2018 in somebody else's words

I was recently speaking with a friend who I share a lot of music and books with and asked her if she thinks that music takes on a new meaning, maybe even importance, while living alone in a village in Rwanda. She responded with a resounding yes, absolutely. I couldn’t agree more.

This past year has offered me a bit of everything, and I think the quotes I have chosen reflect that. Below is a little bit of what I have been listening to, reading, thinking, feeling, etc. If you think listening to music walking down a city street rocks, try connecting your iPhone to Bluetooth headphones and screaming your lungs out to Lady Gaga with nobody remotely close enough to hear. And if you like the way Jason Isbell’s depressing music fills your car while driving down side streets at night, let me tell you, he sounds way better filling the walls of your empty house as rain is just starting to fall. Crying yet? Me too (probably).

Disclaimer: This blog post nearly ignores the first six months of the year, because I am pretty sure the last six took up a large enough word count.

A muscle car drove a truck right through my heart. – You & I, Lady Gaga

Let’s kick it off with Lady Gaga, who made the return of the century in 2018. Contrary to popular opinion, Lady Gaga has exactly one song worth listening to, the exact song I referred to in the introduction of this post and the song the lyrics above come from. “You & I” is a banger, a 21st century classic, and truly will never get old to me.

In this one single line, Lady Gaga sums up the gut-wrenching pain I have felt on multiple occasions since being in Rwanda. I have never quite been able to describe the feeling, a combination of anxiety, sadness, loneliness and a lot of other crappy, negative feelings. But Lady Gaga not only sums in up in a single line of a song, but also makes me feel okay about feeling it at the same time.

She said a good day ain’t got no rain, and a bad day is where I lie in bed in think of things that might have been. – Slip Slidin’ Away, Paul Simon

Live in an equatorial country at 5000 feet of elevation, and then talk to us about rain. Rwanda has two seasons – dry and rainy. Dry lasts approximately June-August, and the majority of the remaining months could be considered rainy season.

It doesn’t necessarily rain all day during rainy season, but when it does rain, it often brings life here to a screeching halt. The rain is so swift and intense, and the roads are of course dirt, making them impassable the second a storm hits. The best-intentioned plans are often rendered impossible by rain. Work? Nope. Going home from work? Absolutely not. A run? A quick walk to the market? The roads are deserted for a reason.

What Paul Simon does in this line, however, is tackle something even darker than a storm for us PCVs. True, a good day here doesn’t have rain. Even more true is that the worst days are when we lie on the bed/couch/floor asking ourselves the most existential question, “What the actual f**k am I doing here?”.

I am figuring out my purpose here as time moves on. On the last day of 2018, I hosted my first official mother’s group lesson with moms of malnourished children. I am cleaning data and digitalizing it so that we can better evaluate and utilize malnutrition screening data. Students are back at our secondary school, which means our girls and boys leadership clubs can (finally) get started. Lastly, and what I am most excited about, is that I got the go-ahead from our head nun to start working with women (married and unmarried – bigger deal than you would think) to teach modern methods of family planning. Yes, you heard that right. Modern methods!

Some days I ask myself what I am doing here, but on the best days I am able to sit back, relax, and realize that the opportunity we have been given is way cooler than a desk job.

“I asked her her name, she said “blah-blah-blah”.” – Just a Friend, Biz Markie

Any PCVs can relate?! Prepex day is clearly the worst, and as I sit at the table writing down names that prepubescent boys (about to get circumcised, I might add, by a contraption that slowly cuts off circulation to the foreskin for a week, causing it to fall off nonsurgically) mumble inaudibly, I sing this 1989 jam in my head and pretend I am not completely butchering our data collection.

“Okay, name me the Apostles.”

“John.”

“Good.”

“Paul.”

“Excellent!”

“George.”

“You’re naming the Beatles.”

“Bongo!”

“That’s not anything!”

“Mary Margarine!!”

If you thought I could write this blog without including a Mindy Project quote, you were severely misguided. All volunteers have their drug of choice – for some it is booze, others it is sex, some even choose exercise – for me it is the comedic genius that is Mindy Kaling. I chose this segment, because as anyone who follows my blog or Instagram knows, I spend a large amount of my time at site with the nuns and priests. As a non-Catholic, and a non-Kinyarwanda speaking frequent guest of the Parish, I often feel a bit lost, a bit lost in translation you might say. I am sure I have said stranger things than Mary Margarine.

I recently was speaking with a Rwandan man who told me that nuns are selfish because they choose not to have children. I could not disagree more and believe that giving up having children for your faith and your work is one of the most selfless decisions a woman can make. The four nuns at my site have taken me in, loved me, spoken with me, gotten to know me, fed me and cared for me while I’ve been sick – all as if I am one of their own.

When my mother first met Sister Beata during my family’s visit last month, she immediately started sobbing. Beata, although not biologically a mother, has been a mother to me since I first arrived in Nyamasheke in July. She puts up with my crying, and my mother’s crying, all too frequently. On New Year’s Eve, I was feeling particularly stressed by work, travel plans for the afternoon and the fact that my family had just left Rwanda, and it should come as a shock to nobody – tears started to flow freely from my eyes. I cried without abandon, trying to explain in Kinyarwanda why I was crying. Immediately, Sister Beata brought my counterpart and other mother, Xaverine, a bottle of water, and they hatched a new plan for how I would spend my New Year’s Eve. It is better to be with others on holidays, she noted.

That night, I spent the last hours of 2018 with some of my dearest friends in my village – the nuns and priests of course. My original plans had consisted of camping in the forest, flowing beer and chatting with friends – in English! – over a campfire. Instead, I attended an evening Mass, drank a few glasses of boxed wine, and enjoyed food and conversation with my Rwandan neighbors.

The nuns have a sign in their house that says “Servir dans la joie et la simplicite”. Serve in joy and simplicity. A goal I am wholeheartedly seeking this year, and my dear friends the nuns couldn’t be better influences of this type of service.

“I am at home in the West. I am easy here in a way that I am not easy in other places.” South and West from a Notebook, Joan Didion

This quote is a triple whammy for me. Before leaving for the Peace Corps, I left Boston and spent my last month at home in the Bay Area. Every single time I go home I ask myself why I left. Great weather, awesome beaches, better tacos. Plus, of course, my best friends in the entire world – my parents, my sister, and my fat cat Annie. As many other places as I live in my life, California will always be due north.

I also can’t help but read this quote and think of how difficult of an adjustment it has been to move to a rural village in a low-income country. I miss the modern conveniences of the West – grocery stores, bars, street lights, bathtubs and nachos, to name a few. Living here has been one of the most amazing and unique experiences I have ever had, but it is not easy. When I first moved to my site, my driver took a look around, looked at me, looked back at my house, and nonchalantly asked, “Aren’t you going to be really bored here?”. Yes, my friend, some days I am bored out of my damn mind. I miss stepping out my front door, not being stared at or yelled at, and going to a brewery – not a banana beer bar! – or a sporting event. Heck, I miss walking down the street and not hearing people talking about me. Oh yeah, and I miss speaking English. Even more, I miss others speaking English.

Finally, as fate would have it, this year I moved to the Western Province of Rwanda. Do I feel fully at home? Did you read the last paragraph? No, I don’t, but I do try every single day

“She’s not a real genius, this one.” – Fever Pitch

An ode to my favorite chick flick, my home away from home and the 2018 World Series Champions! What I imagine everybody in my village says every time they interact with me.

“We’re in crazy town. I don’t even know why any of us are here. This is the worst job I have ever had.” – John Kelly (kinda)

A butchered (former) Chief of Staff John Kelly quote, by my guys at Pod Save America. Listening to podcasts during my job at MGH kept me sane, and on data entry or malnutrition evaluation days they still do. Being a news junkie is way more fun here. I can completely curate my politics consumption to only include liberal propaganda, just the way I like it!

If you asked me on one hundred separate days if I felt like this quote was true to my current life and job, on ninety-five I would tell you absolutely not. But – I simply cannot lie – on about five, I would shrug my shoulders and say that yes, John Kelly did in fact steal those words verbatim from a WhatsApp I sent to my friends.

People say that Peace Corps is the hardest job that you’ll ever love. I’ve also had it described to me as “the longest vacation I’ve ever hated”. I personally lean far closer to the more generic Peace Corps mantra, but I do still keep a running week countdown of events and trips to look forward to during my service. We do what we gotta do!

“How close people could be to us when they had gone as far away as possible, to the edges of the map. How unforgettable.” – Circling the Sun, Paula McClain

In one of my many conversations with my mom leading up to my departure for the Peace Corps, we discussed how daunting it was to be apart for two years. She wisely noted that we would get to spend nearly three weeks of vacation together in the first year alone – more undivided time than most families that live in the same zip code spend together each year.

To everyone who has stuck around – I couldn’t thank you enough. Especially those who don’t have to (my family), or I didn’t expect to. My people, my rocks, my cheerleaders, my confidants, my sounding boards, my crying shoulders, my gossip-relayers, my WhatsApp downloaders, my most loyal likers, and of course – my future planners. You keep me sane(ish)!

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Follow me on Spotify for other music I listen to, and I promise to eventually share a list of books I have read – even the ones I am embarrassed to admit to! Share your recommendations, help me pass the next 20 or so months. But who’s counting?