Obligatory Public Service

 

Every Peace Corps post seems to have

Wait, I have to mention something I heard just now and it was on the BBC. A journalist referred to their station as “the ‘Beeb’”. Really? The BBC can be referred to as “The Beeb”?

Ok, anyway, as I was saying, every Peace Corps seems to have some strange quirks to it. Rwanda, as lacking as it is in those typical third world traits, it has some unique things. One of them that we experienced recently was “umuganda”. This is an obligatory public service that everyone over the age of 18 is obligated to partake in on the last Saturday of every month. I could be wrong, but I have never seen this anywhere else that I have traveled in. As Peace Corps volunteers, we were issued hoes so that we could partake in this practice. It is somewhat surprising that it has been a part of this country for several decades. It seems like the kind of thing that would have either been implemented by the post-genocide government as a way to rebuild the country. However, it seems, to me, like something that could have been banned by the new government because of the connotation it gained during the genocide. Some of the “genocidaires” (the general term for those that partook in the genocide) sometimes referred to their mass murder as “umuganda”; their duty to their country.

Either way, the country is still hard at work with umuganda every last Saturday of the month. I didn’t know what to expect when we walked to our village’s task for the day, but I carried my hoe with purpose in anticipation of serving the country I would be living in for the next two years. We arrived earlier than most of the village, but the other Peace Corps volunteers and I got started on our project. It looked like we would be clearing dirt and brush to build a road. We used or hoes to tear away the dirt. Slowly people trickled in with their hoes and, bit by bit, we tore away the dirt, transforming a trail into what would become a small road connecting two other small roads. I was a in favor of these communal projects, but when a police officer showed up to tally who was present, it felt a little more like forced labor. Rwanda is transforming itself drastically, but in ways that are often controversial. This felt like an example that could be debated, but it is an issue that is too complicated for blog material. So I will try not to get into that too deep.

In a lot of ways, the effort the (often quite elderly) men and women put into their community was very inspiring. It seemed noteworthy that the same week I had seen a “quote of the day” on the national TV station. It was JFK’s “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country”.  As inspiring as the activity was, it seemed that it was not taken very seriously among the more privileged in the country. Most of the slightly wealthier families would not take part. They would either pay the fine for not taking part or say they were too sick to participate. I still have mixed feelings about the event. Unfair forced labor, or an admirable effort to get Rwandans to take pride in their country? There are plenty of policies in Rwanda that I would not want in America, but I feel are appropriate for this country. This might be included.

Either way, I enjoyed the physical activity for myself. During our training we mostly sit in chairs all day and, other than the few jogs I take every week, provide the only bit of exercise I get. I got tons of blisters on my hand, which all got torn to shreds the next day when I washed my clothes. The sympathy I got from my host sisters was awkward when I know that they are constantly working much harder than I am.

***

Every time I feel that this country is uncomfortably boring, I find myself brutally knocked back to reality. The boring part is mostly because I find the whole environment completely contradictory to a lot of other things I have seen in Africa or the rest of the developing world. The people are incredibly reserved for Africans, everything is clean, street food does not exist ((!) yes, even in the city), public transport runs on tighter schedules than Greyhound, and nobody is hostile, nor are they particularly good-humored.

In the village I live in, things seem almost perfect. Then, every once in a while, I am reminded that this place is not always so ideal. I was shocked to find that petty theft happens right here in our little village. There was a rash of charcoal theft from people’s homes in our second week here. One volunteer’s family heard someone snooping around their fence, trying to get in. One of the first things that surprised me here was the extent to which people lock their doors. Every door has a lock and is always secured. The cabinets also have locks. I never would have imagined that in a village this small there would be any security concerns. The worst incident happened after about seven weeks here. During my language class I could hear a loud argument going on at the shop next door. When we were finished I saw my village chief with a group of men and some onlookers having a heated discussion. My language teacher told me they were discussing something that had happened the night before. A man beat up a teenage girl on her way home from her night class. I saw one of my host sisters walking by and asked her about it, since she goes to the same school. She said she knew the girl that was beaten and the guy who did it. Apparently he lives just a few houses away from us on a trail I use often. Nobody seemed to know why the man did what he did. Supposedly his punishment was to pay the hospital bill for the girl. She had spent the night there. I couldn’t believe this had happened so close to where I live. Few places I have been have less of an atmosphere of violence than the little village I live in at the top of a hill. Perhaps the most shocking aspect of this was how little people seemed to care. Nobody was up in arms, and my host sister spoke of it matter-of-factly.

***

My daily routine leaves a lot of excitement to be desired. Then again, I remember about a year ago, when I was in India, I was desperate for some sort of routine or something to work toward every day. While a lot about my training period with the Peace Corps has been frustrating and dull, it is comforting to know that I am learning a little every day. I am excited to become proficient in Kinyarwanda. I am also happy to be building my teaching skills, which will hopefully serve me beyond my time with the Peace Corps.

Each week I have between fifteen and twenty hours of language class with two other trainees. It is a relatively enjoyable way of studying language, but Kinyarwanda is incredibly difficult and has grammar elements I have never seen before. We have a lot of technical training, which can be boring, but it is relevant. Then there are the other sessions that deal with health, safety and security and culture. These are absolutely mind-numbing. I just have to grin and bear them.

It is a weird situation to live with a host family, but also to be with 33 other Americans all the time. Through the home stay and the language classes, we are supposed to be integrating into Rwandan culture. However, due to our busy schedule and all the time spent with other volunteers, I feel I have not gotten to know too many Rwandans. I find myself spending a lot more time with my colleagues than I would want to. It is nothing against them, but I feel weird being here and spending so much time with the people from my country, rather than with people in the country I will be in for the next two years. Then again, when I get to my site in September, I will be a few hours away from the nearest volunteer in my group and I will have plenty of time to build relationships with Rwandans and integrate into my community.

***

Four weeks into our training we were informed of where in Rwanda we would be serving. We all had our hopes about where in the country we would go, and what our home would be like. My dream placement would have been somewhere with a lake nearby so I could swim and maybe buy a canoe. I had my hopes up, but I was ready for disappointment. Well, I didn’t get my lake, but my placement looked like it would be interesting enough. It was in the deep southwest corner of the country, in the district of Rusizi. I had the farthest site from Kigali, and would have to travel about nine hours to get there. I was right next to the borders of Burundi and Democratic Republic of the Congo, two countries that Peace Corps volunteers are not allowed to go to. I felt that the Peace Corps was putting me there as a test. Like they were daring me to cross the border so they could kick me out.