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| perfectly clear and still last day in Rwanda |
Before I came here, various people kept saying to me, “You’re
going to be changed when you come back.”
When a friend visited me in April, she said, “I thought you would be
changed by now,” seeming a bit disappointed that I wasn’t somehow different from before I had moved here. I didn’t understand what anyone meant, and I
found the word “change” to be frustratingly maddening in a way. I didn’t really want to change when I came here, I certainly didn’t venture to
Rwanda in order to change, and quite honestly
I didn’t feel as though anything was wrong with me that needed to change. Here I am nearly one year later and I now
understand the transformative nature that Agahozo and Rwanda have had on me.
Something that I have said consistently since walking away
from things in the States is that nobody on this journey knew me before I lost
my brother, therefore nobody missed the old version of who I was, and who I could
no longer be. For better or worse, the
old version of who I was and who I had become over the course of 31 years, died
with my brother. Everyone I met and have
interacted with over the past year knows me only as Barrett. They have nothing to compare me against and
that freedom is refreshing. There are
so many people back home who either consciously or involuntarily hope that my
year away will help me convert back to who I was before my world was
shattered. I will save all of you from the suspense – it hasn’t happened, and it’s not
possible. Yes, this experience has
“changed” me, but it has not brought me back around to who I was before. This experience has allowed me to pick up the
pieces of myself and reshape the puzzle.
I cannot even begin to explain the level of frustration I have faced
while trying to redefine my sense of self and figure out who I am and what is
important to me, and it is still something I work through each and every day.
The distance from friends and family has also helped me to
rewrite my address book, so to speak.
All the grief books speak about the fact that so many people surround
you during the first few weeks after tragedy strikes, but then the true test
begins and you quickly see who is going to be by your side for the long-haul
and who has just moved on with their life, forgetting about you while you
wallow in the depths of sorrow. I have
had some amazing people support me over the past year and others who seemingly
disappeared into the nether regions of the world. At first it bothered me that so many people
seemingly forgot about me, but then I began to see it with a fresh
perspective. I liken it to cleaning out
a closet full of clothes, tossing out the clutter, freeing up space and
starting new. I have found new sources
of strength from people I never thought to lean on before, and I have gained
valuable insight from others who seem to have come along on this journey with
me, understanding me for me and not wishing I was somebody else.
What aspects of me have been redefined or discovered? I am not sure where to begin. My reaction to setbacks has diminished quite
a bit and if it’s possible, I think that I am more laid-back. I have learned to let go of my desire to
control that which I cannot, and just go with the flow. Don’t get me wrong, there are still plenty of
frustrations each day that seemingly send me over the edge, but just recently my
dear friend (and fellow year-long volunteer in the Village) Maytal said to me,
“imagine how you would have reacted 11 months ago!” Growth.
“Buhoro buhoro” is a common saying here, meaning slowly by slowly. EVERYTHING happens slowly here; to the point
where I think things have a tendency to move backward before inching their way
forward. Not only have processes evolved
and matured with policies and procedures that I have helped to introduce over
the past year, but I have evolved and matured ... slowly. This is a place where you can’t fight the
flow – you just have to ride the current sometimes and see where you end up,
much like if you fall out of a raft in the middle of a class 5 white water
rapid :) Do I still get annoyed when certain things
don’t go according to plan or communication appears to have come to a
screeching halt? Absolutely. I am not above admitting that I am still a
work in progress, but the annoyance and disappointment does not linger and
fester inside of me for very long, which is an immense change from when I
arrived here in December. I have learned
to let things go, move on, and tackle other crusades. The other day I said that I wish I didn’t
care so much about the work I do, but the fact is that I do care. I care a lot about everything I touch,
whether living or inanimate. I am not
wired not to care, and although that very essence of who I am drives me crazy
at times, it is who I am and I have learned to accept and embrace it. I like to right wrongs, improve malfunctions,
and put my all into everything I pursue.
I have also become more selfless. The
Rwandan culture has a way of making what is mine, yours, and I have adopted
that sharing mentality. I have come to
appreciate the challenges that I face on a daily basis here in Rwanda, and I
more wholly understand how others saw this journey before I even began
here. This experience is not for the
weak, it is not for the apathetic, and it is not for the imprudent. This is the type of place where I have
learned how to solve problems under the weirdest of situations and now have the
confidence to deal with any kind of stress or situation back in the real
world. I have discovered that a
minimalist existence is not so bad. Yes
certain creature comforts are just that – comforting, but they are not
necessary to live. I have endured just fine
without a closet and 2 dressers full of clothing, without shopping malls,
without a car, without close-toed shoes (yes I wear flip-flops EVERY day), and without home décor. This term I have also learned to adapt without
water! Yes, my last “shower” in Rwanda
was in fact a sponge bath of sorts, using jerry can water because the running
water has not been functioning for days.
There are aspects of Rwanda that I won’t miss. I won’t miss public transportation and having
to sit so close to other people that there is barely room to breathe. I was acutely aware of the contraction of
nearly every kind of germ there was when I first arrived, but a germ-a-phobe
would never survive here, so I had to quickly adjust my ways of thinking. I will not miss the food. I am not a picky eater and the vegetarian
diet has jived with my preference for not eating meat, however most meals have
the nutritional value of a burlap sack and a staple of the Rwandan diet,
cassava has the added bonus of having trace amounts of cyanide. The cooks in the Village do a tremendous job
of cooking 3 meals a day for 600 people, yet they overcook each meal to the
point where the flavors are nearly indistinguishable. There are so many complex carbohydrates in
each meal that although it fills your stomach, you feel as though you’ve
ingested a plate full of rocks instead of actual food. I will not miss the flies or the mosquitoes
(one was trapped inside my mosquito net the night before last and it nearly
drove me batty!). I won’t miss the
toilet paper situation in this Village, or the crappy (no pun intended) quality
of toilet paper in this country when it is acquirable. I won’t miss the smell of perspiration.
I have become indifferent to the cold showers, doing laundry
by hand, and the feeling that I’m never truly clean because as soon as I step
out of the shower, I seemingly walk into a red fog of dirt that sticks to every
inch of my skin and makes everything feel gritty. I don’t mind having to boil my water, or
unplugging my electronics each time I leave the room for fear of power surges
when the electricity comes on and off. I
don’t mind having to walk long distances to get anywhere, or waking up each
time it rains during the night because of the immense noise the water makes
when it hits the metal roof. I don’t
mind the slow internet (imagine dial-up slow), or eating food off of a plate and
fork that were washed in not-so-clean water.
There are far more pieces of Rwanda that I will dearly
miss. I will miss the friends I have
made, most especially my “partner in crime” Maytal.
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| my last full day in Rwanda was spent at Lake Muhazi |
She began this journey with me and rarely do
we spend a day apart from one another. People
actually regularly call us each other’s names because we are apparently
one-in-the-same. She knows my pulse,
what makes me tick, what makes me smile, and she has been such an instrumental
fixture in my life over the past year.
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| my Rwandan big sister |
I will miss Mable, my Rwandan big sister. She has taught me so much, been so kind and loving, and made me feel welcome from the first day I met her back in December 2011. (see photo of Mable and me below) I
will miss the safety and security that I feel in this country. Everyone was so fearful of me coming to
Rwanda, yet I have never felt safer in my entire life. This is a country where everyone looks out
for everyone else, violent crime is nearly non-existent, and white foreigners
are a bit of an anomaly and are revered.
I will miss the endless vistas and beautiful landscapes across this
entire country. For a place so wrought
by a violent past, there is so much peace and tranquility in the air here and I
will miss that. At night the air is
filled with the sounds of crickets and frogs and a quiet stillness that seems
to make the world pause. I will miss the
open-air markets. I will miss the
culture of this country. To be
surrounded by such patriotism that is unrelenting and consistent is
admirable. I will miss the little joys
that I find in each and every day.
Sometimes it’s the discovery that the internet works or that there are
bananas in the kitchen – it’s the little things in life that fill each day with
bits of delight. I will miss the amazing
sights – seeing ladies lugging baskets filled with things atop their head while
toting a baby on their back. As
described in The Poisonwood Bible so accurately, “the women are pillars
of wonder, defying gravity while wearing the ho-hum aspect of perfect
tedium. They can sit, stand, talk, shake
a stick at a drunk man, reach around their backs to fetch forth a baby to
nurse, all without dropping their piled-high bundles upon [their heads].” I will miss the colors of this country. The trees and grass are the most brilliant
shade of green my eyes have ever seen and the dirt is the most striking rust
color imaginable. The traditional
tapestries are brightly printed pinks and oranges and greens and blues (see the photo of my present from my Rwandan
family below).
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| Maytal and me posing with the earrings and traditional fabric from our family |
The fabrics are festive and
joyful, even when they are covered in several layers of dust and dirt, and the
fabrics are printed with some of the oddest things (imagine President Obama’s
face plastered amid an orange and green paisley print). I will miss the carelessness of clothing
coordination. Young and old alike wear
plaids, polka dots, floral and gingham together as if they all complement one
another. It’s a tremendous sight to
behold! Most of all I will miss the kids
in this Village. They arrived with eyes
that were filled with happiness and sorrow at the same time. They were unexcited by anything and were mere
passengers in life. They had never had the opportunity to be kids and play, and rarely had felt the kind of love and affection that every child deserves. Over the course of
the year I have seen the students here emerge from their broken shells and transform into
drivers of their destiny. They are
precious in every way imaginable. I have
come to love them for so many reasons and I have learned to let them love
me. Saying goodbye to them as they left
the Village yesterday was absolutely heart-wrenching. I was sobbing like I was sending my kids off
to University! They appreciate the work
being done in the Village and the opportunities they have. To have a student say to me, “thank you for
being a part of my life” and “I will look at you as one of my best friends
forever” is powerful. To be told that my
being here was “life-changing” for someone is astounding. Understanding the kind of love that I gave
and received here is something so very special that I hope to hold on to for
the rest of my life.
A great friend and source of strength for me (whom I met in
Rwanda) told me that my grief has propelled me forward. Without grief, this experience would have
been wholly different. Not better, not
worse, just different. The founder of
this Village assured me that this would be the “perfect place” for me to heal
my heart, and she was right. There is something
extraordinary that goes on inside the gates of this Village. It can’t really be described because it’s in
the air. The energy here is unlike
anything I have felt before, and that energy is filled with love and support
and peace. One of my brother Kurt’s
close friends and I have been emailing each other all year and a few weeks ago
I asked him what he thought Kurt would say about this journey of mine. He said, “I hear him being thankful for the
opportunity that you brought him there in the form of your person and the
service that you have performed in the past year, inspired by his memory.”
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| final sunset from inside the Village |
My parents were recently out with some friends when one of
them asked point-blank, “was it really worthwhile for her (me) to go to
Rwanda?” I suppose it’s a valid (yet
snarky) question. Was it
worthwhile? How exactly can you
“measure” an intangible experience like what I have had over the past
year? The truth is you can’t. This experience and the value of it is
something that can only be felt. I can
liken it to a heartbeat. Cue the clip
from Dirty Dancing where Johnny takes Baby’s hand and places it on his chest to
feel the beat of his heart and the rhythm of the dance. It took me a while, but I now feel the beat
and the rhythm.
I came here to restore
the rhythm of life and indeed I believe I was successful.
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| my Rwandan family |
