Bully

Today, as I sat on my bed wondering how I would spend my day, I ran across the Facebook post of a good friend from college promoting a documentary I’d never heard of called Bully.  As a former bully and a future school counselor, I was intrigued, looked up the show times, found one two hours later and went to the movies for the first time since Toy Story 3D in Dubai 2 years ago.

I watched the film through three distinct pairs of glasses:  former bully, educator, and Christian.  Each part of me had a meaningful reaction.

Former Bully

The documentary featured the stories of three bullying victims as well as two families whose children had committed suicide as a result of being bullied at school.  As I watched the film, I felt remorse for my own past.  Though I was not guilty of physically bullying my classmates, the relational bullying so common with “mean girls” was my specialty and likely caused just as much harm as if I had been slamming kids into lockers.  I thought of individuals who were my targets in my “mean girl” days, and I wondered how much my bullying had impacted their lives.

Educator

I thought I might come away from the movie with an action plan for how to curb bullying at my little international school in Rwanda.  You might think that our tiny Christian school in the middle of Africa would be immune from such evils as bullying, but if so, you would be wrong.  We have had cases of physical, verbal, and cyber bullying just this year, and being the resident expert on cyber bullying (I both was a cyber bully in middle and high school and did research on cyber bullying in college), I was intimately involved with the most rampant case. 

The documentary often made the school administration out to be the bad guy (as documentaries are wont to do to some group of the general population).  They claimed the schools did nothing to stop bullying.  I could identify with both sides of this debate.  The principals claimed that kids would be kids and schools could not control them.  Anyone who knows any kid (and I’m sure most of us know at least one or two) knows the truth behind that.  As much as we may want to change a kid (or anyone for that matter), we can’t do it.  I also understood where parents were coming from in seeking safety for their children at school.  It is the school’s responsibility to look out for its students, and more educators do need to step in to uncomfortable situations to curb the negative impact of bullying on individuals and school culture in general. 

Christian

While the makers of this documentary were clearly just pushing the message of bullying awareness and prevention, I heard a much louder message shouting through all of the stories:  people need Jesus. 

I couldn’t help but remember what it was that stopped my bullying nine years ago:  Jesus. 

I thought of the runaway bullying victim I recently rescued and her biggest need:  Jesus.

I saw the pain in the eyes of the outcasts who could use the comfort of an even bigger outcast:  Jesus. 

I thought of the bullies and their insecurities coming out in the form of cruelty and the power to change them:  Jesus. 

I cried with the families who lost their children and thought of the best comforter of those who mourn:  Jesus.

Victims need Jesus.  Families need Jesus.  Educators need Jesus.  Bullies need Jesus. 

As I see it, the perfect solution to this horrendous problem is simply Jesus.  Jesus hung out with bullies and victims alike.  He loved them both unconditionally.  He rebuked bullies and he was a victim.  He gave us the perfect example to follow no matter what our role is in the bullying situation.   

'murica!

After 24 hours on American soil, I’ve come up with an initial top ten list of my favorite things about ‘murica.  They are clearly subject to change with time. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. The fact that it stays light out until 9:30pm.

2. Not having to open a gate to get into the driveway.

3. Free water at restaurants with unlimited free refills.

4. Not having helmet hair 24/7.

5. My mother’s southern accent.

6. Watching YouTube videos without waiting for an hour for them to load.

7. Driving a minivan with the windows down and the music up.

8. Wearing shorts in public.

9. A well-lit bathroom with a shower with amazing water pressure.

10. Chick-fil-a chicken biscuits.

Maybe later I’ll give you the top ten things I hate about ‘murica, but right now I’m high on the first world!

Joy and Pain

The most amazing part of my life here in Rwanda is the community that surrounds me.  Never before have I felt so loved and supported and truly communed with as I do now.  Let me give you a glimpse of said community via an unfortunate incident that occurred this afternoon, with a little pre-story for added perspective:

This morning, I woke up way late for church (like 4 minutes after it started) because I stayed up too late last night bowling with a dozen expat friends.  I bowled abysmally, but I had a splendid time fellowshipping with sweet friends, sharing jokes and stories and experiences until way past my bedtime.

So, I got to church late, but there was still a seat for me in the row in which I usually join friends.  That was nice.

After church, five of us decided to go to lunch together.  Well, actually, I had two different options of groups to join for lunch… Now, at this time last year, I would have sulked my way back to my house and scrounged up some food and gotten in my bed and spent my Sunday bored and lonely, so just the prospect of lunch with friends is something in which to rejoice.  I had a lovely lunch of a BBQ sandwich and then headed back home, which is when all the excitement went down…

The plan was to take Micki home and then grab my fabric from my classroom and meet Heather, Abby, and Julia at the market for a jaunt this afternoon, but as they so often do in Africa, plans changed.

As I was beginning to ascend the hill up to the neighborhood, a friendly moto-driver was hastily descending a bigger hill out of the neighboring neighborhood paying no regard to the yield sign that should have proffered me the opportunity to safely climb my hill home untouched.  Well, as they often do in Africa, the moto-driver ignored the yield sign and headed directly towards Micki and me on my little Scooty Pep+.  So, naturally, I swerved out of the way, and as it often does in Africa, it had recently rained rendering the pavement slick and wet.  So…. We fishtailed, I uttered a choice word, and flew Superman style off to the left as my scooter fell to its side ensnaring my left foot.  Micki took it much more gracefully (as she so often tends to do in most things, like Zumba and Justin Bieber dancing, for instance), and was fortunately saved from nasty hip road rash by the big wad of money in her waistband that she had just changed at the Forex Bureau (Fortunate, also, is the exchange rate and the fact that it takes quite a few Rwandan Franc bills to equal a couple hundred US Dollars).

We calmly assessed the situation and asked, “Whom should we call?” (Let’s be serious, we weren’t thinking in quite such good grammar in our state of shock… it was “Who should we call?”). I digress, but having options of people to call is another good indicator of the level of community we have here in Kigali.  We decided on the headmaster who dropped everything to head our way.  I also called “Mama” Natalie as she lived just at the top of the hill, and I knew she had a first aid kit, not that it would be adequate for the state of my foot...  Then, I sent Micki to the supermarket on the corner for a bottle of water to rinse off all of the blood and a towel to squeeze my foot to stop the bleeding.

One more digression.  At one point, I was looking for my cell phone to make another phone call when I noticed my pocketbook was presumably missing.  I immediately accused the growing crowd of spectators of taking advantage of this poor injured Muzungu and stealing my bag (which we are so often apt to do) when one of the onlookers kindly pointed out that Micki was holding my bag.  One of the innocent bystanders had actually been kind enough to save my bag from the masses and handed it to me, but as I was busy clotting blood, I gave it to Micki for safe-keeping, and in our mental state, we overlooked that detail.  Now, back to the regularly scheduled programming…

Then within 5 minutes, the doctor dad of my of my students (and husband of our friendly librarian) drove by and saw a crowd and came to assess the situation.  He assured me that, as it so often is, the hospital was unnecessary and also that calling the police (which the locals realllllly wanted me to do) would just cause more hassle than it was worth.  Then, along came Jamie in her little red car.  She saw a crowd and a Scooty Pep+ and knew it was one of “our girls” (as three of us now drive said vehicle). All of our supporters emerged on the scene practically simultaneously. Jamie drove me to Micki’s house, Dr. Miller went to get his first aid kit (which was like Goliath compared with Natalie’s David-esque kit), the headmaster helped Natalie start my scooter which she drove to the house, and the real assessment began. 

Here are a few pictures, taken by Jamie for longevity’s sake, after a bit of cleaning and during the administration of lidocaine:

A few shots of lidocaine, four sutures (you know, to close in the exposed tendon), one nice dressing, and two hours later, all was (relatively-speaking) well with the world. 

I can’t forget to mention the support of Emily sharing one of her epic stories as the doctor shot my sensitive little foot full of lidocaine to distract me from the pain and the gift of a Lindt Dark Chocolate with Sea Salt bar from Abby who was intent on boosting morale through the sacrifice of her favorite chocolate and Jamie and Natalie running to the pharmacy to buy more supplies and medicines and Micki picking up the things I dropped and bringing me water and just being there and Natalie offering me her bed for a few nights so I don’t have to live alone in pain and travel so far to work and Jamie taking me to my house to pick up some belongings and the headmaster and deputy headmaster stopping by to check on me post-surgery. 

These people love me, and I love them, too, and I’m not sure what I would do without the love of Christ shining through each and every one of them in my times of need this year.  I can only hope to embody Christ to each of them as they face their own difficulties in the years to come.  The joys of community make the pain of scooter accidents oh-so-much more bearable! 

Living and Learning

The good ol’ proverbial “they” out there say, “You live, and you learn,” and I have to agree.  Take these few examples, for instance:

You give 15 former street boys 3,000RWF (5USD) each to buy health insurance, and you learn to ask for receipts.

You eagerly buy a 32GB flash drive from a guy on the street for 5,000RWF (8USD), get home, find out it’s fake, and you learn your street smarts could use some work.

You read a whole book in a big green field on a beautiful, equatorial sunny day, and you learn to reapply sunscreen.

You copy a vocabulary quiz you found online that has extra credit (which you firmly do NOT believe in) in the instructions, and you learn to read the things you hand your students before quiz time.

You venture out on a limb to make homemade tortillas for the first time and put them in the oven to keep them warm, and you learn how tortilla chips are made.

You spend a month delving near death and slowly climbing back from it, and you learn to sleep under a mosquito net.

You read the book of Genesis to a group of genocide orphans, and you learn to see the story of the world in a more meaningful way.

You tell someone how they’ve hurt you, and you learn that people really can change for the better.

You open your eyes, and you learn to see the glimpses of redemption all around you.

You open a book, and you learn to see the world from someone else’s perspective.

You open the door, and you learn not to fear what’s behind the next one.

You open your heart, and you learn who really loves you.

You open your arms, and you learn how to love.

You open your mind, and you learn about yourself and the world around you.

You live, and you learn.

And according to my girl Alanis Morissette, not only do you learn when you live, but also when you love, cry, lose, bleed, scream, grieve, choke, laugh, choose, pray, and ask.  And again, I have to agree.  As I have done each of these things in the last few months, I have learned. 

While I’m here in Rwanda to teach, I find that I’m learning much more than I’m teaching, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.  I love living and learning (and alliteration).

Freedom

So while most of my faithful readers likely woke up Saturday morning anticipating the evening’s big college football game and spent Sunday morning gloating (or sulking, as the case may be), my weekend differed a bit.  While I DID wear a bright orange skirt and a big tiger paw on my shirt to church on Sunday, I celebrated a more meaningful victory.

Saturday morning, I made myself presentable (as this often helps your cause dealing with official business in Rwanda) and headed out to attempt to bail one of my boys out of jail.  Thursday night at English lessons, the boys informed me that one of them had been hauled away that afternoon for selling a dictionary on the streets.  You see, it is illegal to sell anything on the streets here, and undercover cops engage sellers and then arrest them and haul them off, much like they do with drug dealers in America.  I asked the boys how long he’d be in jail and they said maybe the end of the year, maybe February.  Now, note he was not indeed selling drugs, but a dictionary.  I asked if there was any way I could get him out of prison and they asked me to please try.  So try I did…

I armed myself with documents proving he was a member of the troupe, documents proving that I paid the rent for their house, and photos of the boys at drum practice and in their home.  I was escorted to the door of a building that looked like a run-down factory.  A police greeted me at the door and I humored him with my broken Kinyarwanda and essentially said, “Good morning.  How are you?  I am fine.  My student is here.  This is a problem.”  He asked for the name of my student and then sent someone to find him.  The entire experience broke my heart.

The police officer informed me that my students were street kids.   I quickly showed him the documents proving I paid their rent and the pictures of them sitting in their living room and the promotional flyer for the dance troupe boasting of FORMER Rwandan street kids.  It broke my heart that these boys have come SO far from who they were when they really were street kids, but they are still viewed as the bane of society.  I thought of The Avett Brothers’ song “The Perfect Space” that says, “I want to have friends that I can trust/ who love me for the man I’ve become/ not the man that I was…”

I had a conversation with another man at the entrance who taught secondary school in town and said that part of their curriculum these days is to teach students that street kids are people, too.  While I didn’t see many faces, I imagined the look that would be on my own face if I received the message these kids were being sent everyday through their circumstances, and I assure you that message is not, “You are a person, too!”  I watched as a young teenage girl arrived with a baby on her hip.  She passed the baby off to another teenage girl inside the institution, presumably the baby’s mother.  As I witnessed the police officers mockingly asking both girls if they had husbands, I imagined Jesus telling those without sin to throw the first stone and refusing to condemn the girls.

I was grateful that the police released "my boy" to me.  His "brothers" were equally as grateful that I was able to get him out of jail.  I took him home to the open arms of the rest of the boys and went on my with Saturday.

Saturday night we had a staff Christmas party and sang various Christmas carols.  The leader of the singing encouraged us to really think about the words of the songs we were singing, and that thought crossed my mind as I listened to Josh Groban sing “O Holy Night” this morning before church.  As he sang, “Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother/ and in His name all oppression shall cease,” I couldn’t help but rejoice in the truth of that.

At church, we read Matthew 25:31-46 and I was reminded of the role we have in helping the oppression to cease.  Give food to the hungry.  Give water to the thirsty.  Welcome strangers.  Clothe the naked.  Visit the sick.  Visit the imprisoned.  You may not live in the middle of Africa where these things are so prevalent, but there are hungry, thirsty, strange, naked, sick, imprisoned people everywhere.  Do something about it!

Jesus was born to an oft-condemned teenager and grew up amidst the jeers of the authorities.  He came and broke chains so that we could be free from condemnation.  He loved the unlovely and served the servile.  And in His name, ALL oppression shall ultimately cease.  I eagerly anticipate that day!

Half a Weekend in Kibuye

This weekend, two of my fellow teachers and I decided to have a mini-getaway to Lake Kivu.  As every other African adventure, this one was eventful.  A few noteworthy moments:

1. The lady sitting next to Natalie on the bus got super sick, so Abby gave her a Ziploc bag (with a slice of leftover birthday cake in it), and she puked and puked and puked.  When she had eliminated the contents of her stomach into the bag, she threw the puke/birthday cake bomb out the window. Disgusting.
2. We ate Lake Kivu fish (not sure exactly what variety that is) for dinner.  The whole things.  Heads and tails included.  Delicious.
3. I slept in my hammock overlooking the beautiful lake beneath the rolling hills.  Delightful.
4. I was awoken at 1:30am by some tiny splatters on my hammock followed by some retching up above.  That’s right, someone on the balcony above ralphed over the railing and didn’t quite miss the miss in the hammock below.  I was a victim of vomit.  Luckily I was all wrapped up like a cocoon and didn’t actually get any spewed splatters on my person.  Dirty.
5. Ten minutes after the puke incident, I heard presumably the puker pee and then discuss (right loudly) the prospect of drinking his own urine, provided he were stranded in a desert with no water to be found.  He is the reason so many people around the world hate Americans.  Despicable.
6. We walked down to the nicer hotel and kayaked about the lake for an hour then ate lunch and walked back to our guesthouse.  Lots of fun, fellowship, and fitness.  Divine.

Now it’s back to the grind.  I have a unit to plan tomorrow and 2 more weeks of school until Thanksgiving!

Dumb and Dumber in Rwanda

So yesterday I took one of my students to Bourbon for coffee after school.  I drive a TVS Scooty Pep+ and I have a huge full-face helmet for me and a dainty little pink flowery one for my passengers.  Well, through a series of unfortunate events, my pink helmet ended up not being at school when I needed to give it to my student to ride safely to Bourbon.  I ended up giving her my full-face and using the decrepit blue helmet (with no face mask or chin strap) that’s been sitting around at school as long as I’ve worked there.  It was on this scooter ride that I reminisced back to 1994.

In 1994, something happened that changed the world forever.  Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels starred in the ever-popular film Dumb and Dumber.  As I drove down the road yesterday wearing my janky helmet, my student grasping my shoulders, I felt very much like Lloyd Christmas driving to Aspen.  Of course, I asked my passenger if she felt like Harry Dunne, but seeing as she was BORN in 1996, she had NO clue what I was referring to.

Later the same night, another Dumb and Dumber moment was lost on the people around me.  I was at “my boys” house teaching them English.  David’s smile warmed my heart.  His joy in the midst of extreme poverty and hardship never ceases to amaze me.  My smile broadened, however, when he said, and I kid you not, “we have no food.  We have no jobs.”  It was ALL I could do not to respond, “Our pets heads are falling off!”

These are not the only parallels one can draw between my life and Dumb and Dumber.  For example, there’s the obvious, “Why you going to the airport?  Flying somewhere?” as I fly somewhere on a fairly regular basis.  I can also relate to Lloyd when he says “I get 70 miles to the gallon on this hog.”  But, according to my calculations (which are likely less than accurate), I get more like 100 miles to the gallon on my “hog.”  (If you want to do the math, my tank holds 5 liters of petrol and I can drive 200 kilometers on one tank.)

Then there’s the aptly named pet store, “I Got Worms,” which is something I have been able to say on multiple occasions since moving to Rwanda.  Once I left English lessons a bit early to make it to the pharmacy before it closed.  I told the boys I needed to go because I had “snakes of the stomach” (as they call them).  One of them responded, “Everyone has snakes in their stomach!”  I informed him that, while that may be the case in his country, we westerners boast of worm-less stomachs most of the time…

The next parallel might only make sense to my fellow abazungu (white folk) in Rwanda, but the exchange between Lloyd and the elderly woman on the sidewalk applies to our lives here:

            Lloyd:  Excuse me, little old lady.  Do you have change for a dollar?

            Elderly woman:  Change?  No, I’m sorry, I don’t.

For, you see, finding change in this country (while it has been improving as of late) is NOT an easy task.  Moto drivers are infamous for not having the change you need and trying to get you to give up and let them “keep the change.” 

My last parallel might be a stretch.  Recall the last scene of the movie.  Harry gives a bus full of girls directions to the nearest town.  Harry then runs back and tells them different directions to the nearest town. This is how direction giving works in Rwanda.  You ask one person how to get to X, and he points you up the hill to the right.  When you get up the hill to the right, you ask another person how to get to X and he points you down the hill to the left where you find another person who points you straight ahead where you find another person, and I think you get the picture.  You never know quite where you’re going to be led.

So you may be wondering where I’m being led after this school year since my “commitment” ends May 29.  Well, if you’re wondering if I’ll come to the States for the summer and return to KICS next year, well, I’m “telling [you] there’s a chance!”