Global Awareness in Action: Rwanda 2011

Blog written by Tasha

As I heard the hiking crew stiring and muttering to themselves at 5:15 am, walking heavily to the bathroom to brush their teeth and leave, I just grinned to myself and rolled back over, revelling in the fact that I got to go to a school all day, and better than that even, I could steal just a few more hours of sleep before starting my day.

When we did get up, Sarah, Hannah, Moni, Jyoti, Julia, Cara, and I rushed to pack up enough toys and sporting equiptment to entertain some children for the morning, brainstorming games from our youth (yah, yah, I know we can hardly afford to reference “our youth” but hey, let us enjoy sounding older than we are while we still can) as we walked down the streets of Ruhengeri to catch our mutatu. A short while later, we were sitting with our knees folded up, and for yours truly, with half my seat taken up by a guitar, on our way to morning chapel at Sonrise.

OK, if you think walking into church, or into a meeting, or into class late is awkward, I DARE you to walk into a church service late, where 500 kids in identical uniforms turn around to stare at you, and an older woman walks up to escort you to the bright red chairs literally in the middle of the room. Oh, and guess what? They want a presentation. (*sarcastic excited face*) After a quick and heated discussion, we settle on a “presentation”; i.e. four of us traipse up to the front of the room in silence and perform an impromptu version of Lucky by Jason Mraz for a very eager crowd with some guitar and 75% of our singers with voices in the process of being lost. And do you know what? It was awesome.

When we’d reclaimed our seats, we settled down to listen to a very… what’s the word… interesting? Sure, a very interesting sermon from a preacher whose English was both heavily accented and remarkably enthusiastic. Apparently, every sweet thing the students would be tempted to eat on their impending two week holiday would be sprinkled with poison*, (so “you eat it. Then you die.”), the older girls would be tempted by pretty rich boys on mototaxis, and anyone who wore their clothes “like that! with the underwear showing!” was tempting sin and needs some intense prayer to get through two weeks away from their little sheltered community. I’m not gonna lie, I recorded some of that stuff, just so that when I come home and get a call, that preacher’s voice will alert me that someone is calling.

As I walked with my  fellow mzungus through the low gate and into the open courtyard of Sonrise primary school, it was with a slight sense of trepidation. For myself at least, I’d been expecting the kinds of primary school students that occupied my elementary school in New York, perhaps 25 or 30 small children, whose sole preoccupation was to play all day and perhaps learn how to write a few short words in uncertain hands, enclosed in a brightly decorated classroom. But we were apparently here for the real deal. 531 kids, just finished with their exams, and full of energy that wasn’t being spent on studying, versus 7 Americans bearing balls, beads, and time to spare.  Let the games begin!  And they did.

I alternated between strumming my guitar for a rapt audience of small children closing in a wall around me, and standing in a classroom, on a teacher’s desk, with beads in my hand, hands clawing at my skirt, depserately trying to maintain order.  “Oya! (No), please! Let’s sit down!”

A few kids would rush back to the student desks, and when they realized no one else was leaving the tightly formed circle around my desk, they’d just run back and continue to tug at my skirt and shout “teacher! teacher!” in an attempt to catch my attention, and deliver the English sentence I’d demanded before recieving the little gift in return. It was exhausting.

Once my prospective future as a preschool teacher had finally been squashed beyond recognition, I ran behind the door of the conference room, held the door closed with my back, and took a few deep breaths before collecting myself enough to go back out and play with the kids.

A few long, tiring hours later, we all walked heavily down the street, towards the secondary school, and stared in wonder at these students who walked around calmly, studying in groups and talking quietly. We ate at a small table, piling our plates high with rice and vegetables, and finished with grins, rehashing our experiences from earlier that day.

When we rejoined with the hiking group.

*Note: the idea of “poison” is widely used as an explanation for any sickness in Rwanda, partially in concert with wide exploitation of the under-educated majority by “poison practitioners” who will “cure” your ailment with an antidote to whatever “poison” they decide is afflicting you. Often the antidote is another kind of poison, which simply induces vomiting or diarrhea, aggravating whatever symptoms are already present.

Blog written by Max

On Sunday the Putney crew split up into two different groups. A few students chose to hike on Mount Bisoke while the others went to the Sonrise School. I was one of the students who went on the hike, and we had a 5 am wake up call! Yikes! So I woke up with a ton of energy, definitely ready to go. We took a van with four wheel drive  to Volcanoes National Park, or should I call it Mzungu Paradise. Mzungo is a Rwandan word that means wealthy traveler, or one with wealthy clothes. Throughout the duration of the trip, the Putney Rwanda Group didn’t bump into many Mzungus since we were not at many tourist destinations … but at Volcanoes National Park the scene was definitely different. French, Spanish, Belgians, and many others were casually drinking their “echai” or Rwandan Mountain Tea, “The Finest Tea in Rwanda”. Our fearless leader, Micheal Le Chevallier, advised us to wear warm clothes but we brilliant young teenagers some how managed to arrive in short shorts and thin white t-shirts, while the Europeans were layered with clothes. We took another bus ride to Mount Bisoke and began our hike up the mountain. The hike was not an easy one as it was loaded with stinging nettle. Stinging nettle is a type of plant that has long needles at the end of each leaf and it really hurts if you come into contact with one. I was the group’s first victim!  My arm grazed the plant and next thing I knew I wanted to cry like a baby. But I am no baby, I am a GAIA Rwanda student, and we GAIA Rwanda students don’t cry! (Only sometimes after taking our very appetizing malaria pills.) After avoiding as much stinging nettle as we could, my fellow GAIA Rwandan students  and I conquered the mountain in 2 hours and 45 minutes. Our eyes were rewarded with the beautiful Crater Lake laying at the top of the volcano. We were told that the other half of the lake was actually in the Democratic Republic of Congo. At the top of the mountain we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. A crow took my hand sanitizer instead of my sandwich! I can’t imagine why that crow thought that my Purell would taste better than Nutella and Jif peanut butter. Next time I’ll be sure to make a Purell sandwich instead.

Our hike back down was significantly easier than the way up for most of the students. Of course, being so brilliant, I decided to wear my running sneakers instead of hiking boots. My decision to wear running shoes definitely paid off during my hike up the mountain but my frictionless shoes were not the best idea for the way down. I wouldn’t exactly call my experience a hike down the mountain. It was more like a mud sliding /falling down the mountain or ‘mud skiing’, because I used the trees as my poles. I now have the right to tell my parents that I mud skied in Rwanda, even though just saying that I spent a month in Rwanda is definitely something to talk about by itself. Parents out there should definitely be proud of their children, and especially of Michael and Sarah, this trip is not an easy one. Michael and Sarah did not tell me to write this. I promise!

Blog written by Cara

Having been away from Nymata for a few days now, I have just began to realize how much I miss the children at the children’s center and how important they are to me.  While not every moment was exciting, every moment was memorable.  Throughout my time at the children’s center, I found myself progressing from an uncomfortable onlooker to a motivated and excited friend to
the children.

I had no idea what to expect when I entered the gates of the children’s center for the first time.  I have to admit that I was a bit startled when I saw the children for the fist time, and was not quite sure how to first approach them.  Luckily, that was not something I had to worry about, as I was immediately grabbed by Antoine, an adorable boy whose story has already been detailed in this blog.

While every moment there was memorable, there are a couple that stick out in my mind as having been exciting, motivating, and fulfilling.  On my first trip to the children’s center, I particularly connected with one little girl with downs syndrome, Irena. While some people might have been uncomfortable or even grossed out by her constant drool, sweat, and urine, all I could think about was how great it felt to be so unconditionally loved.  Her jumping on my face was, I’ll admit it, painful, but her joy and giddiness made the pain completely worth it. There was no better feeling that walking into the center and seeing a smile break out on her face as she ran to me.

I also loved spending time in the physical therapy room with Happiness and Aphrodise. While I had never really spent much time with Happiness at first, I was immediately hooked when I walked in, said muraho, and her eyes completely lit up.  She grabbed my hand, and was just content to sit and smile at me as she sat in her physical therapy position.  I don’t quite remember how Julia and I began trying to get her to speak, but just hearing her struggle to pronounce the word “happy” was bittersweet.    Julia and I both felt so accomplished when she struggled to say “ha-ee,” and I will always carry with me the feeling that I had truly made an audible difference in her life. Along with this feeling of joy and bliss came the feeling of disappointment.  It is obvious that Happiness is smart.  She understands when we speak to her, and she understands what she wants to say.  This was clear when Aphrodise kept spitting at Julia, and Happiness wisely made eye contact with him and shook her finger no. Because we know how intelligent she is, it was that much harder hearing her struggle to pronounce a word as simple as “happy.” It really hit hard that this girl, who has so much intelligence and love to offer the world is constrained by not only her handicap, but her lack of resources.

Although much has already been written about Antoine, I cannot finish this blog post without mentioning him and the joy he has brought to my life.  First of all, let me start off by saying that there is no better sound in the world than Antoine’s laugh.  Although he cannot speak, he communicates with us through his body language, hugs, and laughter.  He quickly became the favorite of the group, as he was loving, funny, and not the least bit aggressive.  I had always thought of him as a lovable, adorable little boy who, despite his handicap, could look forward to a bright future.  This was all shattered when I learned of his age (19) and his horrific past.  I felt powerless knowing that despite all of my love and encouragement, I could not change his past, and I likely couldn’t ensure a better future for him. From that point on, he felt heavier in my lap, and I felt more inclined to spend as much time with him as possible.  While I probably cannot make a lasting impact to his life, I hope that the love and attention I showered him with made him a happier person.

I fell hard for all of the children at the children’s center, and miss them every day, even though it has been less than a week since I said a tearful goodbye to them.  I know that this affection will not fade, even when I return home to the US, and I hope to raise money to help their construction project as well to help provide for the children.  I know it is horribly cliché, but I feel as if the love Antoine, Irena, Happiness, Aphrodise, and all of the other kids gave me has been more life-changing for me than my love ever could have been for them. These children will be in my thoughts forever, and I can only stay motivated by the dream of returning to Nyamata and reuniting with them once again.

Blog written by Moni

Our time at the children’s center was a very good and personal experience for me. I love playing with children. Making them happy fills me with joy, but working with these kids, who are really mostly teenagers, some even older than me, was a completely different experience. I love them with all my heart. I hate to pick and choose, but my favorite was Antoine. He is currently 19 years old and both of his parents were killed in the genocide and his younger brother took care him. One day Antoine’s little brother tried to drown him because he didn’t want Antoine to die of hunger. The people around them stopped him and brought Antoine to the children’s center.. Antoine has a severe handicap, possibly autism. I also really liked Irena, a 8-9 year old girl with down syndrome. I love them all and got half my clothes saturated with dirt from playing with them. I can’t think about their drool, or them soiling themselves, or even them hurting me because the only thing that occupied my mind was their happiness and how loved I made them feel. I put my self in their shoes and I could only imagine what it is like to be in their condition without any love. That broke my heart and tore me to pieces.

Reflecting on my experiences with a child that is four years older than me with severe autism and enjoys the same stimulation as my three year old sister changed my view of life monumentally, and though I am crying as I write this I am also laughing. I am laughing because I made an impact in the lives of those children, because I learned what it truly means to be disabled and have a limiting disability. Because I saw how incredibly lucky I am to be the way I am, even more so to have what I have, and even more so to be part to a trip like this that unveils the truth and makes you think about the value of things. A trip that makes you think about how most of the American population is obese while millions of people in Rwanda, Uganda, The Congo, and almost everywhere else in Africa are dying of malnutrition, hunger, thirst, and sicknesses from contaminated foods. A trip that makes me think how I can share this with you and all the people who need to understand. I feel though, that you, or anyone else will never understand, unless you pay attention and step into the shoes that have been waiting to be filled for centuries. I am moved by the kids at the children’s center, but their pictures and stories will mean little; it’s the feeling of their skin, and the sound of their laughter, and the warmth of their happiness that will mean the most to people. People like me, and people different from me, and even people that are their own unique person, unlike anyone else. Everyone will be touched by these children that were saved by an angel on Earth, Cecille.

Our time at Nyamata quickly came to an end.  After the hustle and bustle of Kigali, it was a breath of fresh air to be away from the crowds, away from the honking of horns, and more
established in our own space at the guest house at the hospital. Our days
have largely been spent working with the same partners: The Access Project and the children’s center. The Access project is an NGO started by Josh Ruxin that works within several districts in Rwanda to improve the general infrastructure of clinics and its Neglected Tropical Disease program carries out several programs to deal with that grouping of diseases that impact over one billion people worldwide. With the Access project, students visited local health clinics. While the statistics regarding the number of doctors per person are staggering (1:100,000), it was impressive to see the efficiency of the clinics and the many nurses who staff them. We continued our exposure to the local Rwandan medical situation with a few students attending a surgery at the hospital, and others visiting the mental health clinic. The latter fills up every April during the months commemorating the genocide, as memories trigger PTSD for so many Rwandans.

A trip to Partners In Health’s (PIH) pilot hospital in Rwinkwavu introduced us to the innovative model envisioned by Paul Farmer that got his NGO invited to Rwanda in 2005 personally by the President and the Minister of Health. PIH’s community health worker model that was so successful in Haiti was adopted by the Rwandan government, and now they are trying to scale up aspects of PIH’s program to the whole country. PIH identifies health care as a human right and thus wrestles with the ethical dilemmas that arise as they try to offer patients in Rwanda the same medical opportunities one has in the U.S. Throughout the trip we have heard again and again the significant threat that malnutrition poses to the country, serving as an obstacle to both healing and development. At PIH we visited Sarah’s old stomping ground in the gardens, where community agricultural workers help families learn to prepare balanced meals, and teach them to create their own kitchen gardens in order to provide the necessary foods to supplement the standard diet of Irish potato, cassava, and rice.

At the children’s center we had made a more personal impact as students constructed showers for the new center they have been building, and as they played with the many children in residence. It is a center devoted to children with developmental disabilities. It was started by a group of Rwandan women in Nyamata in 2005 when it was clear there were no other resources for children with disabilities. Many of the children
here quickly grabbed at our hearts. There is Antoine, a slightly bow legged boy, quick to grab any visitor’s hand to bring them into the center, quick to signal a desire for a hug, and quick to laugh. Many of us were surprised to hear that he is 19 years old, yet he is the
physical size of a ten year old. We were also saddened to hear his story: Antoine lost his parents to the genocide, and struggled with his brother to survive. In a tragic moment of desperation, Antoine’s brother tried to drown him in the river, only to be saved by onlooking farmers who made a commotion at the river side. There is also Irene, quick to greet others, but more inclined to the self-stimulation characteristic of autistic children, of throwing balls on the roof to hear their clatter, and being lifted so as to be swung about. His
activity and action can carry him away, sometimes leading to him mischievously biting or hitting. There is also Happiness, a girl of eleven, going through physical therapy at the children’s center in order to develop the strength to sit up. She lives up to her name, brightening up and smiling as we said it to her. A miracle seemed to take place in the physical therapy room one day as Julia and Cara tried to teach Happiness how to say Happy. She struggled, and was able to mouth it. Suddenly from behind them, however, Aphrodise, a young boy of five with Down Syndrome, who does not speak, shouted out “Happy.” Cheering him on, he continued throughout the week to sporadically speak out. These are just a few of the children who we will now carry with us in our hearts. While we were able to see a physical impact with the showers we helped construct, the activity and affection showered upon these children over the week already showed its impact. It was difficult for us to part from the children’s center, knowing that the resounding sound of their laughter will no longer serve as a background to our trip.

Blog written by Kristina as a reflection on visits to the genocide memorials

Wiriwe families!  Our first week has passed and the experience has been incredible. One point of focus thus far has been understanding and paying respects to the genocide of 1994. In Kigali, we visited the genocide museum. There we saw mass graves of many who had been killed, wandered the memorial gardens, and entered the museum which is made up of three sections. The first section was made up of informational exhibits; an introduction segment and a section dedicated to the history of the genocide, shown in parts of ‘before’, ‘during’, and ‘after’. We learned new details and the events took on a new light with pictures, videos, and captions.

The second section of the museum brought on a new emotion as well. This section was made up of three rooms. The first room contained individual photographs of many victims of the genocide. Interviews with survivors were projected onto a screen that voiced their memories (good and bad) of a family member they had lost. Touching all who saw it, the video allowed for a clearer path of personalization.  The next room was equally challenging; in glass containers, scull upon skull and countless bones filled the room. The final room contained more interviews, and articles of clothing belonging to victims in glass displays.

The third and final section of the museum contained two exhibits. The first exhibit contained overviews of past genocides and atrocities that have not been formally recognized as genocide. The second was the most difficult part of the museum: an exhibit dedicated to children of the 1994 genocide, pictures, and stories of countless children. Some were unbearable to read, and impossible to process.

All of the feelings that we felt in the genocide museum were revisited, if not made more potent, at the Nyamata genocide memorial which most of the group visited today. This memorial is a church where 10,000 people were slaughtered in April 1994. Left largely as untouched after the genocide occurred, the clothes and possesions of the deceased lie on the pews. Bullet holes and holes made from grenades scar the building. Broken windows also make palpable the terror that occurred within those walls.

Behind the church we saw crypts filled with the bones and sculls of the deceased. Seeing this was another powerful experience, one that pushed many of us to confront the feelings of sadness that we had been avoiding.

Overall, our experiences with the genocide memorials have been intense. They have changed the way we see the genocide, making it real and personal.

Rebecca catching a child with a smile at Garden's for Health

Getting a tour from Moise at Gardens for health

Learning how to graft

Grafting Presentation at Garden's for Health

After two days of travel, three legs of flight (including a brief stopover in Burundi), several airplane meals, second-run movies, and hours trying to sleep in the awkward positions, we finally arrived yesterday in Kigali. Spirits were running high. In unplanned accord, students left and right said that they were just excited to be here. The sun shone favorably on our arrival here, and all of our bags arrived without a problem!

Arrival day was July 4th, and like us in America, it is a holiday of independence day for the Rwandans. July 4th is the day they celebrate the end of the genocide by the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF). With many of the shops and NGOs closed, our students set out into the city, carrying out a scavenger hunt that introduced them to the basics of travel in Rwanda. They became familiar with local currency, learned greetings in Kinyarwanda from Rwandans, and also talked with locals about the importance of this day. Students found that many Rwandas in Kigali were celebrating by taking the day off from work, attending national celebrations at the stadium, or watching the speeches, the patriotic songs, and the military demonstrations on TV.

While this day commemorates the end of the genocide, for us it was not the stadium and celebrations, but instead the banal and everyday that called to mind the reality of the genocide that struck here only 17 years ago. A few students reported this awareness being evoked the moment they saw a van at the airport for the Hotel des Milles Collines. History has a way of penetrating into the present, and for our students, particuarly after having watched “Hotel Rwanda,” this seemingly insignificant sign raised the theme sparking so many of the questions that runs pervasively behind our experiences: the Genocide of 1994 that killed over one million people and continues to impact so many others, survivors and perpetrators alike. As students met and talked with Rwandans on the street the unspoken question pressed in mnay of their minds: “Where was this person 17 years ago?”

Our first day in Rwanda set the stage for a trip that will likely raise more questions than answers. We are at the beginning, learning even how to discuss about the genocide amongst ourselves and with the many Rwandans that open their lives to us. This will only continue, as today is only our second day here.  Today, students were exposed to the history leading up to the genocide, and had a chance to hear a first hand account of a Hutu woman who rescued five individuals during the genocide, and to meet the now 19 year old orphan who she rescued as a two year old. They also were able to see some of the amazing work being done locally to continue to support survivors as they visited a school started by Elizabeth Dearborn Davis, a Putney Student Travel alum, dedicated to providing college education to one of Rwanda’s most important assets, its women. Our students were very impressed by Ms. Davis, and many were surprised to meet someone who just seven years earlier was in their own shoes, now doing so much to make a difference here. In many respects, this visit was a perfect way to start our journey here, foreshadowing that inevitable question: “How can I take these experiences into my life beyond this trip.

Everyone from team Rwanda wishes you Amahoro.

Bye for now,
Mike and Sarah

Max, Tasha, and Julia visit with Genocide Survior Acurus

Team Rwanda visits with Elizabeth Dearborn Davis at the Akillah Insitute

Team Rwanda wish you all Amahoro!