Saturday, September 24, 2011
The cutest kids in Rwanda. Right Here.
Aren't these just the most beautiful, joy-filled children? All photos are of some of the younger kids at New Hope Homes. This ministry is what brought me to Rwanda in the first place, and was the biggest reason I moved here.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
quick apologetic update :)
Faithful blog readers -
I really haven't forgotten about you, I promise. I have a ton of great photos to post, but alas they are stuck on my camera. Something is wrong with my software on my computer that enables them to transfer. So, be patient! Photos soon!
Life is really good here. My time is spent on a multitude of things: teaching, walking up and down hills, watching beautiful sunrises and sunsets, making models of habitats out of found objects with my students, experimenting with cooking, seeing the kids and staff at New Hope Homes once or twice a week, learning Kinyarwanda, meeting new friends, playing guitar, riding motos, yoga class, and the list goes on.... but you are probably tired from one that long!
More soon, I promise. It will be in the form of pictures. :)
Much love! And please, email me if you'd like to skype. Our internet is down at the house, but its working at the school. I'd love to talk with you.
I really haven't forgotten about you, I promise. I have a ton of great photos to post, but alas they are stuck on my camera. Something is wrong with my software on my computer that enables them to transfer. So, be patient! Photos soon!
Life is really good here. My time is spent on a multitude of things: teaching, walking up and down hills, watching beautiful sunrises and sunsets, making models of habitats out of found objects with my students, experimenting with cooking, seeing the kids and staff at New Hope Homes once or twice a week, learning Kinyarwanda, meeting new friends, playing guitar, riding motos, yoga class, and the list goes on.... but you are probably tired from one that long!
More soon, I promise. It will be in the form of pictures. :)
Much love! And please, email me if you'd like to skype. Our internet is down at the house, but its working at the school. I'd love to talk with you.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I'm going to warn you ahead of time that this post will have no pictures. I honestly haven't pulled out the camera this week, much to my dismay. I've been incredibly busy getting my classroom and lesson plans ready as well as settling into housing, meeting people, handwashing clothes, cooking, and the list goes on! The artistic bug inside of me is nagging, however, so look for pretty photos soon!
Perhaps the most entertaining story of the past week was on a trip to Kibeho with the kids and Donna from New Hope Homes. Donna has a sincere and amazing connection with a nun who lives in Kibeho, a small town high up on a mountain in the southern part of Rwanda. This place is one of a few in the world that the Catholic church has deemed holy - a place where Mary has been seen in visions and prophecies. The woman who saw her as a school girl in the 1980s is still there, praying for and ministering to people. Now that the background is done... here's the story:
We visited Kibeho and went to mass there last Sunday. I took the kids to a nearby restaurant for lunch and we learned that instead of eating there, we needed to get back home ASAP so our lunch was quickly shoveled into to go containers and we were, pedal to the metal, cruising back through the mountains. Did I say the roads in Rwanda are amazing? They are, but they are still very windy, and can get bumpy in places. Combine these roads with children's full bellies and you get yes, you guessed it, some rather unpleasant sounds, smells, and sights. I don't think I've ever seen --I'm going to say it, puke-- in so many ziploc bags before. It was actually really funny. I'm glad I have a strong stomach. :)
So after the puking was done, we get pulled over. The situation was solved a few hours later, but in the meantime our car is having a lot of trouble starting. Thank goodness I burned my foot, because I had a roll of medical tape with me. The driver used my tape to keep the chords connected to the battery and secured it down with a big rock. It was ingenious. I was very impressed.
Eventually, we made it home and I was able to catch some sleep. But I'm pretty sure its not possible to travel anywhere without at least a little entertainment. :)
Monday, August 8, 2011
Donuts!
Good morning from Kigali! I am officially one week into life here in Rwanda. Its been a great week. I’m settling in well. The highlight of the week was visiting the kids at New Hope Homes.They are as beautiful, smart, and loving as ever. On Saturday I brought donuts, a rarity here in Kigali. Here is Fabiola, Kayitesi, and Alice digging in:
More later! Miss you all.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Second grade here I come!
Its a partly cloudy Minneapolis morning. Summer is here. I hear lawn mowers buzzing, birds chirping, and kids playing. I do now have finalized plans as to what I'll be doing in Rwanda.... drumroll please....
I'll be teaching 2nd grade at Kigali International Community School, located in the Gaculiro neighborhood of Kigali. I'm really looking forward to meeting my fellow colleagues and students soon. I leave August 1st!
Don't expect too much on this blog until I arrive, I have too much of Minnesota summer to enjoy! Here's how I've been spending my mornings:
Have a wonderful summer! And I'll be back when I arrive in Rwanda. :)
Friday, May 13, 2011
Writings from 2007
I wrote the below vignette in 2007 upon the return of my first trip to Kigali.
**
I look down at my red-dirt crusted feet to avoid the trash scattered across the busy market path. I breathe in: rancid rotting food, then the smell of small fish. These nutrient packed minnow-like, silvery creatures have sustained me the past few weeks. Their cold eyes stare at me now, as I see colors and patterns, some whizzing by and others lingering, staring. The familiar yet undetectable sounds of Kinyarwanda hit my ears. An occasional “muzungu” (white person) jumps out of the hum of the market, and I smile slightly. In this market, there is life. Women carry atrocious pounds of fruit on their sturdy heads. Children lean against stick poles, looking innocently up into my eyes as I pass. The children I hold in my hands keep up pace well, sometimes skipping a bit to stay along my stride. Dirt cakes everything, including the fruit and vegetables spread across blankets on the ground. The mangoes and pineapples are the best I’ve tasted. Bananas are something different altogether, but much better than the pumped up, perfectly yellow version in the states. Through the humdrum of the market, I feel a beat in my chest. The moment I’ve anticipated is here.
The strong, steady beat of a drum crescendos with each step. I can feel the pulse, the energy. As we near uriziga, the church, which sits just on the edge of the market, I hear voices: loud, clear, and unashamed. They are piercing through all of the market sounds. Rhythmic, and steady, the music is loud now. As we step into the cement slab building with open-air windows, my cheekbones are suddenly wet.
The beat that is now so strong and pervasive moves my feet without my head telling them to do so. I am caught up in the spirit of these people, this music. Now, a children’s choir is singing, so loudly I don’t hear my own thoughts. I don’t mind, because really, what else is there to think about? There is a pulse here, not one seen on some computer screen, but something driving the very essence of life. The deep beat is a constant reminder of something greater that is weaving people together to bring hope.
Warm hands envelop mine as I meet almost every parishioner. Their white teeth sparkle against the most beautiful chocolate complexion, and I smile as language barriers make conversation awkward. In most interactions, however, laughter usually trumps the cumbersome attempt at communicating verbally. In this moment I meet William, a welcoming man with hugs and smiles to give. He sits us down with his family, insisting on translating the sermon for us. Wholeness, unity, and hope are the words coming through. The message here is clear: much has happened to the Rwandese, but now, there is solidarity. This wholeness and unity brings hope. The weaver stitching these people together is greater than all of us, and he is present here. I can feel it in the deepest part of me. I see it in the eyes of the children peering up at me as I nod at the sermon. I hear it in the deep beat of the drums that recess us out of the sanctuary. Hope is here.
**
I look down at my red-dirt crusted feet to avoid the trash scattered across the busy market path. I breathe in: rancid rotting food, then the smell of small fish. These nutrient packed minnow-like, silvery creatures have sustained me the past few weeks. Their cold eyes stare at me now, as I see colors and patterns, some whizzing by and others lingering, staring. The familiar yet undetectable sounds of Kinyarwanda hit my ears. An occasional “muzungu” (white person) jumps out of the hum of the market, and I smile slightly. In this market, there is life. Women carry atrocious pounds of fruit on their sturdy heads. Children lean against stick poles, looking innocently up into my eyes as I pass. The children I hold in my hands keep up pace well, sometimes skipping a bit to stay along my stride. Dirt cakes everything, including the fruit and vegetables spread across blankets on the ground. The mangoes and pineapples are the best I’ve tasted. Bananas are something different altogether, but much better than the pumped up, perfectly yellow version in the states. Through the humdrum of the market, I feel a beat in my chest. The moment I’ve anticipated is here.
The strong, steady beat of a drum crescendos with each step. I can feel the pulse, the energy. As we near uriziga, the church, which sits just on the edge of the market, I hear voices: loud, clear, and unashamed. They are piercing through all of the market sounds. Rhythmic, and steady, the music is loud now. As we step into the cement slab building with open-air windows, my cheekbones are suddenly wet.
The beat that is now so strong and pervasive moves my feet without my head telling them to do so. I am caught up in the spirit of these people, this music. Now, a children’s choir is singing, so loudly I don’t hear my own thoughts. I don’t mind, because really, what else is there to think about? There is a pulse here, not one seen on some computer screen, but something driving the very essence of life. The deep beat is a constant reminder of something greater that is weaving people together to bring hope.
Warm hands envelop mine as I meet almost every parishioner. Their white teeth sparkle against the most beautiful chocolate complexion, and I smile as language barriers make conversation awkward. In most interactions, however, laughter usually trumps the cumbersome attempt at communicating verbally. In this moment I meet William, a welcoming man with hugs and smiles to give. He sits us down with his family, insisting on translating the sermon for us. Wholeness, unity, and hope are the words coming through. The message here is clear: much has happened to the Rwandese, but now, there is solidarity. This wholeness and unity brings hope. The weaver stitching these people together is greater than all of us, and he is present here. I can feel it in the deepest part of me. I see it in the eyes of the children peering up at me as I nod at the sermon. I hear it in the deep beat of the drums that recess us out of the sanctuary. Hope is here.
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