If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen

I couldn't stand it.  I had to get out of the kitchen.  I stood outside the kitchen, looking in from the outside.  It wasn't the heat.  The heat I could take.  It was the swirling, thick smoke from the damp wood that was heating our lunch.

I wandered into the school kitchen one morning and told them I wanted to learn to cook like a Rwandan.  Mama Shukuru smiled, handed me a chef’s hat, and brought me out back where Isaiah was already hard at work.  Isaiah told me I was chief chef for the day.  Thankfully, that wasn't really the case otherwise the student’s would still be waiting for Wednesday’s lunch.

Isaiah hard at work.

Me posing so it looks like I'm hard at work

Wednesday is a busy day in the kitchen at Rwamagana Lutheran School.  Our typical lunchtime spread rotates between rice and beans, Irish potatoes and beans, sweet potatoes and beans, boiled green bananas and beans, or posho and beans.  (I know this might sound like a monotonous diet, but I tell ya, a plate full of rice and beans done right really hits the spot.  Or bananas and beans in a warm ground nut sauce… Yum!)  On Wednesdays though, the kitchen prepares us a feast.

Posho, a porridge-like dough cooked of maize flour and water 

First, Isaiah put me to work peeling ibitoki (green bananas) which we would cook with onions, oil, and tomato paste until they become soft and delicious.  The hard, uncooked bananas ooze a sticky sap causing me to spend as much time washing my hands afterwards as I spent peeling them.  Next, it was time to slice the potatoes.  Isaiah handed me a knife and showed me how to slice them into thin wedges so that we could deep fry them like French fries.  Isaiah’s knife moved with speed and agility as he sliced potato after potato.  I hacked at the potatoes, trying to mimic him.

Peeling ibitoke

Isaiah brought me into the small shack where fires were already going heating a giant cauldron of ginger tea and boiling water for rice.  I tried to slice and dice my way through a pile of onions and carrots that would be tossed into various dishes.  The smoke swirled thicker and thicker as lunch time neared.  It didn't seem to bother Isaiah but it caused me to spend most of my time standing by the door just watching him slice, dice, and stir our noontime meal.

Finally, it was time to serve the fruits of our labor.  (Or I should probably say the fruits of Isaiah’s labor.)  The students and staff were amused to see me donned in my chef’s hat and delivering their lunch.

The final dish - Rice, meat, ibitoke, beans, chips, and salad

Now, they told me, I am one step closer to becoming Rwandan.

Ordinary

Give yourself fully to the adventure of today. - Jesus Calling by Sarah Young

When I stepped off the plane six months ago, I felt upside down.  I pictured my friends and family back in America standing on the opposite side of the planet.  I was literally upside down in relation to them.  During the first few months it was exciting and exhausting to be in this new position, viewing the world from a different vantage point.  Everything I did – buying groceries at the market, walking to school, going to church – it all felt like an adventure.  I would end the day amazed by all that I was experiencing but utterly exhausted by all the new things that I was having to wrap my mind around.

But at some point, midst all the adventure, everything became normal.  I had hoped this would happen.  I don’t think I could handle feeling so out of place and overwhelmed for an entire year.  The normalcy means I’ve made friends, that my house feels like home, and that this culture is leaving its mark on me.  I’m learning how to speak, eat, walk, sing, and dance like a Rwandan.  I’ve even been given a Kinyarwanda name!  You can call me Kabanyana.

The downside of beginning to fit in? It makes it harder to blog.  The blank word document stares back at me a little more harshly.  The moments of ordinary days are often more beautiful than the interludes of edge-of-your-seat adventure… But it’s easy to forget that the ordinary is a story worth telling.  So here’s a snapshot of my new ordinary:

6:00 AM – I wake up to the jingle of my cell phone’s alarm clock.  That is, if I am not woken earlier by my night watchman outside my window singing along to Kinyarwanda gospel music on the radio or to the sound of the utterly ungraceful crows who land with a thud on our tin roof and the nail-on-chalkboard sound of their claws as they try to find their balance on the roof’s steep peak.

6:10 AM – I hit snooze a few more times… Or slip on my shoes for an early morning run.  Despite my efforts to sneak out unnoticed, it’s not uncommon for me to end my run with a dozen school children in tow.  I’ve even had an old man in a suit and a young woman in heels join me for a jaunt.

7:45 AM – After breakfast and a cold shower, I head to school.  All the bicycle taxi drivers in my neighborhood know where I want to go: “Sarah, tugende?” they ask.  “Yego,” I answer as I hop on the back.  It makes for a pleasant commute – unless, of course, it has recently rained and I’m wearing a skirt.  Then I must hold on for dear life as I balance on the back side-saddle while my driver carefully navigates the pits and puddles of the muddy dirt path.

8:00 AM – I arrive at Rwamagana Lutheran School as the first bell rings.  Most of my day is spent in the new laboratory doing cool science with our biology and chemistry classes.  I’m learning what a challenging and rewarding job it is to teach.  The class periods seem to fluctuate between blank stares and enthusiastic questions.

4:00 PM – The final bell rings and I walk home.  I’m beginning to embrace the African pace of life as I saunter home slowly, stopping to greet all those who call out to me.

Monday Evenings – Monday evenings I have been giving guitar lessons to a couple boys who lead music at their churches.  They learn the new chords quickly and I fear will soon be better than their teacher.

Wednesday Evenings – My roommate Becca and I head to Bible study.  Last fall a few of us started coming together once a week.  Since then our group continues to grow.  Most of us are new to Rwamagana, coming from all over the world.  We come from Korea, Rwanda, America, Uganda, and India.  We are Catholic, Pentecostal, Lutheran, Methodist, and Presbyterian.  We range in age from 19 to 55.  The diversity of this group always makes for rich discussions.  Valerie, an American missionary in our group, has started a bakery to create jobs for single mothers.  We gather at her shop when we meet, always welcomed by the inviting smell of fresh bread, and sharing      delicious food as we try to make sense of the Word.

Fridays Evenings – I join some friends at the nursing and midwife school for some basketball.  After years of warming the benches of the Minnesota State High School League, it’s nice to find a nation that appreciates my basketball skills.

10:00 PM – I crawl into bed, tuck my mosquito net around me, and whisper “Thank you.”

Classrooms and Labs!

Classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes, sing to the Lord a new song!

Athlete and band, loud cheering people, sing to the Lord a new song! 

He has done marvelous things.  I, too, will praise Him with a new song!

- "Earth and All Stars" by St. Olaf Cantorei

In the mornings, as the evening’s fog lifts itself from the hills, the streets of Rwamagana are filled with hundreds of children once again.  Uniform clad and notebooks in hand, they chat excitedly with their friends and shout “Good morning! How are you?” as I pass.  But who am I looking for? I’m looking for the ones in the crisp white shirts, sharp khaki pants, and green neckties.  They are mine.  And I am theirs.  Rwamagana Lutheran School feels as it should once again.  The dormitories are full and campus is no longer quiet. 

After a three month holiday, last Monday marked the start of the new school year across Rwanda.  And excuse my cheesiness as I allude to the rather situationally appropriate hymn above, but we are most certainly “singing a new song” this year at Rwamagana Lutheran School.   Our song this year will include labs and loud boiling test tubes, many new students, and our first class of graduating seniors.  The notes of this year’s song started falling in place long before our first day of school.  When I arrived last September, the construction of our school’s laboratory was well underway.  Slowly, it began looking more and more lab-like as it acquired black boards, desks, sinks, and a fume hood.  Then all of our new science equipment arrived; it was like Christmas morning for a scientist.  We got calorimeters and galvanometers and periscopes and resistors.  We got beakers and flasks and test tubes and burners.  As the school’s laboratory assistant, my time had come.  I got to work labeling, sorting, and inventorying.  I arranged the furniture and then rearranged it again, trying to get the perfect scientific feng shui.

Once everything was just so, our visitors arrived.  (And by this, I mean we were actually still frantically trying to get everything in place and our visitors graciously chipped in to help with our last minute dusting, sweeping, and scrubbing.)  These American visitors had made the journey to Rwamagana for the dedication of our newest buildings, including the laboratory, a cafeteria, and a dormitory.  Among these guests of honor were both the donors of our laboratory building and all of our science equipment.  Community members and students returned to campus to celebrate the dedication.

I knew it was going to be a memorable day marking the beginning of something exciting at our school but when the day came it struck me as something deeper than that.  The morning was filled with worship, prayer, and speeches.  Choirs and a traditional dance troupe performed.  When the donors spoke, telling of their connection to the school and their hopes for its future, I was taken with emotion in a way that I hadn't expected.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude for these gifts that our school had been given.

As the school year begins and I work with the science teachers to create a more hands-on science curriculum, I hope to get more kids hooked on science.  But as much as I would love to uncover some untapped affinity for genetics or stoichiometry or anatomy, the reality of this lab means so much more than preparing future doctors or engineers.  This lab and the equipment that fills it tell our students that we believe in them.  It sends the message that they are worth it and that they can be whatever they want to be, whether that is a physicist or novelist.  And that’s a song worth singing.

The grand opening of the lab with the bishop of the 

Lutheran Church of Rwanda and the mayor of Rwamagana.

The periodic table, drawn by one of our students, 

was the finishing touch to the chemistry lab.

Traditional Rwandan dancers really got the celebration going.

Ester, one of our students, leading her church's 

choir at the dedication service.

Ignace, another student, inscribes the initials of the 

three wise men above the door, a tradition dating 

back to the middle ages.

The school's founder, Robin, and I show off some of the new equipment.

Three of our teacher's preparing lessons during teaching workshops.

If you would like to learn more about the excitement at Rwamagana Lutheran School, visit RwandaSchoolProject.org or visit the school's Facebook page.

There's No Place Like... Burundi for the Holidays

Lake Tanganyika, Bujumbura, Burundi

The past few weeks have been filled with small adventures and holiday celebrations.  I continue to be amazed at the beauty of this land, the hospitality of my neighbors, and the support of my friends.  It's hard to be away from home during the holidays.  There have been some hard days as I have been both sick and homesick at times.  But as 2014 drew to a close, I couldn't help but marvel at the blessings the year has brought and I look forward to what this coming year will bring.  So I wish you umwaka mushya mwiza (a good new year) as they say here.  And I hope you enjoy some more snapshots from Rwanda... and Burundi.

A few weeks before Christmas I had the chance to visit my friend and fellow YAGM, Luke, and his host father, Pastor Martin, at his home in the village of Rukira.  Getting myself there was an adventure in itself.  After two buses and a motorcycle ride I ended up at Pastor Marta's church, NOT Pastor Martin's church. (Something was lost in translation.)  But with the gracious guidance of Pastor Marta and the people of the Pentecostal church, I was soon on the back of another motorcycle bound for Luke and Pastor Martin.  Luke teaches English to a jubilant bunch of preschoolers who absolutely adore him.  It was fun to see them show off the English songs and rhymes he has taught them.

Luke's kiddos

Their favorite activity? Chasing Luke

Christmas reunited me once again with my YAGM family in Kigali.  The Lutheran church in Kigali offers regular English services and they invited the six of us and our country coordinator, Pastor Kate, to lead the English services on Christmas.  It was such a treat to sing our favorite familiar carols together and to share some of our Christmas traditions with the people at church.  The best part of the night (and one of my favorite Christmas traditions) was the lighting of candles and singing "Silent Night." It was a holy night indeed!

At Christmas Eve service in Kigali

With a few days of a free time on our hands between Christmas and New Years, the six of decided to explore one of our neighboring countries.  We headed south to Burundi's capital city of Bujumbura and spent a day swimming at Lake Tanganyika.  It was fun to see the different kind of hustle and bustle of another African country.  The people where impressed when we spoke Kinyrwanda as it is very similar to their native language, Kirundi. They would exclaim, "Oh, you speak Kirundi!" And we would answer with a confident, "Yego! Yes!"

The water was great but beware of hippos.

Sunset over Lake Tanganyika

New Year's in Rwanda is celebrated with worship.  My landlord and his family invited me to share in their celebration.  We ate brochettes (sticks of grilled goat meat), ibitoke (cooked green bananas), and fresh papaya.  In the morning we joined hundreds of others at the Catholic church for New Year's Day mass.

The Catholic church in Rwamagana

Now things are falling back into their normal routine as the holidays draw to a close.  (Although most days my "normal routine" still doesn't feel at all normal or routine.)  I enjoyed seeing familiar faces again at church this morning.  I am beginning to learn the songs well enough that I find myself singing them the rest of the day.  As I write this, I can hear through my open window that the little boy next door has the same hymn stuck in his head as I do!

Some of our choir members

And in case you were wondering what my favorite snack is here in Rwanda - because I'm sure that is exactly what you were all wondering - I thought I better include a picture of that too.  There is nothing better than a cold glass of ikivuguto (a fermented, yogurty milk drink), chapati (a fried flat bread), and fresh mangoes.  Birayoshye! Delicious!  

A Christmas Gift

We have been to enough Christmas pageants and seen enough nativity scenes to picture that first Christmas.  We know that the child born that night grew into a man that started a radical movement.  He broke norms and shattered stereotypes.  The new way He chose to live was spunky and truthful enough that others joined Him.  They continued to live in this new way even after Jesus left them.  They weren’t sure what they were doing at times.  They learned from and leaned on each other.  They became what we in English call the church or in Kinyarwanda itorero.  

For some, the idea of the church might make them cringe and perhaps for good reason.  We (the church) have excluded and loved conditionally.  We have let our mission get clouded by politics and petty drama.  Throughout history the church has been as messy and messed up as the people that make it up.  This has caused some to turn away thinking that their faith was better off on their own or perhaps putting aside their faith altogether.

Yet I am thankful for this gift Jesus left behind for us.  And I don’t say this blindly.  I see the problems and the ugliness of my church, churches in America, churches in Rwanda, and probably every other church out there.  But this year I have been welcomed into a new church.  Being an outsider has given me new perspective about what it means to be a church and why it’s important to struggle through and celebrate faith together.  I have seen a little boy bring his siblings to church each Sunday, telling me that after his sister died this was the place he felt happy again.  I have seen this church collect a second offering for a woman who wasn’t a member of the church but who couldn’t pay her children’s school fees.  I have experienced the much needed welcome and invitations to lunch that are needed when one is far from home.

I have also found myself missing my church at home, the congregations of both my hometown and my college campus.  This too has brought perspective.  I enjoy Sundays here in Rwanda.  I love the energy of the African songs and fellowship after church.  In the singing and dancing and clapping I still find the sense of peace that can only be found on the Sabbath.  But worshiping in a foreign language leaves something to be desired.  I miss worshiping with other in songs I know, reflecting on scripture in words I understand, and reciting the liturgy I grew up with.  I feel these gaps that church has usually filled in my faith and I now have to try to fill them in new ways.

Faith, as I am learning more and more, is communal.  God is overpoweringly capable on His end of the relationship.  But our end?  Not so much.  Thankfully Jesus left us with a church, comrades on this journey called faith.  We mess up a lot yet God keeps filling in our gaps and using us to fill up the gaps in others.  And that, my friends, is a pretty sweet Christmas gift.

Myself and a fellow church-goer 

Fun Fact:  The word “itorero” in Kinyarwanda refers to the people that make up the church.  The word for the building that is the church is “urusengero.”  Cool distinction, huh?

Celebrating Life

I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  - Psalm 27:13

The email said, “Come all to celebrate life and express thanks to God for life and the earth he/she has given us.”  It was an email from Pastor John, one of the local pastors, inviting my fellow YAGMs and I for a weekend of camping.  After two months of adventure and struggle in our various homes throughout Rwanda, nothing sounded better to me than some time with these dear friends.

John’s land sits overlooking Rusumo Falls which churns the silt-laden waters of the Kagera River into a milky brown.  The river cuts through the land to divide Rwanda and Tanzania.  Everywhere I turned I found a view worth a picture.  Even the door-less outhouse had a mountaintop view.  Now, during the rainy season, the hills of Rwanda pulse with an emerald green color that the American Midwest only sees in jewel-toned story books.  The clouds hang low making this land seem as if it has been tucked just a little extra close to heaven.  Don’t be fooled though, the equatorial sun reaches between the heavy clouds to burn any pale neck in reach.

Shortly after arriving, we were greeted by the hill’s native inhabitants.  The curious baboons snuck shyly through the trees, proceeding with more confidence once we began tossing bananas their way.  (This in hindsight may not have been the best decision because the baboons had difficulty differentiating between the bananas we brought for them and the bananas we were saving for our breakfast.)  Once the baboons grew tired of us, John brought us over to see the goats.  A young boy led a bull goat by a rope.  John chuckled as he told us that he knew we were probably not accustomed to being presented with our dinner while it was still alive.  He explained that in Rwanda it is customary to present the animal to one’s guest before it was slaughtered.  So we greeted our goat and thanked him for his sacrifice.  Hours later we shared a delicious meal around the fire.

The next morning we helped John plant some trees.  John has planted well over 40,000 trees on this land.  He has worked hard to make this little corner of the world a place of life-giving celebration.  He does this by planting trees and bringing friends together for fellowship.  He does this with decided intentionality because not that long ago these hills and the river winding through it carried death and bitter sorrow.

During the 1994 genocide, when over one million people were killed in one hundred days, five hundred thousand people fled across the Rusumo Falls Bridge to Tanzania.  As the exodus took place on the bridge above, thousands of dead bodies tumbled down the falls below.  Brutal killings were taking place across the entire country.  Bodies were thrown into streams and rivers.  With most of Rwanda’s rivers flowing into the Kagera, many bodies collected at these falls.  When the conflict subsided, no one wanted to purchase the land that had witnessed such horrors.  Some thought John crazy for buying it.  But John saw the hope and life that the land still held.  

Everyone Kuvumba Now!

So I crashed a wedding last weekend.  I ended up being in the wedding.  And I may or may not have almost gotten married... 

Let me start from the beginning:  Last week I spent a few days in Rwanda’s capital city, Kigali, to attend the Global Leadership Summit, a faith-based leadership conference.  Because I was in town, I thought I would go visit my Kinyarwanda teacher, Peter.  When I called, he told me he was going to a wedding.  Seeing it as his responsibility to have me practice my Kinyarwanda skills and introduce me to more Rwandan culture, Peter invited me to tag along.  Normally, my Midwest American upbringing would have caused me to hesitate, not wanting to intrude on someone’s special day.  Luckily, I am in Rwanda where people are not only expected but invited to crash a wedding.  They even have a word for that: kuvumba, which translates to “to take food or drink when not invited to a party.”  And the people that do the kuvumba-ing are called abavumbyi.  Rwandans don’t worry about the number of places to sit or the number of meals to prepare, rather they truly believe “the more, the merrier.”

Upon arriving at the wedding, a friend of the bride took me by the arm and helped me don the traditional dress.  Now, I must confess I still don’t really understand the entire marriage ceremony here in Rwanda.  It can take several days and there are many parts.  The day I attended was the gusaba and gukwa, the negotiation and presentation of dowry.  Traditionally, the dowry was always cows.  In rural areas this is still true.  In fact, during my first week in Rwanda, a man offered my father forty cows if I would marry his son.  I did kindly decline, mostly on the grounds that my dad would have no idea what to do with that many cows.  (I think the day a man does come seeking my hand in marriage, he is going to have better luck offering a dowry more suited to my father's tastes, such a water-skies or Snickers Blizzards.)

There was no exchanging of cows at this wedding.  Instead they exchanged beer, wine, and other gifts.  If you speak Kinyarwanda, the negotiating is fun to watch.  The uncles or fathers of the families banter back and forth, exchanging jokes and friendly teasing as they decide the dowry price.  The father of the bride will eventually concede to giving up his daughter.  Often though, as a joke, he will bring out the wrong daughter.  Then the banter will continue until the groom wins the bride he is after.  At this wedding, however, someone thought it would be hilarious if instead of bringing out the bride, they bring out a tall American girl who clearly looks nothing like the bride-to-be.

So before the ceremony began, Peter pulled me into the back room where the wedding party was waiting.  And at just the right moment, someone escorted me out to the negotiating families and the bride’s family presented me to the father of the groom.  Everyone had a good laugh and I enjoyed playing along.  Thankfully, the groom’s family kept negotiating for the bride they wanted. 

What if they would have settled with me?

That would have made for an awkward phone call home to Mom and Dad.

My "father" about to present me to the groom's family

Presenting gifts to the couple

The bride (center) with her new husband

Celebrating the couple with a traditional dance troupe