Thursday, March 28, 2013

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.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

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?

Sunday, March 24, 2013

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.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Rayon Sport vs APR

Either my first or second day in Rwanda, I heard about the football games, concerts, and general festivities that take place at Amohoro Stadium. I enjoy a good sporting event and I was advised that Rayon Sport versus APR was the best game to go to because it is a big rivalry in Kigali. Someone casually mentioned that Rayon Sport was playing APR the coming Saturday. A group of us made plans to go.

Saturday morning, Scrm offered to go to the stadium to get tickets. He advised that we arrive at the stadium between noon and 1 pm. The game started at 3:30. Calum and Scrm negotiated until we would arrive at the stadium at 2:45 while Scrm continued to insist that it was better to go earlier.

As Calum and I walked up the hill to meet Scrm and Fab, I could tell we might be in for trouble. People were piling out of buses and crowds of people were heading up the hill toward the stadium... hm, it's a big stadium and Scrm already got our tickets so I'm sure it's fine. We meet up with Scrm and Fab near the side entrance of the stadium and it is pretty crowded. Calum arranged to meet friends (Paul and Ruth) at the main entrance so we started to walk around the block to the main entrance.

This ended up being about half a mile around. During this time people are literally running past us and the crowd is getting larger and larger as we approach the main entrance. At one point a young man stuck his hand in a side pocket of my purse. I'm not stupid enough to keep anything in a side pocket, especially one that does not fasten close in some way so his efforts were pretty fruitless. Believe the signs though people. It's going to be rough.

At the main entrance it was possible to distinguish a line at some points but there did not seem to be much order. Fab gets in the line as Calum, Scrm and I wait for Paul and Ruth. As we are waiting the crowd gets larger and rowdier. Men are shirtless, shouting, staring, and sweating. Not my favorite combination.

As we approach the line, a police officer may or may not have directed the crowd to break into two lines. Scrm was initially directly in front of us in line. This quickly changed as men continued to cut in front of the muzungus who they could easily ignore protests from. But at this point there are still two or three different lines. That aren't moving.

The next series of events are difficult to chronicle. At some point the lines all merged into one enormous mob of people pushing and shoving one another. A few fights broke out and the police began hitting combatants with batons that looked like wifleball bats  as well as very large belts. And then kicked them out of the waiting mob. Scrm has disappeared in the crowd. It's maybe 3:15 now and things are getting tense.

Police were allowing groups of people to move forward and present their tickets. We were not that far forward yet but it did cause mass chaos as people violently shoved forward to try to get ahead. Which is also a really good time to try pick pocketing muzungus. Cool. We recover and Scrm rejoins the group of scared muzungus. Fab has disappeared. *Spoiler: He does not reappear until half time.*

 We somehow get into the next group to cross over into what I thought was the ticket checking zone. I only presume this because everyone was holding up their tickets. I refused in fear that people would start shoving again and my center of balance would be compromised by raised appendages.

We got shuffled back into the "normal" mob for what appeared to be no real reason. people are getting more and more restless and physical and the police's only reaction is to continue beating people with wifleball bats and belts. Which, not surprisingly, was not effective in the slightest.

Here is where things get a bit scarey. Someone decided (police or not I have no idea) to let a large group of people through the gate at the same time. People went nuts. Shoving ensued. The man behind me got so excited that he started gyrating violently against my back. Yeap. Best way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

People converged so rapidly that no one could move but everyone was still trying to go forward. Calum lost his glasses at one point and was bent over trying to pick them up. I was behind him and being pushed forward while trying not to fall on top of Calum or crush his glasses. Glasses retained, we continued forward being pushed by the people behind us into the people in front of us which caused the front part of the body to be in front of the feet which were tangled with strangers in a feeling of perpetually falling over. This is all in about 45 seconds. I think.

At some point, we lost Paul and Ruth but there was no way to turn around or try to find them so Calum called Paul when we made it through the gate. The person behind Ruth had stepped on her sandal while pushing her forward and she somehow got swept up in the crowd and ended up at the security booth. We met them there, regained composure, swore a bit, and moved on to enter the seating area.




 For all of the madness leading up to the game, sitting in the stadium was pretty cool. I still find it difficult to go to every day places that function in their respective capacities knowing they were once sites of mass killings. This stadium is one of those instances. While watching the game, it was impossible to not think about the people who died there 19 years ago




The game itself was alright. The second half was more interesting because Rayon Sport scored a few goals on APR and ended up winning. This is mostly significant because Rayon Sport has not beaten APR in several years... I think six. APR is the army team and also the team supported by President Kagame so Rayon Sport winning was a big deal.

Friday, March 8, 2013

If you can't beat 'em, leave 'em



My time in Kigali thus far has altered my understanding of gender. The initial reaction I felt from the continued sexual harassment I encounter was blaming. Even when I repeated to myself over and over again that it wasn’t my fault and the men that have been shouting at and touching me are wrong. Even when my thoughts were confirmed by people that I respect, I caught myself trying to wear less revealing clothing and making sure not to have more than one beer at the bar. There are safety precautions any smart person in a new environment should take and I try to be mindful of societal norms. However, that automatic and somewhat subconscious reaction reflects a much deeper issue. 

One instance was particularly hurtful. It occurred just a few weeks into my arrival in Kigali. A crowd of men were jeering at me and one made inappropriate advances on me. I’m a 23 year old female so this kind of thing isn’t exactly new (I don’t overlook how incredibly sad that statement is). I got away from him but in the process saw that a woman was also in the group, laughing at a man who had done something that he shouldn’t have which made me feel violated and unsafe. A woman was laughing at another woman who had just been assaulted. I was shaken up and annoyed with the man but I was furious with the woman.

This woman had done nothing overt to hurt me. She had been part of a large group of people, none of whom I was nearly as angry with. So why the woman? Because she saw a blatant instance of violence against another woman and did nothing. My reaction was somewhat hypocritical.
Most of my friends are men. This changed somewhat last semester as I started to make friends at Dominican but generally, my group of friends is largely populated by men. This blog made me think a lot about the woman who laughed at me that day. In a group of men, how often do I shrug off sexist remarks? How frequently do I allow my male friends to make jokes about sexual assault or tell demeaning stories about women they have hooked up with? How often do I personally judge another woman for the decisions she makes regarding her own body? I’m not sure but I can assume I wouldn’t be proud of the answer. 

The worst part is, there are few things that make me as angry as gender based violence. And yet I perpetuate it because I’m too afraid to be seen as the “feminist bitch who can’t take a joke.” Which is absurd. Why would I want to stay friends with people who joke about these things? Why would I want to continue seeing a guy who thinks the degradation of women is funny?  

Scrm received a text message last weekend from a friend in Houston joking about sexual slavery and getting him a “bitch” if he gets a visa to the states. I didn’t laugh it off. I told him his attitude towards sexual violence didn’t jive with mine and that I didn’t want to continue seeing him if those were his feelings. We parted ways. Me angry and upset and him, I’m guessing, very confused. A few nights ago, Scrm asked me to meet him for dinner because he wanted to talk and I agreed. As we sat down to eat, he apologized for laughing at the text message and said that he didn’t understand what his friend had meant and he therefore didn’t understand why I was so angry. Seeking answers, he sought out a friend to discuss the issue with and got clarification. He realized that what his friend had said was wrong. 

After long and careful reflection regarding societal norms and cultural differences between Scrm and me, I’m proud of what I did. Because I only add fuel to the biased, sexist, political fire by accepting sexist speech. This isn’t a Can’t Beat ‘em, Join ‘em kind of scenario. If I can’t change the minds of my friends who think rape and sexual assault is funny, I should get new friends.

Friday Thoughts

It's a typical Friday morning. Our meeting was late and cut short due to scheduling mishaps so Zoe and I decided to have our own meeting at a coffee shop across the round about. Good decision. We got as much work done as we could do with what we had and I've become distracted by a variety of things that I will share.

1. I miss Quasar. I rotate pictures of his adorably furry self as the wallpaper on my laptop every few days. I mostly miss the ample fur between his toe pads. Don't judge.

2. North Korea freaks me out a little bit.

3. I've thought a lot about my opinions of Rhianna and realized that I'm wrong for judging someone who is struggling with a difficult situation and made the decision that she thinks is best for her. Me criticizing her is not going to make anything any better. Certainly not for her and other men and women who are in similar situations.

4. A fellow intern is annoying the crap out of me  for a variety of reasons that will be divulged at a later date when I can appropriately articulate my thoughts without ranting.

5. I love and hate Pinterest simultaneously and it is exhausting. And I wonder who on earth has 14 jillion old pallets lying around to repurpose. It also makes me incredibly homesick.

6. I've reread the wonderful emails I've gotten lately and I am making an effort to respond to them all this afternoon.

7. I'm excited that Diane (AKA- Wonder Woman) was able to rebook my flight for April 12. Because she is a rock star.

This post serves one main purpose and that is to demonstrate how completely normal my life feels here. And I am already anxious to leave. And not with excitement.