having to leave so suddenly.

    Shame, over not being able to say goodbye properly to those we love.

    Privilege, over having the option to fly somewhere else.

    Despair, over realizing we will not see our friends and family in Rwanda for perhaps years.

    Confusion, over having no idea what the next hour, day, or month will bring.

    There is a deep sadness that may never go away until we are able to return to our host countries.

    I overhear a colleague mention the concept of time and our complete lack thereof. Is it daytime, nighttime, or breakfast time? We don’t know anymore. It’s all a blur of endless, backbreaking security lines with bags.

    Throughout it all, transportation and airport employees continue doing their job with patience, persistence, and grace. I will never forget this day nor these images which have now been seared in my brain.

    Leaving Ethiopia feels like leaving Rwanda all over again.

    Meanwhile, Murabeho, Turi Kumwe, and Komera keep ringing in my ears.

     

  • EVAC Part 1: Rwanda in the Time of Coronavirus

    EVAC Part 1: Rwanda in the Time of Coronavirus

    I’ve tried not to think about the past, about early March, about what seems like yesterday, when things were normal and I was surprising my co-teacher with birthday chocolates and a song.

    Because up to this point to do so would lead to endless tears. I’ve kept my mind in the present, boxing away that pain for another day. Well, that day finally came.

    To put into words how I feel now and how I have felt throughout this process is beyond comprehension. I will do my best to accurately describe and convey the abrupt process behind leaving my country of service, my friends, my family, and the people I love.

    To keep things as clear and concise as possible, I will bullet point the announcements regarding the spread of coronavirus throughout the world and Rwanda as they occurred and as we were informed of them. Some things may seem superfluous, but it helps me internally to have this record.

    Thursday, February 27

    I was informed by our Country Director (CD) via an email from headquarters in Washington D.C. that my planned first-term school break vacation to Thailand in mid-April was no longer possible and any reservations must immediately be canceled. Travel to many countries where COVID-19 was spreading was now restricted.

    Up to this point, I had been reading news about COVID-19 for over a month, and I was diligently hoping that Thailand’s initial response and hot climate (it had been rumored that this slowed the spread) would ensure a vacation was still possible. Looking back on this now, it’s laughable that an upcoming vacation was my primary concern.

    In a phone call with my CD about these new travel restrictions, he noted that the virus was asymptomatic. For those who don’t know what that means, you can have no symptoms, still have the virus, and still spread it. After this call, I thought about what would happen if it came to Rwanda, a small country with an extremely high population density that is roughly the size of Massachusetts.

    March 1-12

    From this point onward, I still wasn’t concerned about having to leave the country. I was doing my job, teaching English, writing lesson plans for the next few weeks, and in my free time, I focused on finding an alternative vacation option. Then things started to decline in Italy and Iran, and Europe became off-limits as COVID-19 spread. So I whittled my options for a vacation down to South Africa or Zanzibar. Then the virus arrived in South Africa too. It started to become clear that I needed to consider not if the coronavirus would arrive, but when, and what that would entail.

    It was around this time that I started to talk about it every day at school, in the teacher’s office, and to my neighbors who were nurses working at the local health center. Both teachers and nurses were unable to grasp the severity of this virus. They didn’t believe it could reach Rwanda and some believed the rumor that it was a foreign virus only transmittable by abazungu (white foreigners).

    Tuesday, March 10

    The first confirmed case of COVID-19 in the Democratic Republic of Congo was announced.

    Wednesday, March 11

    The World Health Organization declared a pandemic.

    Thursday, March 12

    We received an email update from Peace Corps HQ that effective immediately, all non-essential international Volunteer travel, such as international travel for annual leave, was restricted.

    Saturday, March 14

    4 a.m.: Rwanda confirmed its first case of the coronavirus.

    6:40 a.m.: Peace Corps sent an update explaining we could leave Rwanda and choose interrupted service due to the continued spread of the coronavirus around the globe. It would be our choice and it would not negatively affect our post-Peace Corps benefits were any of us to make that decision. The overwhelming majority of Rwandan Peace Corps volunteers chose to stay. For those that did not, I did not judge their decision, but I had a sinking feeling that soon we would have no choice in the matter anyway.

    1 p.m.: The Rwandan Ministry of Health closed all schools and places of worship, banned large gatherings, and encouraged people to stay and work from home whenever possible.

    6:30 p.m.: I met up with Jackson, my best friend in Rwanda, at the local village pub. I told him there was a good chance that all Peace Corps volunteers would be forced to leave Rwanda soon. I brought a few beers that my friends from Washington, D.C. gave me when they visited in December of last year. I opened a can and handed it to him. It soon became obvious he had never drunk out of a can before. I showed him the correct form for doing so, but he just giggled, disappeared for a hot minute, and returned with a straw sticking out of his beer can. We both proceeded to laugh our asses off. It was a positive moment in what was otherwise a somber evening where we reminisced and tears were shed.

    Sunday, March 15

    I met up Jackson at the local pub again in the evening, fearing this may be the last time we would have such an opportunity. Brochettes were consumed, as were libations, and around 9 p.m. we walked the dirt road back to our homes, Jackson’s first, then mine. It was a trek we had taken at least once a month for the past year and we both knew it would likely be our last for a very long time.

    Late that evening my life was forever turned upside down. Peace Corps headquarters in Washington D.C. informed us via email at 10 p.m. that all volunteers around the world were being evacuated and sent home.

    It was as if someone had punched me directly in the gut. Despite confirmation of COVID-19 within Rwanda, the thought of actually leaving the country I loved serving a mission that brought me so much joy had not crossed my mind. Perhaps I was delusional, or perhaps I just didn’t want to accept the impending reality.

  • 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.

  • 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

     

  • ‘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.

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  • 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.

  • 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. 

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