Summer Lovin'

When my friend Hannah heard that I was coming home for the summer, she provided for me the most amazing of transition experiences.  Hannah works full-time, year-round at a Christian camp, and she invited me to come live with her and work in various capacities around camp for the summer. I took advantage of the beauty of the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and went for long walks or short runs around the lake and up to the orchard and through the woods around camp.  I read twelve books in my first month at Camp.  It was lovely not to be overly burdened as I eased back into life in the States

I spent most of my mornings (as early as 6:00) preparing breakfast for as many as 450 people, serving it to them, cleaning it up, making lunch for the same people, serving it and cleaning it up before running off to the zip line or swing to work free time all afternoon.  It was pretty exhausting work, but it kept me busy without overworking my brain. I worked with some really fun folks in the kitchen and acquired a whole new vocabulary that is local to the “Dark Corner.”  “We-ins” filled thousands of 2 oz. cups with shredded cheese only to serve them to 400 children at a time and then in turn “I-ins” “done” did lots of vacuuming of said cheese.  I mixed “sire cream” into dozens of pounds of potatoes to make the best hash brown casserole ever.  I heard complaints of “inner-gestion” and “dia-beetus” and requests for “my-sarge.”  It was good preparation for the next stage of my journey where I will have to learn an entire new vocabulary devoid of the letter “R” in Massachusetts (more on that in a minute).

On June 7, I picked up my dear friend from the airport as he ventured home after two years in South America, and on August 25 I dropped off my boyfriend at the airport as he ventured off to Southeast Asia for another teaching gig.  I spent a significant portion of my non-working time venturing about the Carolinas with him, doing all kinds of fun things and meeting all kinds of fun people.  We hiked and ran and swam and walked and danced and cooked and ate and savored our two short months together.  Once, he sent me on a wild goose chase/scavenger hunt all over two towns eventually leading to him with a picnic brunch in the park.  Yeah, you can be jealous; he’s pretty awesome…

After I dropped him off at the airport, I packed up my life and headed north.  I stopped a few times on my little road trip: once to see my grandparents, once to stay with an old friend from an old camp, and once to visit one of my favorite students from Rwanda as she settled in to life in the States for the first time ever.  It was a lovely little road trip until I reached Massachusetts.  Long story short, I ran out of gas on the Massachusetts Turnpike, and instead of some friendly Southern gent stopping to rescue this damsel in distress as would likely have happened in the South, I rather paid $20 for 2 gallons of gas from a rescue vehicle that a toll booth worker called after yelling at me for going to the bathroom in the wrong building. 

The delay, however, allowed me to stay in the home of some dear friends from Rwanda for 6 nights instead of one making me feel very much at home away from wherever home is these days.  I’ve since moved into a sweet 400-year-old house about 15 minutes away from my school.  My room is all decked out in my favorite orange and purple, and I’m ready to begin my new life as a seminarian on Monday...

Stopping Over in Thailand

I’ve heard it said by many a missionary that “in the old days, missionaries took boats out to the field where they had a month or so to transition from home to the field.”  They use it as an excuse to take a vacation on the way to and from the “field.”  I now understand why.

I relatively flippantly opted for a 10-day stopover in Thailand on my way back to the States from Rwanda, but it could not possibly have been more God-ordained.  Less than a week before the trip, I was moping around, dreading spending 10 days by myself in Thailand.  Where would I stay?  What would I do?  How lonely would I get?  And then, Janelle came along and introduced me to Juniper Tree, essentially a retreat center for Christian cross-cultural workers.  There are two locations:  one in Chiang Mai and one in Dolphin Bay.  Suddenly I was excited to venture off to Thailand, and boy, was it worth being excited over.

I went straight to Natalie’s cousin’s house in Bangkok and slept a lot.  You don’t realize how tired you are from living cross-culturally until you give yourself a chance to rest.  The next morning I went and got a head, shoulder, and foot massage and then flew off to Chiang Mai.

The best part of Juniper Tree:  family style meals.  You get assigned to a table full of fascinating people and eat together.  I met missionaries to China, Cambodia, India, Tajikistan, and Pakistan.  The conversations were so refreshing, talking about things that matter with like-minded people… bliss!  After dinner the first night I was invited to a “Girls Night” at the Night Bazaar complete with foot massages and street food dessert.  That’s right, I got two massages in one day, so sue me.

I spent the majority of the next day sleeping, but ventured out on my last day in Chiang Mai to a butterfly garden (where I saw a whopping TWO butterflies) and orchid farm where I spotted my favorite color combination:

And continuing on that theme ventured to Tiger Kingdom and hung out with some tigers.  If only I had a Tiger Rag or at least some bit of orange clothing with me…

I spent the rest of the morning at Queen Sirikit Botanic Gardens where I got to traipse through the woods and look at pretty flowers and move my body a bit after all that sitting on planes and sleeping in beds.

The following day, I flew back to Bangkok where I happened upon a mission trip group headed in the same direction as me.  (And yes, friends from Rwanda, they did fulfill every stereotype you’re thinking of.)  They let me come along for the ride and decided they wanted to bless me by not making me pay.  I thought it was a pretty sweet deal until I ended up at their final destination and ended up having to pay twice what I would have had to pay for a bus to get the 40 extra minutes to my final destination:  Juniper Tree Dolphin Bay. Schwoops!

My view for most of the week was about like this:

I read the entire New Testament, mostly in my hammock.

I also completed a 494 piece puzzle from a plastic bag.  That’s right, no box to show me what it was and six missing pieces to add to the challenge:

I kayaked near to this island:

which I later found out was Monkey Island.  I didn’t need to go there to see the monkeys though, as one made its way into the hallway on which I was staying.  Sick.  And scary.

I got a traditional Thai massage in my room.  It’s kind of like a cross between a massage, physical therapy, and yoga.  For those of you who know just how flexible I am, you can imagine how comfortable it was for me…

I rode a nice sea foam green single speed bicycle (I didn't wear a helmet because they only had kid-sized ones; don't tell my mom!) an hour to the national park where I then hiked for much longer than the 1km advertised to get to Phraya Nakhon cave.  It was quite the adventure in 100-degree heat.  The cave’s roof has caved in and inside is a king’s throne.  It’s pretty cool:

On the way back, I wished I had rented a scooter instead of a bicycle, and my legs got super sunburnt, as they saw more sun in 3 hours than they had in the 3 years prior.  Oops!

I got my nails painted by a local girl who refused to leave them a solid color.

I had many lovely conversations with some lovely people and rode back in a minibus to Bangkok.  It wasn’t much fun as the following things were all prohibited:

Don't worry; I didn't pass gas even once.  I am a rule-follower, after all!

Now, I’m back at Natalie’s cousin’s house and flying out tomorrow morning.  After 28 hours of travel, I will land in the good ol’ US of A late tomorrow night.

I couldn’t ask for a better way to transition to a season in the States.  I highly recommend a stopover to unwind and re-wind when moving cross-culturally.  I’m sure it will make the transition 10x easier at least!

I Never Made a Sacrifice

"People talk of the sacrifice I have made in spending so much of my life in Africa. Can that be called a sacrifice which is simply paid back as a small part of a great debt owing to our God, which we can never repay? Is that a sacrifice which brings its own blest reward in healthful activity, the consciousness of doing good, peace of mind, and a bright hope of a glorious destiny hereafter? Away with the word in such a view and with such a thought! It is emphatically no sacrifice. Say rather it is a privilege. Anxiety, sickness, suffering, or danger now and then with a foregoing of the common conveniences and charities of this life, may make us pause and cause the spirit to waver and the soul to sink; but let this only be for a moment. All these are nothing when compared with the glory which shall be revealed in and for us. I never made a sacrifice."

-Dr. David Livingstone in a speech to students at Cambridge University (1857)

A good friend shared this word at a house church gathering recently, and I’ve never heard the meditations of my heart quite so aptly pronounced.  The things I’ve gained in Rwanda have been infinitely more valuable than the things I’ve “sacrificed” from America.  I have faced anxiety and sickness (in more forms than I care to remember) and suffering and danger (every time I drive down the road).  I’ve foregone the common conveniences and charities of this life (like shredded cheese in 10 different varieties or electricity and water flowing into my house at all hours of the day and night). 

I have paused.  My spirit has wavered.  My soul has sunk.  But only for a moment because these light and momentary troubles are achieving for me an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

 I’ve grieved the loss of the friends that so readily come and then go. 

            Surely he has borne our griefs

I’ve sorrowed over the tragic loss of my hero. 

            And carried our sorrows

I’ve been stricken with malaria. 

Yet we esteem him stricken

I’ve been afflicted with scooter accidents. 

Smitten by God and afflicted.

I’ve been wounded by harsh words.

But he was wounded for our transgressions;

I’ve witnessed crushing oppression. 

He was crushed for our iniquities

I’ve watched the chastisement of the innocent. 

Upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace

I’ve seen the scars of the stripes of the weapons of enemies. 

And with his stripes we are healed.

I have experienced His healing and restoration in so many ways, and I can think of my time in Rwanda as nothing less than the greatest privilege I could ever have been afforded.

It has been a great privilege to live with these fine ladies who pray and play and eat and sing and cry and cook and scoot and learn and laugh and party and love together.

It has been a great privilege to mother and counsel and reprimand and teach and advise and rescue and doctor and love these fine performers whose light and momentary troubles have been far heavier and lengthier than my own.

It was a great privilege to have deep conversations about life and stars and God and suffering and plans and aspirations and ideas and people with the most incredible young man to ever escape the war-torn bush of the DR Congo. 

It has been a great privilege to play and eat and laugh and love and pray and dig into the Bible with some high school kids and great friends every Tuesday afternoon at Campaigners. 

It has been a great privilege to provide light and laughs and costumes and games and puns and music and fun into the lives of people facing anxiety, sickness, suffering, danger, foregoing of common conveniences and charities of this life.

It has been a great privilege to be called Mommy and give a kid some shoes and soap and toothpaste and school fees and a chance he’d otherwise never have had to graduate from secondary school.

It has been a great privilege to experience so much of God’s creativity and provision and creation and handiwork and restoration and light and love.

I am fully convinced that you will never find more quality people in one place than the developing world because suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame…

 What a privilege to meet and love and learn from and laugh with and cry to and serve with some of the finest people with the most character that this world has to offer.  I never made a sacrifice.

Living and Loving and Hating Rwanda

I’ve been in Rwanda for 3 years now, and today marks 3 months until I leave for at least 3 years.  As the big transition quickly creeps up on me, I find myself saying 2 things with increasing regularity, “______ is something I’ll miss about Rwanda,” and “I will NOT miss _______ when I leave Rwanda.”  This blog post will showcase a few things I love and hate about Rwanda at this juncture.

1.  I hate going to the bank.  Back in January, I did a teacher in-service training for a school about an hour away which was super fun.  I got to throwback to my days as an outdoor educator and do teambuilding exercises with 12 Rwandan teachers.  A few weeks later, I received a check for my work.  One day, I was in town and drove around for a while searching for the correct bank at which to cash my check.  I popped in to the bank where I was forced to touch a screen which would print a number for me to watch for above a teller’s station.  I wasn’t exactly sure which button to push, as none of them said anything about cashing checks, so to increase my odds of being prioritized, I pushed multiple buttons, and took multiple numbers.  And then I waited.  And I waited.  And finally, after about 30 minutes, my number came up above a teller!  I went to said teller, gave her my check and a copy of my passport, and she clacked about on her computer for a bit and then signed my check and gave it back to me and told me she was just a supervisor, but now I could wait for my number to get my cash.  Seriously!?  So I waited.  And I waited.  And I waited.  And finally, about 45 minutes later, one of my numbers popped up for another teller who clacked about on her computer, moseyed over to talk to the supervisor, made a copy of my copy of my passport, and finally gave me the 32,500 RWF I came for.  So, I drove my scooter an hour away, led a training for 2 hours, drove my scooter back an hour and got paid about $50, a reasonable $12.50 per hour, but then my search for the bank and subsequent wait for the money reduced my lucrative salary to about $8 per hour.  Next time, I’ll ask for payment in cash.

2. I love the doctor and the pharmacy.  Okay, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like being perpetually ill as I have been for a month now, but I do love that when I am in need of medical treatment, it is readily available without insurance for dirt cheap.  I have had 3 different doctor visits, 2 stool tests, 2 blood tests, 2 courses of antibiotics, 3 other medications, and spent less than the $50 I made in those 5.5 hours of driving, teaching, and waiting.  A fourth consultation occurred via text message prompting me to go to the pharmacy, read my text from the doctor to the pharmacist, and walk away with 22 pills for less than $1.  Can’t beat that…

3.   I hate that I regularly have to go to at least 3 supermarkets to get what I’m looking for.  The other day, in preparation for my pirate parrrrty (see photos on Facebook), I needed crème fraiche for my deviled eggs (well, really I needed sour cream, but substitutions are normal in these parts).  What should have been a quick stop on the way home from school turned into a 30-minute search all over town for a supermarket with crème fraiche.  Finally, by the fifth supermarket, I was on my way to making No Mayo Deviled Eggs.  (Don’t ask about how long THAT took.  Also, don’t ask how many places I went to find Sprite, or 350 gold coins for a party game… Okay fine, 2 hours, 5, and 9, respectively).

4.  I love the courier service.  On Sunday, Patrick, the boy I sponsor to go to boarding school 2 hours north of here called to inform me that someone had stolen his shoes.  Fortunately, we have the same size feet, and I was just wearing out my second to last pair of running shoes, so I could send him a pair without having to brave the market.  So, get this:  I put the shoes in a paper bag, write his name and phone number on it, give it (and 5,000RWF) to my day guard, Magnifique, who then takes a moto taxi to Nyabugogo and goes to the bus station where he pays 2,000RWF, texts me the code, which I text to Patrick, and then Magnifique motos back home, and that afternoon, Patrick has new shoes!  They just put shoes on a bus going that way, drop them off at the station, and he walks to town and picks them up.  All for less than $3. 

5.  I hate how pedestrians disregard vehicles, especially my scooter, but I loved how an old lady today made a joke with me on my way to school acting like I was a moto taxi and asking how much it would cost to drive to the nearby hospital.  Generally humor doesn’t translate around here, but she was funny, and we both knew it!  Made my day.

...I hate the poverty and injustice and prevalence of mayonnaise.  I love the weather and the people and their outfits.  I will miss making things clearer by speaking a beautiful blend of Kinyarwanda and English.  I won’t miss the strings of 10 phone calls from strangers in the middle of the night.  I won’t miss living in a gated compound, but I will miss the guys who open that gate for me...

I love and hate this place, and I love and hate that I’m leaving.