Wait? Are you still in Rwanda? The Peace Corps? The short answer to that question is no. No, I am not.
As of February 3, 2019 I left Rwanda for what I think will be the absolute last time, but I’ve learned to never say never. Earlier this year I was medically separated from the Peace Corps. No hard feelings there, but as medical separation goes, it is a bit of a cluster-fuck. PC rarely gives you warning that you are being medically separated, therefore there are a lot of unresolved issues that crop up. Rarely is there the opportunity to say good-bye to your cohort, let alone any friends you may have made in other cohorts, and even worse, there’s no opportunity to say good-bye to your community, or pack up what ever of your belongings you want to take with you.
I was medically separated on January 4, 2019. I was medically evacuated a week or so prior. I lived in the infirmary at Peace Corps Head Quarters in Kigali for 36 days. I left my little house on the corner on November 17, thinking I’d return in just over a week thanks to a Peace Corps training. But no, I never did return owing that to an injury suffered while at said training.
However, I already had Peace Corps vacation plans for the month of February so upon arriving back in the US, I did my laundry, organized my stuff, and prepared for returning to Rwanda [I KNOW!], this time not as a Peace Corps Volunteer, but as a private citizen with a still somewhat banged-up leg. I arrived to Kigali on January 22, spent the night in Kigali, shot down to Butare and hung out with friends. Made my way to Nyungwe National Forest… which was just as amazing as I thought it would be. Then I scooted up the coast of Lake Kive to Kibuye and Gisenyi, did some hiking on the Congo-Nile trail, crossed over into the DRC, scooted over to Musanze, made a run for the border and made my way to the ‘Equator’
So to recap: GSP–>ATL–>BRU–>KIG–>[11 days in Rwanda + 2 days in Uganda]–>AMS [7 hour layover in Amsterdam where I went out and explored the city]–>WAS–>GSP and in a month’s time I’ll go GSP–>WAS–>PAR–> LON–>ATL–>GSP. 6 weeks of a true whirl-wind exploring parts of Rwanda, the Netherlands, France, and England.
So what’s next?: After my injury, I did some contingency planning and applied to a couple of grad school programs. I just found out that I’ve been accepted to at least one of them. Starting tomorrow, I am back to work at the same job I was at before leaving for the Peace Corps [I’m not sad about that; I loved working there and my co-workers]. I still need some time to process everything that has happened in the last 9 months, but one day I hope to be able to look back on my time with the Peace Corps as a positive time where I did my best to help the people of the community of Mbazi. That time is not today, but I think with time, it will come.
Did I really just go to good ole ‘Murica? Only a few days back in Rwanda, and the entire trip back to South Carolina feels like a dream. I left Rwanda on a Saturday night and was in my own bed by Monday. Lucy and Molly inspected me with above normal curiosity… Maybe they know I’ve been cheating on them with Sadie Mae. Thanks to the generous soul who came to fetch me, my first America meal was a home cooked feast complete with time spent with some of my favorite people. The combination of a full belly and a little more than 24 hours worth of travel had me collapsing into bed around 10p despite the party that was still going on downstairs.
My nearly one month back in ‘Murica had me meeting my new niece [born November 14 ], seeing friends and family, visiting the DMV [in person!], checking out Christmas lights at America’s largest house, dealing with the state nursing board [on-line], making doctor’s appointments, doing some light decorating to my house, and eating pizza! and salads.
I weeded through piles of clothing for clothes that fit [I’ve lost 35 pounds while in Rwanda], donated two large tubs of clothing to charity [maybe I can buy them again in Rwanda] ate out with friends, sat in hot tub, and just enjoyed America’s luxuries in general.
Here’s some general observations I have about going back to America after living 7 months in the rural Rwandan countryside:
I haven’t been back in rural Rwanda long enough to assess my feelings. I had to go back to America; I didn’t have to come back to Rwanda. I had appointments to manage, licenses to renew, certifications to maintain, and medical appointment to see about. These are things I could not do from Rwanda, and these licenses weren’t something I was willing to let lapse. I also took the GRE, and while I could have done that in Rwanda, it was just easier to do from America. I wanted to see my people, and despite all the rumors you hear about Reverse Culture Shock, being back home felt ‘right.’ Oh sure, some things felt foreign, but overall, it felt comfortable, and I ‘adjusted’ real quick.
There are decisions to be made for sure, but none of that has to happen right now. And for now, I can enjoy my remaining time in Rwanda whether it be weeks, months, or two years, hang out with friends, and enjoy exploring this tiny, yet incredibly diverse country.
Even though this is only #3 in the series, by the numbers posts seem to be among the most popular, so here goes another one.
1: # of x-rays taken
2: # of MRI’s taken [one of my head and one of my leg]; also number of instances I’ve been on med hold.
3: # of weeks I was on ibuprofen for the pain; 189 number of tables actually taken during those three week. 0 number of times it helped.
7: # of visitors from my cohort who visited my while in med hold… I also had visitors from ED 8, ED 9, and ED 10 in addition to Health 9.
30%: Percent of ‘functionality’ I have in my left leg at my first physical therapy appointment
33: # days on med hold before being medically evacuated from the Peace Corps
*** *** ***
The short answer is : I am currently back in the US getting treatment for my condition. No on knows when/if I will be cleared to resume Peace Corps service or even if I will go back. Basically I’m living in the great state of limbo. Which I hate.
The long answer is a bit more complicated that that, and since I have no actual answers, it’s pure speculation on anyone’s part. What I will say is that I do not like leaving loose ends unraveled and despite what I was able/unable to do, the fact is Peace Corps service is two years, and by not serving two years and leaving not on my terms, leaves me feeling unsettled.
I always thought that if I left Peace Corps prior to the end of my scheduled time, it would be my choice. Turns out, it doesn’t quite work like that.
At home, I have a pile of foreign currency that I used to decorate my house. Some of the more colorful bills are framed; others are just in a jar, or more accurately, a glass block with the term ‘travel fund’ applied to it. It reminds me of places I’ve been, and I’m still just a tiny bit sad I was never in Europe prior to the introduction of the Euro. All that to preface that fact that I still refer to Rwandan Francs as ‘play’ money instead of ‘real’ money. So are you curious about the finances of a PCV in Rwanda? Just how many Rwandan Francs do I earn each month. What exactly is a Rwandan Franc. No? then move along. If the answer is yes, have I got a post for you.
Prior to joining the Peace Corps, I was an Amazon addict. I ordered everything, and I do mean everything, I could on-line so that I would not have to go to a store. I hated everything about shopping from going to a store to search for what I need to standing in a check-out line. Shopping in Rwanda was one of the tasks I looked least forward to.
Enter market shopping.
Tomatoes, onions, rice, fruits, beans, toilet paper, clothes… All of these transactions are now done in person, in cash, in the market. Which means not only talking to people, but also having the cash to carryout that transaction.
Rwanda has several main banks, and most of the time they work as expected. Unlike in America, if your bank card is misplaced or stolen, you cannot get a replacement the same day. The process could take months. Months! of having to plan your banking around banking hours to actually go in the bank. [shudder]
I am paid by the Peace Corps approximately $200/month in local currency. These funds are deposited into a bank account in my name. These funds do come with a debit card; however, at least in my banking town, I find very few people who will accept it. So usually twice a month I go into the banking town to withdraw funds so that I can do the market shopping. The only thing worse than market shopping is going into the banking town for banking purposes AND carrying around large sums of money.
Picture this scenario, if you will:
I’m strolling through the local food market searching for the tastiest tomatoes, freshest fruit, most exceptional eggs, or whatever. I see something I like, approach the vendor and ask the price [all of this occurs in a language I’ve had exactly six months practicing.] The vendor sometimes replies back in French; sometimes in Kinyarwanda. Great, two languages I’m not very good at plus math. My eyes roll around in my head as I try to remember how to count in French; I then repeat what I think is the number in Kinyarwanda. No matter the price, the reply is always ‘You’re crazy… That’s too much…’ I go back and forth trying to get things to a reasonable price, and when I do, money exchanges hands along with a very heart-felt ‘Murakoze’. And then the scenario is repeated at each and every market stall for every item I may wanted to buy.
It. Is. Exhausting.
This scenario is a prime example of about half the interactions I have when I go food shopping in Rwanda. BUT I will not be taken advantage of because of the color of my skin. Or the words that come out of my mouth.
There’s a lot of tasks that you must do prior do setting off for some far-off destination. And a lot of that costs money. In theory, the Peace Corps gives reimburses you for some of those expenses. In practice, however, I never received anything. So I’m starting off in the hole.
Peace Corps | Rwanda arranges for home-stays and gives that family a rather large sum of money to house and feed volunteer for the training period [Our training families received approximately 100,000 Rwandan Francs which is why after week 2 and my meals were dwindling in quantity and quality I made the off-hand comment that ‘I am supplementary income for this family. I won’t go into a lot of detail about the situation, but I will say that I was proven right. And was the situation was proven true with other volunteers from other cohorts. Again. and Again].
Peace Corps then gives you, the trainee, a bi-weekly allowance of 47,000 Rwandan Francs. In theory, this amount allows you to buy lunch everyday, phone credit, maybe an outfit or two, and snacks for yourself. It’s not a ton, especially when lunch is around 5000 francs, and when the host family isn’t feeding you, buying dinner with that 47,000 doesn’t get you very far.
After swearing in you get a chunk of
The furniture in the house belongs to the landlord so the previous volunteer really didn’t leave me much of anything of value.The bottom line is that 275,000 Francs isn’t a lot especially when you have to buy furniture, and you might have to wait on some things.
In addition to the settling in allowance, PC will reimburse you up to 100,000 RWF for the purchase of a bicycle if you convince them you need it [a policy change—they used to just give you a bike, and there are about 20 used TREK bikes partly covered by a tarp at PC HQ just wasting away] .
Each month after swearing in you get a stipend and sometimes another mid-month payment to cover one-time expenses and reimbursements. The stipend is supposed to be enough to maintain a standard of living equal to that of your community, but in reality at least my standard of living is a little bit higher than my community.
For December 2018, I received 198,094 Rwandan Francs. Converted to US$, it’s just over $225.
Peace Corps breaks it down in to categories:
Ultimately, how I spend that is up to me. Financially, I am comfortable in site. Sometimes I even save a little. This is not the case for all PCVs. Those in bigger sites or more rural sites sometime have to spend more.
I speak from experience: the second I leave site I start hemorrhaging money. There’s the expense of travel itself. And eating Every.Single.Meal out. I can’t put the amount of money I spent in Dec while on med hold in print because it’s so scary. Let’s just say I’m glad I was frugal in Sept/Oct/Nov.
Here is a sampling of prices:
Finally, unlike in the U.S. I never spend money on medical supplies like band-aids,
Of the living allowance 6400 is earmarked for travel. This covers any mandatory and/or Peace Corps organized travel but not optional travel, even if it is work related. If we don’t spend it on travel, it’s ours to spend how we please. But as one trip to the capital costs 6600-7600 round trip, it doesn’t go very far.
Long story short (too late!) I do okay.
The reality of Peace Corps life is that no one [except other volunteers] can even possibly begin to understand the day-to day realities of Peace Corps life, and while communication is much better in 2018 or 2019 than the 1960’s or 1990′ or even the late 2000’s, people in America can’t possibly understand what our daily existence is like. Peace Corps came up with the slogan ‘The toughest job you’ll ever love‘ in the early 1980’s, and it stuck. The current Peace Corps slogan is ‘Life is calling. How far will you go‘. Regardless of what is current or not the original 1980’s slogan is still what most people think of when they hear Peace Corps.
When you’re applying for Peace Corps, you will hear that slogan many times. From the comfy confines of our living room, I’m sure none of us doubted it would be difficult, or that we’d love it (most of us, at least). We knew full well we would leave behind the relative comfort and richness of America for some poverty-stricken corner of the world. What we didn’t realize is in just how many ways we were rich.
When I landed landed in Kigali some months ago, the immediate effects were simple. Two 8 hour flights. Minimal food and general travel weariness greeted us. When we were deposited at the nunnery, despite the plethora of available food, many of us did not eat a lot. Or talk a lot. We just wanted sleep. And the chance to get horizontal was just beyond unloading our luggage from a giant truck.
Getting vaccinated against every probable disease known to inhabit the planet… Sitting in an uncomfortable, hand-made wooden chair for two agonizing hours. Beginning to learn a language than even Google Translate doesn’t even attempt. That moment of utter disbelieve that the last year [or two] of your life has culminated to this, to these trials and tribulations, these extreme extremes. The path that was ahead of us was, albeit long, an exciting one. One where every corner brought another new surprise, even after you felt like nothing would ever surprise you again after what you’ve seen. This is the ‘honeymoon’ phase. You show up here, having idolized and idealized what this life would be like. You (I) had these ideas of grandeur, of sleeping on dirt floors, bathing in rivers, being the ‘cool’ Peace Corps Volunteer who had been there, done that, and lived every awesome experience you could possibly imagine.
The first riches stripped away were not these physical comforts we see as ‘necessitates’ in the States. The first things we lost were the things it would ultimately take us the longest to realize they were riches in the first place. Prior to landing in Rwanda, my training group ‘staged’ in Philadelphia. Prior to taking off to quite literally the middle of Africa, I stood in the airport in Greenville and did what I now understand to be one of the hardest things in my life. I stood there, said good bye to my best friend and two little munchkins, knowing that next time I saw them the third little munchkin on the inside would be on the outside. I checked in, went through security, and waited in the terminal. I waited until literally the final boarding call for Philadelphia and thus Peace Corps being before I got on the plane. Even though at that moment getting on the plane was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. For them, and the others I’ve said good bye to in the preceding days, it was ‘she’s doing something she wants to do, making the world a better place, ect.’ For me, however, I have to live day-to-day with the question of ‘what the hell am I doing here?’ No amount of soul-searching, and no measure of resolve, can stop this from happening.
When you join Peace Corps, you will be willingly subjecting yourself to certain things, ‘extremes,’ if you will. A lot of these will be physical. You will have insomnia [or hypersomnia]. You will get sick [For me, it’s been a never ending battle with dizziness]. You will vomit on a routine basis [I’ve only vomited once–30 minutes after ingesting suspect watermelon, but I’m nauseous quite frequently]. Chances are, you’ll succumb to some disease (or three) that would have potentially been extremely serious if you hadn’t paid attention during training or if you didn’t have access to health care that far exceeds that given to your community members [Giradia, Malaria, Ebola?]. At first, a full-night’s sleep will seem impossible [I was up at 2am for a solid 3 weeks straight] This will change over time, but can (and will) revert to deprivation at the drop of a hat. You will sweat [even if you live in the cold, mountainous part of the country.] You will cry [in the privacy of your own home or perhaps a random latrine; that’s not usually kosher in public]. You will bleed [probably from falling down.] You will be able to scrap the dirt, dead skin, and God knows what else off your arms with your fingers [or loofah if you had the foresight to bring one] . Your hair will be absolutely disgusting [two words–dry shampoo], and there’ll be more dead skin on your scalp than on your arms [if that’s possible]. And these are just the physical changes that will happen.
The far darker side is the mental effects you will undergo. You will feel more alone than you have ever been, felt, or dreamt of being in your entire life. Sure, you will be a ‘member of your community,’ insofar as a 20 or 30-something foreigner with a very limited knowledge of their language and even less understanding of their cultural norms can integrate into a community which is physically and emotionally homogeneous. Let me say again: You Will Cry. You will want to curl up in your empty bed and scream for the ‘simple’ things in life. You will want somebody to hold you, to just wrap their arms around you and pull you into them. There will be days when you feel like you are empty inside. There will be days when you feel like going ape-shit crazy and destroying anything you can get your hands on, including your neighbors, colleagues, and yourself. These are the VERY dark days of service.
Often a bad coping strategy for Peace Corps… And Life.
Talking with friends and family at home helps, but only to a certain degree. Some days a call to/from home is exactly what you need to persevere for another day. But you’ll get this nagging feeling in the back of your mind that, for as much as they can say they understand, and as much as you’d love them to be able to, they cannot. Confiding in parents, purging your emotions to your old friends, and talking to significant others can only get you so far. Sure, you can build up fantastic relationships with your community-members, you can get to know them pretty well, and you can confide in them and become really good friends with them. But in the end, they still cannot fully understand what you’re going through because you do not share the same cultural connotations.
In the end, the logical place to turn to aid your emotional well-being is your fellow Volunteer. But, just like everything in Peace Corps, it is not that simple. Yes, these people understand what you deal with on a day-to-day basis. They were there during the 10-week trial that was Pre-Service Training. When it comes down to it, regardless of how counter-intuitive this is, we all left behind the majority of things that made us happy when we came here. Once here, it becomes so tempting, so easy, to allow your happiness to rely on a single thing, a single person, a single ability. Then, just as you feared, that solitary thing that makes you happy and is what keeps you sane is gone. You will have the darkest, coldest winter in your life, even if you’re 2 degrees away from the Equator. You’ll learn your lesson, but by that point, it’s too late.
Peace Corps service is all about these extremes. As dark as it is, even masochistic on some levels, this is what we signed up for, right? We tell ourselves we are here for some noble purpose, that we are not here to find ourselves, but to lose ourselves. To change who we are at the very core. Make no mistake; Peace Corps will change you, hopefully for the better. But this is not for the faint of heart or the weak-willed. There will be times when you want nothing more than to quit, to say ‘screw all of this’ and go home, curl up in your comfortable American bed, watch TV, eat as much food as you can see, and never move ever again. But what we are really here for is to take the punches, not to roll with them. Rolling with the punches assumes you can see them coming and avoid getting hurt. During Service, things will come from the left just as you were so preoccupied by what was to your right, slamming into your head and sending you sprawling. When you finally pick yourself up (and you always will), you’ll look to the left just in time to see… nothing. Whatever knocked you down so hard was so minute, so trivial that it begs to be laughed at for even affecting you. Peace Corps service is a time when ants can topple giants. Most days you’ll feel like the giant; on top of the world, having it all because you chose to be here. Then, BAM! Dark days are here again.
It is impossible to compartmentalize your emotions and feelings here. Attempting to bottle them up and put on your ‘game face’ will only make it worse. Those of us who claim to be expert compartmentalizers will simply be able to hold out longer, but we [they] will eventually crack just like everybody else. At the same time, you cannot risk wearing your emotions on your sleeve. You have to allow the bad things to either roll off your back or limit their expression to the privacy of your own home all while actively seeking the positive things. Holding back emotions in a situation like this makes implosion only a matter of time. Above having to cry, you will need to cry, sometimes for no reasons. Some days you will not want to get out of bed [not because it’s super comfy although my 3! yes 3 mattresses do make it tolerable], some days you will not be able to fall asleep no matter how many drugs you take or how early you have to be at work in the morning. These are the dark days of service.
The only constant in this life is that nothing is as it seems it was, is, or should be. If it feels like rain, put on sunscreen. If you feel on top of the world, bring a parachute. Whatever you think will happen will not and no matter how creative your imagination is, you will consistently be baffled at what actually does happen, at the seemingly random occurrences and outcomes that meld together to blow your mind every night. Daily events will seem like something out of a bizarre dream, yet your new reality won’t hold a candle to what your subconscious mind can now conjure up while you’re sound asleep. .
Peace Corps Service is a roller coaster. There will be ups and downs. There will be dark times. There will be times that you feel like you are in free-fall. You will feel like you will die. But you won’t. [Most likely] The only guarantee is that you will rise up again, only to come rocketing back down until that day comes when you pull into the station and the only thought that pops into you mind is “Wow, what a ride.’
Let my make myself clear: I am not suicidal, depressed, homicidal, or wanting to self injure. Emotions are a bitch.
Sadly salt water is at minimum 1100 miles away
Another year has come and gone. I KNOW! How is that even possible? It seems like only yesterday I was packing my bags for Madagascar, and yet here we are.
But Life, as life tends to do, happened, and my long awaited trip to Madagascar turned into a should I or shouldn’t I go to Rwanda [spoiler alert: I probably shouldn’t have gone to Rwanda]
But despite any misgivings I may or may not have had I DID in fact get on the plane headed to Kigali on June 5, 2018, and late in the evening of June 6, I along with 23 other Peace Corps trainees arrived in Kigali dragging behind us entirely too much [actual] luggage, and if I’m honest, a bit of invisible luggage in the form of fears, hopes, dreams, and expectations.
Just a few weeks ago, the newest volunteers were sworn in and sent to their sites with their own literal and figurative baggage. The key difference between these new volunteers and our group is that these new volunteers are based in the education sector while my group is based in Health. I don’t know if that makes me a ‘veteran’ volunteer or not, but I feel some relief that my cohort is not the ‘newest’ group in country any more.
Can I believe that I have made it this far? No, not really. I’ve had issues with my health center from the beginning [see living that med hold life] for an example. Do I have thoughts/feelings/words of wisdom? You better believe it.
So here I am at almost 7 months in. Do I think I will I make it to the close of my service? [July 2020 for those who are tracking.] Who knows? Do I feel some great loyalty to the Peace Corps? Not really. If we were evacuated due to Ebola, would I be sad? Not at all. If I get accepted to grad school at an earlier time than my COS date, will I go? Almost certainly.
Despite the title, I want to reassure everyone that as of today, December 23rd, I am still IN the Peace Corps, and have no immediate plans to leave. Although this could change at the whim of the US Government, I could be heading home via airplane at any given moment. Just know that as of now, I am still in Rwanda, and I HAVE NOT left the Peace Corps. But now is as good of a time as any other for information about how one does in fact leave the Peace Corps.
After getting reassigned to Rwanda, my mantra was “It’s not prison. I can leave whenever I want.” Perhaps this is surprising to some who thought that maybe, while not prison, the Peace Corps was kind of like the army, where getting out is hard. It is not. If I want out, I’m on a plane back to the USA within a few days. I think.
But before we delve into how one leaves the Peace Corps let’s back up: Most people imagine that one leaves the village, tearfully, after serving 27 months [in actuality it’s about 23-25 months], in which the village has erected a permanent [at least for the duration of the remaining tenure in said village] shrine to said volunteer. There is a ceremony of sorts where the volunteer is gifted some local [but often meaningless] trinket, and the volunteer cries and promises to come back after some period of time.
THIS IS A MYTH. FAIRY TALE. WISHFUL THINKING… Although in some [very few] cases it could/does happen like this; the truth is more complicated and there are lots of ways people leave. Here are the main ones:
In the end, PC loses a lot of volunteers every year. I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. The process to get into the PC is long and involved and while I am sure there is always room for improvement, it’s not like they just let anyone in and then shrug it off if it doesn’t work out. I do think that sometimes the PC probably manipulates its drop out rate to make it seem lower–which is not helpful to anyone involved. My cohort started with 24. We lost one only a couple weeks into PST and the other one in early November. Our drop out rate is currently 8.3%, however, if I am med sep’ped, I’ll be leaving early and it jumps up to 12.5%.
Having just passed the six month in country mark I am relatively confident that even if I leave early [for whatever reason], it will still have been a worthwhile opportunity.
This is not the first year I haven’t been home for the Christmas holidays. As a registered nurse and before that a respiratory therapist, I’ve spent most of or at least part of nearly every Christmas in a hospital of some sort. Sometimes is was a children’s hospital where we got to ‘play Santa’ for the sick kids; sometimes it was in a psychiatric hospital where someone actually thought they were Santa.
Sometimes I wasn’t home for the holidays because although I worked on the actual holiday, I spent the weeks leading up to or immediately after traveling. I’ve spent Christmas traveling in France and Germany trying to determine the best Christmas market.
I’ve spent Christmas in Bosnia and Serbia where it truly looks like a winter wonderland and bonus! these countries celebrate ‘western’ Christmas and Orthodox Christmas so if you time it right, you can have 2 solid weeks of holidays.
I’ve spent Christmas in Mexico watching the sun dip into the Pacific Ocean while laying stretched out on a beach and in Argentina watching the sun rise on the Atlantic coast. But this year it’s different.
This year I’m 8000 miles from my actual home and about 100 from my temporary home in Rwanda. It’s been 5 weeks since I’ve seen my little house on the corner and been able to pet #notmycat. It’s been longer than that since I’ve set foot in my health center. And I’m not heading home in a couple of weeks like all the other times.
These days I spend most of my time lying around the Peace Corps HQ recovering from a fall. It’s cruel punishment really, as I am mostly alone. PC staff has a ‘no fraternization’ policy with volunteers and I guess this even means a ‘hello’ on my part is greet by a curt and/or terse response and quick retreat on their part, and since my condition, at this point is chronic, I see the PCMO at most for 5 minutes. I’ve had a few visitors but life in the capital is forbidden per PC policy [and expensive!] so I keep to myself. And my books. And while I can be melancholy about my situation, it doesn’t change it so I try to be positive, and hope for the day my situation changes.
A couple of weeks ago, my cohort got together for what’s called IST [In-Service Training]. IST occurs approximately 90 days after moving to site and serves as the end of our probationary period. Oh and we invite counterparts as well. I haven’t gotten into a whole lot about the cluster-fuck that is my assigned health center because if you can’t say anything nice… Anyway, I’d asked my official counterpart to come, but she said she could not. [This is a person that I enjoy working with and while I realize she is exceedingly busy, a person I can see building a successful relationship with.] I asked another person to come, and she too, said she could not. So I was prepared to attend all alone and be totes fine with it and display my message to PC in a obvious way [you want to know why nothing is happening? I can’t even get a counterpart to IST] But alas PC circumvented my plan by calling the HC direct and inviting the previous volunteer’s counterpart–he has since moved to another position in the HC, and I’ve talked to him before IST exactly once. Well played, PC… well played.
Fast forward to Sunday night. I still don’t know that a counterpart is coming, but we get started. First topic, Ebola [short story: it’s coming]. A PC epidemiologist and our country director spent time with PC | Uganda trying to develop a plan on what to do if a case enters either country [I give our evacuation chances to be 50-50, and if I had to narrow that down even more, I’d go with April-June as prime evacuation time. There are a whole host of reasons for this, and if you really want my opinion ask me and I’ll tell you in private].
Imagine my surprise on Monday morning when a vaguely familiar person greets me [Surprise: it’s the HC data manager aka my counterpart for the week]. Monday is what you’d expect from a conference involving roughly 50-60 people [welcome…we’re glad you’re here…review…how to work together with the PCV… blah, blah] Yay… it’s 5:00 and day one is in the books. A group of us decide to go out to meet a few ED 8 volunteers who are COS’ing in the next few weeks. We toddle off… it’s about 7:00 or so so in Rwanda, dark. But we’re in a city. A city with street lights. No problem, right? Wrong. This is what I remember. I was walking alongside 2 other volunteers, sometimes on the sidewalk sometime off. We were talking. Then I was on the ground with intense pain in my left leg. The though–well that hurt– went through my head, and I know myself enough by now to know if that thought goes through my head then I am essentially screwed [The ripped toenail of 2017 and the broken bones of 2015 as evidence]. I sat on the ground for some time [if felt like a long time, but I’m sure was less than 30 seconds], looked to see if any bones were poking through the skin, look to see if my jean were intact, and I in fact did not have bones poking through the skin, and my jeans were in fact intact. Win- win, right?
Not so fast…
I could feel the swelling occurring and even thought I made it to see the ED 8’s off, I came back early because I was seriously worried that my leg would swell to the point that I wouldn’t be able to get my jeans off, and well, the jeans are important. They are probably the only pair that fit me in this entire country. I got back to my room at the hotel, took off said jeans, and went about applying First Aid the best I could given the circumstances. I knew that our PCMO was coming tomorrow so I thought I’d have her take a look at it, and that would be all.
I was wrong… So very wrong…
After her session, she took a look, and was like hmmm, there’s a lot of swelling. I think x-rays are warranted in this situation. You are coming back to Kigali with me for x-rays so you’ll be on med hold today and tomorrow, and if things are OK, then you can go back. I’m thinking… OK, nbd, I can go to Kigali for a day, then meet back up with my peeps in Musanze after med hold, and enjoy the rest of the conference [read: free food that I don’t have to cook, hot showers, and a king sized bed].
That did not happen…
I got the x-rays. Nothing was broken, but there was still an abundance of swelling and pain so I stayed on med hold another day. [To be honest, I doubt I would have not gone back if it were not for Thanksgiving–so while in retrospect staying in Kigali would have been the better medical decision, I do appreciate that I got to spend Thanksgiving with my cohort]. Thursday night, Friday and Saturday were pretty much a blur as I was in a lot of pain and despite the opportunity to explore a new city, I just could not. And that made be somewhat sad.
I returned to Kigali in the PC truck on Saturday after deciding that public transportation would be too dangerous and/or painful to deal with. So I have been hold up at PC HQ since Saturday, November 24. In that time I have read 21 books, drew countless versions of the remodeling I’m going to be doimg post-PC, searched for new furniture for my post-PC house, thought of projects to do, stayed up past midnight and slept in past noon, eaten 3 pizzas, 5 hamburgers, 8 green apples, 2 jars of Biscoff, 4 containers of Pringles [Cheddar Cheese, Pizza, and Sour Cream and Onion x2], 3 versions of spaghetti, and 3 burrito bowls. I have also had 13 holes poked in my arms, including lucky #13 where I did it myself [yes, I know… I’m a bad ass]. I’ve taken 126 tablets of ibuprofen which has done nothing for pain, and minimal for swelling but that’s all I can get from PC. [I’ve also taken 14 tablets of prilosec so those 126 tablets of ibuprofen don’t eat a hole in my stomach]. I have had one x-ray and one CAT scan with another to be scheduled this coming week. I’m on Day 15 of med hold which means I haven’t seen my little house in Mbazi in nearly a month. I’m sure my plants [mainly lettuce] have died and #notmycat thinks I’ve abandoned her. This also means I haven’t been to the health center in the same period of time so if/when I do go back, it will be exactly like starting over and with my upcoming vacation in less than two months I think why bother starting something now when I’m going away again.
To be sure… I have no idea when I’m leaving Kigali. Going up and down hills/stairs is still exceedingly difficult and when you are located in the country that calls itself ‘The land of 1000 hills’ that means that I have nowhere to go that relatively flat/ safe. And so I sit… living that med hold life
By now, I know that guards by site. They know I ‘live’ near the tanks [meaning I sit outside and read a lot and my sitting space is near the water tanks. I know there are 87 stair steps to get from the med hold room to the front gate of PC HQ [and even more if you want to go inside PC HQ depending on where your final destination is.. I know that guards do security checks every 30-45 minutes, although they don’t always badge the same spot each time. I know that when it’s raining, there’s even more time between security checks. I know the bottom bunk bed is the most comfortable of the 4 in the infirmary, and if you leave a fan running, it helps to act as mosquito control. I have gone entire days without speaking another word in English or Kinyarwanda. And of the 16 days I’ve been in med hold, I’ve been by myself for 11 of them.
Who knows where I go from here? I’m still swollen, not fully bearing weight, and in pain almost daily. I do know if I’m here another 30 days, medical separation from the Peace Corps becomes a distinct possibility.
In some ways, Rwanda reminds me a lot of the Southern United States… especially the rural South The food is pretty basic, but good cooks know how to jazz it up. People still believe in old wives tales [but here they are called something different]. Church still takes up a big part of your Sunday… Football is pretty important [although a different kind of football], and kids play outside and create their own fun. That being said this dish is as simple as they come and instantly transports me back to childhood. Introducing 2 super simple southern dishes.
Cook rice until fluffy. If you have an onion, add it if you want to, but totally not necessary. Bring tomatoes to boil and boil off some of their juices. Add tomatoes to rice. Season with salt and pepper. That’s it. Seriously, the easiest dish I could ever make in Rwanda.
Another seriously southern dish that’s readily available in Rwanda. Also it had been YEARS since I had Spam until this.
Wash, peel, and cut potatoes into cubes. Fry potatoes until brown. Add water to accelerate cooking using the fry/boil method. Cut the SPAM into bite sized cubes, and fry cubes until brown. Crack eggs in a separate bowl if you want scrambled eggs, or the frying pan if you want fried eggs. Cook eggs until done. Mix potatoes, SPAM, and eggs together. Enjoy.