lessons of summer camp part I

I arrived safely in Illinois after ten weeks of summer camp and 9 days of post camp shenanigans. I was away from internet and most forms of technology which accounts for the radio silence. Given the opportunity, I more than likely would not have posted anyway due to exhaustion. Camp sucks every ounce of life from your body. One just has to hope that at the end of the summer, it will have been worth it. 

As is usually the case with camp, there were struggles and triumphs and lessons in every moment. My summer had a few recurring themes. Maturity, identity, and gender norms were amongst them. So now I will start where I ended, with the people I love and the family I gained.

I have lived a somewhat disjointed life. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it nomadic but I have not developed roots in one set place thus far. From one experience to the next I have met people in various places in life and stages of awareness. Life has been a string of moments occupied by an assortment of characters. Some have shaped me in incredible ways and some have shared laughs before the moment passes and we part as friends. 

Some friendships make complete sense in a time and place. Some outside force brings two (or more) people together, united against a common enemy or for a particular cause. Three and a half years ago I spent an amazing night at a park in Brooklyn with a girl who helped me see the world more clearly and I haven’t seen or talked to her since. But I also haven’t felt quite the same bond with another person.

A very wise friend said not long ago that real life just doesn’t feel as meaningful as camp. Every moment we were making memories and now we are simply living. And I mostly agree. At camp, and in many other scenarios that have played out in my life, the relationships we develop have an expiration date. It encourages us to appreciate every moment that we have with each other. Each of us will go on to real life. Whatever that looks like. And we will take with us the moments we shared. Changed in some way but still moving forward from the summer together. 

But we assign significance to each relationship and each moment. For me this has looked like bonding with other humans under time constraints. Life needs to have meaning regardless of an ending date. Moments should be important whether you have a million more or only a few to hold on to. 

Above all else, that is what I’m learning.

gotta catch 'em all

Similar to every other person, I have a complicated family. Not generally the fun kind that drives you bonkers at Christmas but you love no matter what. My relationships with my immediate family have been difficult and because of that, I have not always been terribly close to my extended family.

Most importantly, my relationships with my parents have been a source of anxiety, hurt, and a wide array of nastiness. It was never easy and rarely pleasant for many years. During that time, something important happened, I developed a new family, a conglomeration of individuals and groups that created my own little happiness. Not one of blood and obligation. My new family was a patchwork of love and support and mutual trust and respect. It started when friends’ families would invite me for holidays when I couldn’t get home to Illinois. For example, Thanksgiving ’10 lasted four days with at least four meals and a week’s worth of leftovers. By the time Monday and my overextended person rolled around, several more families had adopted me.

Part of this is simply going to school far from home. There are few things quite as sad as a college student alone in an apartment getting through the holiday season. But something about me screams “Take care of me!” I can only assume it is my general disregard for my own well being sometimes and my charming aroma of madness but whatever it is, I do not know anyone who has more people rooting for him or her than I do. 

In the past year or so, many of my relationships have changed. As any other twenty-something progressing through early adulthood, I have begun to widdle the relationships that might not be as healthy or make me as happy to be able to maintain those that truly matter. I also became an adult who was capable of maintaining relationships with extended family without the assistance of my parents which helps a lot.

The most important relationship that has grown in this process is with my dad. I won’t go into the gushy details of how happy I am, but I am. I wish we could have gotten here years ago but I am starting to understand why we didn’t and probably couldn’t and I am at peace with it. What matters is that we are where we are and it is a good place to be.

Best part of all of this is, I get to keep them all. From the three or more incredible women I spent time with or thought of on Mother’s Day to the Aunt and Uncle who are still saved in my phone with reversed genders (i.e Uncle Pam & Aunt Mark) because I was a very confused five year old. I love my collection of humans who love me. I may have just associated my situation with Ash capturing and collecting Pokemon… Hm, battling the Bauers and the Ballantines.

In sum, I am a lucky gal.

The Perks of Nepotism

Nepotism and good timing got me a job at the office where my dad works. He does sales or customer something. I mop floors. At no point will I complain about having paid employment. I find it somewhat amusing that I am currently employed in a position I could get if I dropped out of high school but I see nothing wrong with my job. It is fairly mindless and mostly involves watering plants, tying myself up in a vacuum cord and hunting down the criminal who keeps stomping his muddy feet all over the kitchen area. I also do some manual production. Stuffing envelopes and getting orders together. I had a month until I leave for camp and I needed something temporary. The guy before me got fired because "he had a brain the size of a flea" and here we are.

This is all fine and dandy. I get up at 5:30-5:45 am and I am home by 4 which gives me an hour to read at the forest preserve down the street before the dog walking crowd makes their rounds. If I have time which I haven't this week. It works well with my schedule, I'm getting paid well for what I'm doing, and I get to spend a couple hours a day with my dad which is pretty cool.

I'm trying to remember the last time I was spoken to like I was stupid. This does not include mansplaining. But like the other person truly believes that I lack the mental faculties to comprehend words larger than two consonants. I have my moments but in general, I'm fairly intelligent. As I become more and more comfortable with that and don't simply act unintelligent (for a variety of reasons) people talk to me less and less like I am. It makes sense but it has also been a while since I picked up on someone who thought I was inferior due to intellect. Age, gender, SES, sure. Intelligence, nope.

It is quite interesting meeting people as the daughter of their coworker who was about the graduate with a master's degree and just returned home from an internship in Rwanda and then interacting with them as basically a janitor and how that changes the way they speak to me because it does. They go from asking me for book recommendations to smiling and averting their eyes. Roughly half of those who do talk to me do so in simple sentences.

I won't bother going into details about the guy who pills food on the counter, looks at me, puts his garbage down next to it, and walks out of the room. Seriously, what self-respecting human over the age of four DOES THAT?

My favorite comment so far was on the my first day. A man came up to me and said, you are so pretty, why are you cleaning offices? ... Excuse me sir, but what on EARTH does that mean? What would you suggest I do? Go smile on the streets? That would make me either a beggar or a prostitute and I'm not interested in either of those situations. I was so confused that I shook my head and walked away. The same man later said he thought I was 16. That's not creepy or anything.

The point of all of this is, I get to leave. In two weeks I will be on my way to camp and then hopefully on to a job that I can appropriately use the 6 years of school I just finished. But most people who are working in my position don't have that option. In general, people don't choose to wash floors over just about any other job. This job is frustrating not because I empty the same recycling bin day after day but because the people I work with treat me as if that is all I am or all that I am capable of. I hate to think that people spend their lives doing this. No one deserves to be treated as less than based on occupation. Or really anything else if we are going to get down to it.

moving forward

I was not sure if I would continue writing once I returned to the States and settled in. I'm still not sure what this will look like now but I felt like writing so here we are.

The word jealous in it various forms has cropped up a few times now since I've been home. People saying they are jealous of my experience or some derivative. These interactions make me squirm and I could not quite determine why but I've come to two reasons.

1. I'm not usually the person people are jealous of. Or at least it isn't articulated to me. I'm usually scoffed at and picked on for a lot of my ideas and behaviors. Which I'm fine with because I am content with my life. I try to do what I think is best and live a life I can be proud of. I know most people wouldn't make many of the choices I do and that's fine. This leads to my next point...

2. I have an incredible life full of people who love and support me, yes. I have had awesome opportunities that I'm sure are a product of privilege but I have also worked very hard. Throughout the past fiveish years of adulthood, I have made a few very hard decisions and been shaped by both wonderful and heartbreaking circumstances. I am a sum of every experience, just as everyone else is. To be jealous of my life at this moment discounts everything that led to this, which I don't think many people would be jealous of.

What I'm trying to say is that life is a procession of moments. Every moment people are making the decisions that are best for them. Others might not understand or agree, but every individual knows himself or herself and his or her experiences better than anyone else could. My decisions have led me in a different path than most, yes. I have made sacrifices and taken risks. Some have worked out and some have not. It does absolutely help that I have family and friends who support me through all of it.

And I haven't even begun to address what being jealous of my experience in Rwanda really means, which would take way more time than I have right now with graduation in a few days.

I'm not trying to discount others' feelings and I do appreciate the intended sentiment behind the word jealous. Basically, don't be jealous. Of me or anyone else. Live your life. Make the decisions and take the risks to make your life what you want it to be. Life is scarey and confusing and overwhelming but those aren't reasons not to live it.

So how was Rwanda?

It has been a while since I've written for a variety of reasons. Illness, stress, and general work load were major factors. I also found it more important to spend time in Kigali and with the people I care about rather than writing about it/them. And now that I'm safely home I've been recovering, starting classes again, and spending much needed time with the awesome people in my life. I'm feeling a lot better so I thought I would give an update.

Classes on Tuesday went about how I anticipated in many ways. People who I have never spoken to before were asking me "how was Rwanda?" to which I cannot provide a satisfactory answer. My professors have gone far beyond my expectations in helping me reintegrate into the classroom. The part I was looking forward to least about coming home has been relatively smooth sailing. I have a lot of work to do but everything will get done.

I would like to pause here to note that Quasar is curled up on my bed... Snoring. Loudly. Like I'm sitting at my desk across the room and I can hear his little cat snores. It's adorable.

A few things about being home have been difficult. That is, of course, beyond simply missing Rwanda, the weather, some of the people, and the work that I was doing. I feel a bit empty without it all but things are getting back to normal. The question mentioned above "How was Rwanda?" is the most infuriating question a person can ask but I'm getting it constantly. I feel pressure to give a concise and happy sentence about rainbows and smiles when my experience was far more complex. I've been searching for an answer that is true and accurate and somehow captures the past three and a half months. What I've come to is that Rwanda was worth it. The good, the bad and the in between. The frustrating and joyful and the mind blowing. Every minute that I was in Rwanda was worth every second.

Now all I have to do is get used to having four jillion choices of butter to choose from at the store and I'll be set. So much stimulation. Too many choices.

straightening the piles

Today I did something that I'm not proud of. But something important and I believe reflects the necessity of my parting with Rwanda. As I explained in a previous post, there are words that are not spoken or used in any context in Rwanda. Ethnicity for one.

I get fairly fired up when it comes to freedom of speech when it is related to the oppression of vulnerable populations. In the least condescending intention possible, I would consider genocide survivors to be a vulnerable population. Because 1. they have been subjected to extreme discrimination in the past and 2. currently, survivors are under represented in the group of people making decisions for them.

My previous rant about a coworker's refusal to highlight the manipulation of power at the district level was one instance of my inability to tolerate the censorship the Rwandan government has come to be at least somewhat known for. My inability to stay quiet when witnessing or identifying a violation of a person's rights is also ingrained in my character. It's more of a compulsion. Similar to straightening card piles when playing SkipBo. I have very little control.

But lately when playing SkipBo, I have been able to stop straightening the piles. Mostly because my efforts are fruitless and time consuming and also because it is silly to do when a mildly sloppy pile is not really doing any harm. So I keep playing and respect my opponents disregard for the state of our card piles. I'd say this is progress.

What is not progress is that I have stopped straightening the piles at work. What made me angry I have learned to negotiate with. I did not even lose my composure when a fellow member of the research team trivialized the fear of survivors living next door to perpetrators, probably related to the manic stress the government places on what they define as reconciliation. And at times the perpetrators were directly connected to the murder of the survivor's family or friends. Of course survivors are afraid. It would be insane for them not to be. Why didn't I say something?

A large part of me is afraid that my perception of the situation is too influenced by my own experiences, power, privilege, and societal norms to comment. But should fear and difference keep me from engaging in conversation? I really do hope not. Because maybe there are battles I should lose when it comes to censorship. In this case though I think the victory lies in the exchange of ideas.

The past few months have changed me. I don't think I can process everything I have taken in and the questions that I now have while entrenched in a cultural I will never be a part of or completely understand. The best I can do is find some sense in all of it.

Or maybe that is just my ethnocentrism showing.

A reflection on states' rights

When traveling or living abroad, I have taken with me a sense of pride of the US. Not that I expect people I encounter to love the US as much as I do because that would be silly, but I believe I was fortunate to be born where I was. 

While reading the news lately, I actually consider jumping ship and just watching as a country that I have been taught to love implodes in a cloud of bigotry and hate. I don’t mean this as a threat like I did with my 2008 election plans to make a run for Canada if Obama lost. With more and more reflection of where I am in my life and what I want my life to be, I seem to be facing serious ideological differences with a country that I once loved. 

It scares me that in North Carolina teachers are allowed to carry guns. I find it to be offensive that primarily upper class white men are deciding what I can and cannot do with my own body. More than anything, I don’t think I can live in the same country as people who believe rape is part of human nature and so men just can’t help it. 

Gun control, abortion, same sex marriage, education. What do these things have in common? They are all predominantly states rights under the Constitution. Anything that could have possibly arisen in the past two hundred years automatically falls under the jurisdiction of individual states. Basically, because the Founding Fathers couldn't predict the future, individual states can do bonkers with a "heartbeat bill."

 Which brings me to another point. The spirit in which the Constitution was written is not the spirit or conditions in which it is now read. Cool, we have the oldest constitution in the world. You know what is a lot cooler? A federal law banning automatic assault weapons or nationwide legalization of same sex marriage. Why can’t we accept that the Constitution was written in a different time and its practical application is hindering rather than promoting the quality of life of all American citizens? Law makers could still create laws in the spirit of the Constitution and founding principles of the country without being bound and constricted by an irrelevant document written by what were basically a group of privileged white men to begin with. 

With no disrespect for the founding fathers, of course. 

Just a thought as I wind down my day.

Adding fuel to the fire

This will not be my most elegant post. I think I have written a bit about the research project I am helping with while I am here. But for clarity, the Rwandan government asked CNLG to write a report on the psychosocial state of youth survivors of the Genocide. Researchers went to the four provinces and Kigali to conduct interviews with survivors. Now, we are reading the transcripts for those interviews in a pilot study to begin the coding process. Coding is reading through the transcripts and assigning themes to each section that draws directly from the text. Last week we started reading the interview transcripts individually and assigning themes based on our own reading of the text. Everyone emailed me their themed interviews, I compiled them all into one master list and an excel document organizing them (which took a very long time), and now we are meeting as a team to decide which themes will become codes.  

Assigning themes is difficult in that one must stay within what the respondent has said and leave out any analysis of meaning. That comes later in the paper/report/article. Sitting six people down together to come to an agreement on one way to say up to six different interpretations and that respects the data is long. And exhausting. It is one of the most valuable experiences I have had in Rwanda and I am fortunate to be a part of it but there are a few times that I have been much less than thrilled to be working on the project. This was one of those times.

There are certain topics that are not discussed in Rwanda. While coding, I read what I believed to be a blatant example of a government worker using power to control a misinformed beneficiary. The interviewee was threatened loss of benefits if they continued to cause trouble for the government worker. The actions of the worker caused the interviewee to report having fear that she would be chased from her house which was part of a survivor village and legally belongs to her.

Another member of the research team wanted the theme for this to be “lack of communication between service provider and beneficiary.” Another suggested “bad communication.” We ended up settling on “Interactions with some service providers causes fear of insecurity.” After a frustrating discussion with the team I realized I was fighting a battle I could not win.

I want to move past this incident but various questions keep surfacing. The interviews are in Kinyarwanda. If this blatant of censorship and manipulation of data is occurring in the coding process, what was left out completely? The government is not actually interested in improving services to survivors or else they would not be censoring the real problems survivors are facing. A survivor whose mother was raped and murdered in front of her lives next door to the perpetrator and she is forced to live in fear and silence because saying that she is afraid of her genocide perpetrator neighbor doesn't lend to reconciliation. How is Rwanda supposed to begin nation building when the government has created reconciliation villages as tourist attractions. Tourists can come and hear survivors and perpetrators tell their stories... exploiting survivors is not nation building it is repugnant.

The greater question is, should I be assisting in research that I know is not accurate and is only furthering the government’s agenda? Can I accept the little good that may come from the report if the greater issues are being ignored?

An Apology

Instead of writing an entry catching up on everything that has happened and is happening in my life, I will ask for forgiveness for my radio silence and give an explanation. But please, be patient; this isn't easy.

I leave Kigali in a little over three weeks. In 24 days I am boarding an airplane to return to the United States. At the one-month-remaining mark I felt anxious. I wondered what contribution I have made in my time here and why it matters that I came. I have taken so much from Rwanda and I hate feeling that the relationship is not mutual. I combated this anxiety with the opportunity to work on the youth survivor research project with the team and discussing with a coworker about the best way to create change in HIV/AIDS treatment for survivors who were raped during the genocide. Because although I know I cannot change the world or “save” Rwanda, I’d like to think that no matter where I am, I can make a positive contribution. In the end, I can never give this country what it has given me. 

At first, this blog was about chronicling my experiences in Kigali as I adapted to a new environment and the trials and tribulations in that process. Stories and anecdotes were at times very personal but still written from an outside perspective. I witnessed everything without being immersed in anything. Somewhere between battling cockroaches and questioning gender norms, it became writing about my life, not my “abroad experiences.” I can be fairly open about my experiences in a new place (i.e. see Toilet Talk) but letting others read about my life now seems exploitative. I am involved in the research that I am because it matters and it is an excellent opportunity for me to learn more about qualitative analysis. I spend time with friends (both muzungu and otherwise) because they are good people. I have developed real feelings for Scrm because he is caring and vulnerable and he brings out a lot of the best in me. I stopped writing several times in that last sentence, afraid and hesitant to share so much of myself. 

That is what Rwanda has become to me. Too close. I am an active member in the world I am writing about and that scares the hell out of me. I am still stared at and treated differently for being muzungu and that would never change. Throughout the past few years, life broke my heart. And like any good heart break, one is wary to put herself out there again. I remained, to a great extent a spectator. And then I landed in Kigali and nothing in me will ever be the same. Life still hurts sometimes. Bad things will happen and sometimes life just sucks. But in the same breathe, life will go on. 

In the past few weeks I have had important and meaningful experiences from reading and coding survivor interviews and defending confidentiality to an intense and frustrating debate about the word ethnicity in Rwanda. About realizing how important the friendships I have made are to me and how unique each person is. Acknowledging that the life that I am living right now is about to end in what is expected to be one of the most painful loses of my life. With no intention of being dramatic. My heart will break. And it will heal. 

The sun will rise April 13 and I will be there to greet the coming day with the fearless compassion and devotion I have developed in recent months.

 No edits, no filters. The stunning beginning to a new day.