leave me out with the waste, this is not what i do.

Since leaving Rwanda, over the past few months, I haven’t really known how to be.  Actually, this isn’t entirely correct.  Anyone looking at me might think that my re-entry has been smooth, that I have made the transition seamlessly.  This is true, and somehow not true. 

I have successfully distracted myself from day 1.  With a variety of… pleasures, for lack of a better word.

But every so often I find myself hit with something, something I have yet to place, some sort of terrible lament.  For a feeling lost, a time passed, a self misplaced.  A yearning.  A disappointment.  A shock.  A realization.  Shame.  Anxiety.  Appalling relief.  A sense that something is being pulled out of me and I have no control in stopping.  An excuse.  Love.  The need for something more than I ever thought I could need.  Salvation.  Faith. 

How the fuck did I get here? 

Yeah Yeah Yeah!

I am on a serious high right now.

Classes started Monday, and even though I was stressed to the max borderline pulling my hair out (and cried multiple times today…for unrelated reasons – see Lauren’s most recent blog post), I am in the best mood I’ve been in for quite a while.

School.  So Monday morning I woke up at 5am with butterflies in my stomach, anxious and excited about the first day of school.  I had come into work over the weekend to prepare for my classes and to get myself into the mindset somehow.  I got to work extra early, checked my emails and facebook messages, and went pee at least three times.  I found out somewhere along the way that my Adult Health course (which was supposed to be scheduled 5 times per week) is only scheduled 3 times per week, and my Physical Assessment course (which was supposed to be booked 3 times per week) is not even on the schedule at all!  Since I am leaving in 6 weeks time, these courses need to be finished very quickly.  And anyone who went through nursing can tell you that Adult Health cannot be rushed.  There is a ton of material and it is intense at the best of times – it is all new and extremely important knowledge.  Needless to say, it was a rough start to the day.  But things were looking up when Constance came into the office she told me she would come with me to my class to introduce me and go over ground rules (she would). 

We walk into my first Adult Health class. I set up the General Nursing laptop and projector (later found out it is semi-broken and nearly impossible to get on a good day, and therefore I am now going to start the grueling and tedious process of turning two months worth of powerpoint work into word documents – fuck.), and stood by Constance as she borderline-yelled at the students for offences they had yet to commit.  No Coming In Late.  No Signing For Friends On The Attendance List.  No Cellphones In Class.  The usual, in other words.  It’s been less than a year since I was in those student’s shoes.  I was hearing the lecture from Constance as a student and yet somehow as a teacher.  It was very strange.  I rolled my eyes but also felt the unavoidable foreboding of consequences.  After her schpeel was done, I got to interact with my class for the first time.  My class.  I’ve been so excited to meet them, and this might be biased, but after day 1 I can already tell you: they kick ass.

When I was a student, I was the kid that interacted with teachers.  I was a teacher’s pet – not because I wanted to suck up and get good grades, but because I love learning, and have always found that interaction (answering a question when asked, asking questions, and just generally being involved in class time) is how I learn best.  Naturally, this is how I would want my classes to go.  And today, that’s exactly how they went.

Before talking about class, I feel that some background info should be shared on Rwanda’s education system is necessary: In Rwanda, depending on how you do on your “placement exam” in high school, you are put into whichever program that test shows you would do well in.  AKA: The Man tells you what you are doing with your life, if you will do anything at all.  So my students did not choose to go into nursing, they were put there based on the results of one examination.  This brings obvious difficulties and frustrations, namely that there are now many students trying to study for a profession they have no passion for. .  It makes for some very desolate classes sometimes.  In nursing specifically, this causes a lot of problems, since these people will be giving care to the countries population.  If they don’t give a shit about nursing, quality of care is almost non-existent.  However, for some of my students, it is clear: They wanted to be nurses all along.  But, others wanted to be doctors, some wanted to work in IT, some have passion for various arts programs, and some – like many people my age – don’t know what they want to do.  I’ve never had to inspire passion before.  Now that I am trying to start I am realizing how hard it truly is, and why it is so unbelievably important and amazing.

Nevertheless, these students are so bright.  They are attentive and interested and eager to learn.  On that first class, they blew me out of the water.  And they have continued to do so all week.  

I feel like I can relate to these students, having just been where they are now.  I know how shitty careplans are to do and how long they take, but having graduated I also know how important they are and how much they contribute to critical thinking.  I know how much material there is to cover and how difficult some of these concepts are to grasp.  I know how great this course can be, having learnt it from one of the best professors I’ve ever had.  I know how amazing it feels to understand the mechanism of heart failure after hours of lecture and reading and trying to stay awake.  I know how comforting it is to feel like you can talk to your teacher and how much dignity and confidence can be gained when they treat you as equals.  I know nothing about teaching other people.  But I know how they feel, and I am now in the odd position of seeing each side perfectly clear – student and teacher.  And now I’m starting to understand how wonderful it is to see their eyes, to almost be able to hear their brains click when they understand a new concept.   To have them laugh with me when I do a role-play exercise of a 90 year old sick patient who still wants to have sex with her husband.  To have them feel comfortable and confident to ask questions and not stop until they get the answer.  To feel support from them and to support them.  I am very grateful and very lucky to have such a remarkable class.  I am not an educator, so I feel so appreciative that they are easing me into it and helping me learn about teaching.

I feel connected to them.

I am so excited to teach this course. 

Gimme Ten Bucks And A Head Start

I am having one of those days (or one of those slew of days) where you just feel, off.  Where I just want to be left alone.  Where every minor thing somehow is wrong.  Where I don’t feel right in my own skin.  Where I somehow manage to be pissed off by my own damn self, thinking ‘god I wish she would fuck off right now’.  My head doesn’t shut up and my body doesn’t feel right.  Always thinking thinking thinking.  Whining.  Complaining.  Fidgeting.  Uncomfortable.  Irritated and anxious.  Jesus Christ.  This blog is pissing me off.  How is this possible?

Seriously.  What. The. Fuck.

This isn’t actually that unusual.  Well, ok it is, but when I get glimpses of this feeling it can generally be solved by a long run and lack of human interaction.   Which I fully intend to use as treatment tomorrow morning.  But this time it’s a bit more than a bad mood.  My usual PMS bullshit combined with my existing weird mood of late has seemingly formed some sort of turbo-freak of a state of mind.  So what’s the difference?  Hm.  Shall we?  Sure.

Lately (more specifically ever since the clock struck 2011), it’s been lurking.  I suppose the easy thing to say is to admit that I’m freaked out that we are now coming up to the middle of month 5 of a 6 month program.  That I am scared shitless of leaving.  That I’m scared I’ll be going home to a life that I don’t know or care to understand.  That every time I think about the possibility that I might never see the boys again I feel like I could cry and never stop.   I find myself between two worlds.  Two times. The start of this experience – and not just this internship, but the entire experience that encompasses it – and the possibility of the end.  The further I move from the beginning the closer I get to the end.  And I guess I just don’t know what that means. 

I think the other, more difficult reason to admit for my recent peculiar state of mind is that I’ve realized I have absolutely no fucking clue what I want to be when I grow up.  For four years it was “nurse”.  My passions were high and my goals clear.  Even six months ago I knew.  Even one month ago.  And now I feel like I don’t have a clue in the world.  I can do anything.  Anything in the entire world.  And I know it, 100%.  And while most of the time I find this to be a huge rush and one of the most exciting things imaginable, as of late (again, alter ego Caroline emerges) it has felt more daunting than anything.  Because there are so many wonderful things to feel passionate about I find myself without for any of them.  It used to be that there was an end-vision I saw for myself; there were a million and one ways to make it happen, and I was happy to just stumble around and do things as they came – always with faith that it would get me there.  Now the vision is blurry, and I find myself unsure of which path to take to get to where I used to want to be.

Ok. So, I just stopped writing after that paragraph (because I heard how god damn depressing it was) and went and sat for about 30 minutes by myself in the dark (I know, strange girl.) and then came back and re-read what I just wrote.  And you know, I think I had the same freak out before I went away to university.  Haha! So much for growing up! Wow.  Not sure what just happened but I literally just started laughing as I read that and now I don’t really give so much of a fuck.  I can’t believe I’ve been so freaked out.  And I can’t believe I’m still having these brutal anxieties about not knowing where I’m going.  Because that always ends up being the best part.  I mean god damn, imagine if I travelled like this! I would want to absolutely kill myself! 

On a more positive note and hugely less emo note, as painful as it will be to leave, I am getting excited to go home (never thought I would say that).  I Skyped with Billy the other day… he was showing me him and Jensen’s new house (amazing, by the way - I wish I could live there).  When he showed me the deck I saw all the snow on the ground, and to Billy’s serious discomfort (sucker) I started crying – in the middle of the day, at work, by myself, in front of my computer.  I had certainly thought about the snow, at Christmas I thought about my family and all the traditions, on NYE I thought about all my friends and what they’d be doing.  Not once did any of those things get me the slightest bit emotional or sentimental.  But a glimpse of real life (albeit via webcam) Canadian snow got to me.  God damn snow.  Always causing shit.   Getting off this tangent:  Even though I am going to be severely drunk (or hungover, depending on how this master travel-plan goes), it is going to feel so good to step off of that Air Canada flight into the Halifax airport, where the accents are thick and the staff are Nova-Scotia-tartan clad. 

I’m starting to miss my family – especially my big brother.  It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to spend much time with him.  Growing up we always sort of teamed up on Jensen, we were around the same age, and even though we fought a lot we were always connected.  This is a really strange memory to look back on fondly, but I think about it often when I think about Chris:  A few Christmases ago I came home in the morning super hungover and passed out on the couch.  I was in seriously rough shape.  Chris made me a grilled cheese sandwich and put ketchup on the side, and brought it to me with a glass of water.  I ate a bite, took a sip, and passed back out (to make sure I could stomach it).  Bite, sip, sleep.  Bite, sip, sleep.  This continued for the rest of the day.  He hung out with me in the living room, laughing at my slow progress, but keeping me company and entertaining me nonetheless.  It took me the entire day to eat that grilled cheese.  Really not sure why but that is one of my all time favorite memories of him.  This holiday season he went on an adventure to Australia and New Zealand.  Before he left I talked to him on the phone and he just sounded so different.  He didn’t sound like my brother.  He sounded like a man.  I guess I sometimes worry that we’re growing apart.  We are so different and lead such separate lives.  Neither of us checks in that much with each other or with our parents; we both keep to ourselves and do our own thing.  But I still need him.  And I still feel him. 

I’m also really excited to see Jensen.  We didn’t get along in the conventional sense for most of my life (it started with the ice down the diaper), except those times when we would all cover for each other for a broken window (or kitchen lamp post – god I wish we still had that), but last year I lived in Edmonton and I had never been more thankful to have her around.  She is getting married this April in Cuba and I am jacked for the wedding.  Her and Billy are perfect.  They understand each other and work hard at their relationship because they know it’s worth it.  Call me crazy, but I think that’s actually quite rare and very special.  I’m glad I get to be around for a while before we go our separate ways again.  I want to see her in this time of her life.  Jensen has always been two people – sophisticated city and hometown silly.  I think she will always be both.  But I want to be around to see her grow into the woman she’s been becoming for so long.  I’ve always kind of looked up to her.  Not for her outstanding morals or dedication to society, but Jensen has just always known who she is.  She makes it easy to love her.  She is positive, passionate, and deep down she is extremely kind and empathetic, and she would do anything for her family.  Even when she’s in your face with an irrational mood swing, it doesn’t even phase me (or Billy, he understands her too) because that’s just Jensen.  She has always been upfront about who she is and so even her worst qualities aren’t bad, because it’s her.  And she is letting you see that.  Another admirable quality.  Billy is lucky to marry her.  And she is lucky to marry Billy.  Hence why I’m so jacked for this wedding – two of the people I love most in the world are getting married and celebrating.  Wouldn’t miss it for anything.  

And Billy.  Well.  I’m not even going to say anything about Billy because A) it would make him uncomfortable to be talked about on a blog and B) I just don’t need to, he knows what’s up.  Boom.

So yes.  I am excited to get home next month (and dreading the two week re-entry program).  I start teaching quite intensively this Monday and am getting nervous about it.  But it feels good to be working again.  I will be teaching pretty much all day every day, Monday to Friday, 7am-5pm (except Friday afternoons, like hell I was doing that eesh).  Since Lau and I splurged and flew back from Tanzania instead of another 36 hour bus ride, we’ve decided to make some cuts to ease the financial blow.  Until the last week (when we plan to go ape shit in Kigali) we aren’t going to any of our favorite restaurants (this is pretty much the only cut…but also pretty much our only expense).  We have a final trip to Kampala to plan to white water raft the Nile and bungee jump, and I promised a final visit to Eric and Moha.  The next month and a half are going to fly by.  I can remember when I said those words in November (‘before you know it it’s going to be 2011 and we’ll be on our way out’).   I’m trying to remember to take this experience for what it is.  The ups and the downs (especially the downs, she reminds herself) are all a part of it.  I am learning from all of it.  This is the experience. This is exactly it.  

Mom’s Rwanda Wrap-Up

Home in Fredericton, after my Tour de Rwanda with Caroline. I am cold, and lonely. Wonder if I will ever wear all the great jewelry I got, as it will seem out of place here. Like an orchid in a cow barn.

I miss the moto’s, African tea, sunshine and heat. Do not miss walking uphill and really dirty feet. I miss Caroline, and her roommate Lauren. Wonderful hosts. They have an impressive lust for food. Surpassed only by their exuberance for life.

Have met some people I will remember for a long time. Peter, Egide, Hilaire, Eric, Mo, and Jonas. They might not have a Visa Gold card, but they have the ability to make you feel welcome, and special. Black is the new gold.

Caroline had her Jurassic Park moments. And I was there to share it with her. That’s what I liked the most – being able to fly half-way around the world to spend time with Cano. The child who took care of me in her adopted country. I got to stand back and watch her. I was humbled.

The sights of Rwanda will stay with me for a long time. I want them to. Their memories will rescue me, when life just gets a bit too foolish here.

Mom's First Blog, written Dec 6th

TIA.

This is Africa.

Last night went to pick up luggage, which did not come with me.  It was open, and yes, the electronics I brought for “the people” were missing.  Yes, that happens in Canada too, however, the paperwork here is a little more challenging. I pretty much had a breakdown.

Rwanda really is the Land of a Thousand Hills. Makes running hills in Fredericton seem rather pointless. Jesus, fill two large jugs with water, and walk up a half-dozen hills to get home, and there’s your workout. 

Cano lives at the end of a very sketchy dirt road. I have to hold hands with her at night walking home. The same situation would be unheard of in Canada. It would be too dangerous.

She has no running water. Well, there was water Saturday morning for a couple of hours. That means the toilet does not flush. Got that? I have been scolded for using three cups of water from the boiled supply per day. Yes, I washed my face, and brushed my teeth three times a day. I have since cutback.

My lungs are sick. Air pollution in Kigali is remarkable.

TIA.

This is Africa.

Peter has his tuition. He is registering for school this week. He is grateful, gentle, and so appreciative of the opportunity to get a degree. Sustainable kindness.

The roads impress me, cleanliness (exception – dreadful air quality), developing infrastructure (exception – water supply), skilled matatu drivers.

As we drive through the countryside on the small, very packed bus; the

children are thrilled to see my white face, and wave and shout. Maybe they think I’m Angelina Jolie.

Tonight is Trivia Night at some Italian Restaurant. I am due for some competition.

Long Is Afternoon Shadows

Mom and I had the pleasure of a three hour bus ride to Kibuye today, and that is not at all intended to be sarcastic.  These hills never fail to move me.  Never fail to bring me back to center, back to what I need.  Because sometimes I forget.  I don’t know why, maybe it’s my task-oriented western culture or maybe it’s my own freakish mind, but I get so wrapped up in things that are or aren’t happening thousands of miles and minutes away from me.  I am unintentionally escaping this experience.  I drift into the future – what will happen, what will I do, where will I be, what is the next thing – and I forget what is going on right in fucking front of me. 

These hills remind me.

It’s so easy to slip into it, so easy to focus on what is to come instead of what is here.   Because yes, I am going to have to find some sort of employment, an apartment, feed myself, and support myself (not to mention repay my debt to my father and the ever-looming government of Canada).  And yes, there are relationships with people that I have back home that I want to keep, or even develop.  And there are things about home that I don’t want to lose or forget about or put on a backburner.  But how can I accomplish all of this without sacrificing the uniqueness and wonder of this opportunity I am living?  

What I really need is balance. 

Libra seeking balance.  What else is new.  Christ.

Slow down. Breathe. Be here. Open your eyes.  

Giver. 

Goodnight, Moon.

I saw Patrick today.

I saw him.

He saw me.

He ran to me.

I saw him.

I felt him.

He was there.

We were there.

His smile.

His heart.

His heart.

His heart has gotten so much worse. 

He is twice the size he was in April.

His liver is twice as big.

His kidneys are twice as fucked.

His organs will fail soon.

He is so much further, closer.

His smile.

I found out today that Patrick’s mother had 8 children.  Four of them died the same way Patrick is going.  And he knows.  He knows.  He watched them die before him. His regional hospital used to sing with him a song about heaven – about meeting your family and friends, of a better life.  One day he asked why.  Why were they singing this with him?  Was he going to die?  Singing about his own end.  He knows. 

He will die.

The world will never see his smile again. 

He will die.

Leaving the hospital, I have never felt more helpless and useless and ashamed and unskilled and unworthy.  I asked Egide what I should do.  What should I do.  Please.  What should I do.  And he told me this:  We can only do what we can.  You can't pay for what he needs.  But you can come and see him, take care of him, make him laugh, bring him joy.  That is what is going to change the world.

Thank you for getting me out of my own head, and helping me realize what I already knew.  I love you.

Patrick, my man, if you’re going out, you’re going out laughing, going out smiling.  You are taking care of me, making me laugh, bringing me joy.  You are changing the world.