The Bus

I wrote this blog in real time, as it happened.

"I'm going to try to capture this moment with as little use of expletives as possible.

Its 3:15. The sun is high and there isn't a whisper of wind. I sit in a small bus designed for 15 people, although there are currently 22 of us. These buses are called 'mutatus' in most of Africa, but here in Rwanda we call them 'twagerenes.' Twagarene in Kinyarwanda means 'we squeeze tightly together.' Its true.

After a 2 hour previous bus ride, I found this bus which goes into my village. At 1pm. Yes, I have been waiting on this bus for over two hours. The driver, who disappeared the moment I sat down, promised we would leave by 2pm. We obviously did not.

This all wouldn't be so bad. After 17 months in Rwanda, I'm used to waiting for buses in the hot sun. But here is what's making this bus bad.

Of the 22 of us, 5 of them are children. 4 of them are screaming and crying their heads of, the fifth is too malnourished to make much noise. Their parents do nothing; their just as tired as I am. The others on the bus keep talking about me in Kinyarwanda. I haven't told them I can understand them yet because at first I thought it would be cool to see what they had to say about me. But now I'm just upset about what they're saying. They've been discussing why the 'muzungu' is sitting on a bus with them and why I don't just drive my own car that I must have. Another laughs aloud and says that he thinks I'm an American. I'm relieved slightly because I'd rather be classified by my country of origin over the color of my skin any day. But then he finishes his thought, saying that I wouldn't have a car, but rather a... what's the word? Ahh, yes. Airplane. I'm an American so I must have my own airplane.

They begin to use 'akazungu' instead of 'umuzungu.' Akazungu is a VERY derogitive word for a foreigner. While it literally translates into 'little white person,' most of its negativitey is in the connotation.

I ask the man next to me where the driver is and when he thinks we will leave. I speak in Kinyarwanda. He responds that we will leave 'soon.' He continues to discuss with the other about me. He still doesn't realize I speak Kinyarwanda.

They are laughing again. This time because the driver returned, saw the car could hold one more person before the doors fall off, and retreated to a nearby awning to sit in the shade and drink a beer. They think this is funny. The people I have been waiting with for 3 hours now in the hot sun next to an open garbage pit with all the screaming kids and flies and smells think its funny that the driver refuses to leave until no one can feel their legs and is now DRINKING before driving for 90 minutes down a treacherous road.

The people have gotten tired of laughing at things and the kids have toned-down their wailing. The woman in front of me decides that silence is evil and pulls out her cell phone. I cross my fingers. I hope that she's just going to make a call. Then the music starts. She is blasting Ugandan music. My toes have gone numb and my ass hurts. The music gets louder as the woman's husband shows her how to boost the volume on her phone.

I cave and put my headphones in, knowing exactly how this will play out. It takes about 15 minutes for the man next to me to realize what I've got and what I've done with it. He promptly reaches over and plucks the earbud from my ear and sticks it in his. He mimes rock music and laughs. I ask, as politely as is possible in Kinyarwanda, for it back. He passes it to his friend, who listens for 30 seconds before also passing it on.

Finally the man next to me has the earbud again. I hold out my hand, the international gesture for 'give me the damn earpeice.' He reaches over and jams it back into my ear. That hurt, you douche. At least now I cannot hear them.

My legs are numb up to the top of my calves now. I do my best to flex my ankles, slowly rolling my heels as far as I can. Once we DO leave, I still have another 90 minutes in this position.

But all the hotels in Butare are full tonight and there are no motorcycle taxis because this week is commemoration for the 1994 genocide. This bus is my one shot to get back into my village.

A herd of goats run by, followed shortly by the patter-patter sound of a barefoot 5 year old as he guides them down the road with a stick taller than he is. He notices me, sitting trapped in this bus and momentarily forgets his chore. He stares and begins to mouth my favorite world before his older sister runs passed. Without stopping, she chastises him and he breaks his stare, running after his sister and their family's livelihood.

At 5pm, the driver finally returns and gets in. It takes him 5 minutes to start the bus. It appears we are leaving. I'll tell you up front it was a trick. We pull into the gas station and fill up. We start to head out of town, but the driver missed the proper turn for the main road and we head towards the Hospital. My entire lower body is know numb.

At the hospital, it appears we are waiting for someone. After 20 minutes, two officials wander up and have a conversation with the driver. He seems upset. Our last passenger is not here. We turn around and head the 10 minutes back to the gas station where we find our missing doctor-passenger. Everybody cheers. The doctor doesn't when the driver tells him they upped the rate today by 200 FRW (about 30 cents). He decides not to go, so we turn around once more and finally, after 4 hours and 35 minutes of incompetence, we are cruising towards my village on the main road.

5 minutes south of town, we pick up a random, who finally caps the passenger list at 23. Still, we stop 5 minutes after that when a family of 5 flags us down. This cannot be. There is no way the driver wants to... Yep. He tells those in the aisle jump seats to get up and crams the 5 new passengers in. Even though everyone is in pain and we'll probably all die a fiery death, every laughs and says its hilarious. They tell me to move closer to the door. I tell the driver I already have an imprint of the handle in my stomach and my hips don't get any smaller. He laughs.

Now they know I speak Kinyarwanda. It's going to be a quiet ride."
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone powered by MTN.

The Next Big Adventure

As I tap this out on my phone, I'm just starting a 6 and a half hour
bus ride from Kigali to Kamembe, a town in the south-west o Rwandan,
clear on the other side of the Nyungwe Rain Forest. Between my legs is
12 pounds of gear, including a tent, sleeping bag, 2 changes of
clothes, some emergency medical supplies, and a camera. In my lap sits
a thick piece of map with a rough map and a thin orange line drawn on
it. Can you see where this is going? That's right; Pack.It.Up
Adventures is returning to its roots.

Tomorrow, I will set out from the Peace Corps Regional House in
Kamembe, Rusizi with two other Peace Corps Volunteers. Over the course
of the next 10 days, we will hike the 247 kilometer (141 mile) Congo
Nile Trail. This trail will take us up the Eastern shore of Lake Kivu
(in Western Rwanda), spanning 5 of Rwanda's 26 Districts and touching
borders with Burundi, The Democratic Republic of the Congo, and
Uganda. Rwanda is the land of 1000 hills, and we'll certainly
understand that after this adventure. Not only will we have the
typical Rwandan hills, but the CNT is established specifically to
follow the watershed between the Congo River and the Nile River. If
you remember your geography, you'll know what a watershed will do to
your elevation gains.

We carry no food. We carry no GPS units, compasses. The trail is not
blazed. Essentially all we have to navigate by is our crude map I
printed yesterday with the hand-drawn line and a list of villages we
*should* go through. On top of that, we'll be totally dependent on
local villages and villagers for directions and a place to get some
grub. These people will not speak English.

This will not be easy. We need to average a decent 14 miles per day.
Elevation change per day will be near 1000 meters. We'll have to
navigate in a foreign language, camp among people who do not
understand the idea of walking for anything other than necessity, nor
sleeping beneath a piece of fabric. We will literally be the only 3
white people in a sea of Rwandans. Kids will stare, children will
follow, old woman will spit-fire Kinyarwanda to us, the poor and lame
will beg for money. This will be like any other hiking experience in
the world.

I leave you now for the next big adventure.

Track Seven

As many of you will recall, I returned to America over Christmas
mostly to visit family. I also gave a lecture at the University of
Minnesota Duluth called "Rwandan Recovers: Reflections of a Peace
Corps Volunteer." This title was proposed by the Director of the
Alworth Institute (who sponsored the lecture) and is in all regards a
good title. In retrospect, perhaps a more applicable title for what
the lecture turned out as would have been something like "Rwanda
Recovering: Reflections of an Outsider Who Will Never Really
Understand This Place in Two Years."

That being said, a former Professor of mine was in attendance at the
lecture and made some well-thought comments. I would like to take the
time to respond to a few of them.

"[After watching the film 'Hotel Rwanda'], I found myself struck by
the unequivocal 'evil' in the form of political and military leaders
who used the 1994 conflicts as a way to line their pockets with money
and power -- and it is these who, I assume, were tried for their
crimes. In your talk you mentioned that some leaders did indeed face a
trial process."

Yes, the majority of what happened during the 1994 conflict was
organized by leaders who wanted mostly to advance their won benefits
one way or another. They saw an opportunity to exploit the uneducated
(and, in some cases, even the educated) masses using extreme
indoctrination and group-think. As I mentioned in my lecture, but not
in great detail, the United Nations created the International Criminal
Tribunal for Rwanda in late 1994 to judge those responsible for
'serious violations of international law in Rwanda or by Rwandan
citizens in nearby states from 1 January to 31 December, 1994.' The
ICTR has full jurisdiction over genocide, crimes against humanity, and
war crimes (as defined by the Geneva Conventions' section on war
crimes committed during internal conflicts). As of January 2012, the
ICTR has conducted 50 trials and convicted 29 of the accused. An
additional 11 trails are still in progress. Another 14 accused are
being held pending the start of their trial and 5 of the accused are
still at large or suspected to be dead. In general, the ICTR was
established to try those who committed level 1 offenses (that is, the
organizers). This includes the Akazu government members like Interim
Prime Minister Jean Kambanda. Kambanda pleaded guilty to genocide and
agreement to commit genocide, public and direct incitation to commit
genocide, aiding and abetting genocide, failing in his duty to prevent
genocide which occurred while he was Prime Minister, and two counts of
crimes against humanity to which he was sentenced to life in prison in
Mali. Kambanda appealed his sentence, claiming that he was a puppet
for the Rwandan Army to legitimize their control of the government and
asked for a reduced sentence of 2 years because he 'acted under duress
with limited responsibility'. The Appeals Chamber reject this as a
defense for the crime of genocide. Kambanda's trial serves as a
hallmark that challenges the legal precedent of State Immunity as he
was one of the first Heads of State to be convicted by an
international court. The ICTR has also tried and convicted leaders
from the Impuzamugambi and Interahamwe Militias and RTLM Radio, which
was the lead platform for the Hutu Power Media.

"In the film, [the character) Gregoire initially uses the conflict as
an opportunity to occupy the 'presidential suite' at the hotel, to
refuse to work, and to exercise unfettered access to alcohol and other
amenities, all the while expressing the pro-Hutu ideology. Within the
movie, Gregoire was responsible for several deaths and posed a threat
to Paul Rusesabagina and his family. I try to imagine Hutu and Tutsi
friends and neighbors (from before the 1994 uprising), even 15 years
later, being compelled to welcome Gregoire back into their community,
in the name of "unity." The film narrates Gregoire's betrayal of the
evacuation plans of Rusesabagina and other Rwandans who had secured
sponsorship in other nations. Beyond that, Gregoire is not mentioned
again. There is no narrative 'come-uppance' for Gregoire."

The character of Gregoire is an important one in understanding some of
the dynamics behind what happened in 1994 (and leading up to 1994) and
how Rwanda is recovering. To my knowledge (although I must confess I
have not watched the film in some time), Gregoire did not directly
murder anybody or commit any direct serious crimes. It can obviously
be argued, however, that people like him played a significant role in
perpetuating genocide before and during the conflict. The reference in
this section to unity and Rwandans welcoming people like Gregoire back
into their community is to various programs in Rwanda designed to make
all Rwandans one group of people; Rwandan. Occasionally, when a person
convicted during the Conflict is released from prison, they are
re-integrated into a Rwandan community, granted, this does not always
happen, but what it leads to is a community of survivors and
perpetrators living side by side, BOTH helping Rwanda to recover. This
is, of course, not a perfect system and there has been occasional
back-lash towards the convicted and the government, but in general
(when done correctly), it leads to deeper bonds, better understanding,
and a more meaningful peace on all sides

"You mentioned that there are movements to increase internet access in
regional capitals. And with an average annual income of $400.00 (or
whatever it is), it is not currently likely that everyone will go out
and get a laptop/pc. That said, I wonder what will happen to the
tendency you described for Rwandan citizens to accept authority
unquestioned if more people at lower socio-economic strata DO get
access to the World Wide Web. It seems to me that internet access
might be destabilizing and frustrate the interests of unity, although
in so doing, might pave the way for a more authentic 'democracy.'"

The basis of this comment gets back to a macro-scale point I was
making during my presentation about 'African democracy' and how it is
not the same as American democracy (or Western democracy). This
difference is extremely evident in the fact that not only did Rwanda
record an extremely high voter turnout in the last election (somewhere
upwards of 70%), but over 95% of them voted for the now-President.
This isn't inherently negative, but just imagine an American
politician winning with 95%. If I remember right, the election was
authenticated by several international groups. The question I was
raising was 'what is best for Rwanda today and in the future?' Does
Rwanda need a 'pure' form of democracy or is the blend of governmental
forms they have now what is best for the country? Is Democracy really
what Rwanda needs? Is the governmental system in place now the best
way to protect Rwanda and prevent atrocities from happening again? I
don't have an answer to this for multiple reasons, not the least of
which is that Peace Corps forbids me from taking political sides.

But whatever happens, the Internet will play a major role in the
evolving Rwandan culture. The World Wide Web is a tool designed
specifically to spread information, make it easy to access, make it
free, open, readable, sharable. This is the core fundamental behind
the Internet. Connect everybody. Everywhere. In general, Rwandans
respect and accept authority with little counter thought process. To
be fair, they have had very little contradictory media outlets in
their history. Will access to the virtual treasure trove of
information available online change their culture? Here the answer is
obvious, and I am even allowed to say it. YES. As access to the
Internet increases, so should Rwandans understanding of the world at
large. The Syrian revolution, Iran's nuclear attitudes, American
politics, banks failing world-wide, truths about the rule of dictators
in African states, the military coup d'etat in Mali. Rwandan culture
has developed this severe respect for and adherence to authority
without the Internet. Before now, they never had an option, were never
given an opposing viewpoint. Now they will. Once a Rwandan is exposed
and integrated into the digital world, good luck taking that away from
them. Once Rwandans get used to having the world's wealth of knowledge
at the fingertips like most of the world has had for a decade or more,
good luck convincing them they don't need it. Try to take that away,
try to rationalize to them that access to this information is bad, and
see what happens to their blind adherence to their leaders. Luckily,
Rwanda is in no way trying to do this. The largest sponsor (and
participant, in fact) to my Information and Communication Technology
projects has always been the government. Heck, the President has a
Twitter handle which he personally writes, going as far as having it
out with journalists who thinks he's not paying attention or tech
savvy enough because he's the head of an African state. The truth is
Rwanda is coming on to the world stage in several realms, not the
least of which are digitally and virtually. True, not every Rwanda
will be able to buy a computer or a laptop. But that's quickly
becoming unnecessary to access the Internet. There are phones here
that cost about $15 that have mobile Internet. The cell company
charges about 5 cents per megabyte of data transferred. Business
Development Centers are springing up all over Rwanda with brand new
Dells, projectors, wireless Internet, printing, and all the other
amenities. And they're cheap too, at about 30 cents per hour of
internet. Whether the Rwandan Government, the International Community,
or Rwandans themselves like it, this is happening. It is coming.

It is already here.

Or So They Say

When you are applying to Peace Corps Service, it's natural to poke around your available resources for information on what this grand experience will be like. Friends who served in the past (if you're lucky enough to know some), your Recruiter or Placement Officer, or the Internet. All of these things will tell you the same thing: You will have a lot of down time.

I literally remember watching a YouTube video that was just a Volunteer who got so bored in her straw hut in South America that she made of video of herself dancing. This tells you several things. 1) I'm willing to bet her straw hut did not have electricity, meaning she was using precious battery power to film this video. 2) She was literally so bored that this seemed like the most time-effective thing to be doing at the moment. 3) She spent a considerable time preparing to make the video. Either that or she is a naturally-talented dancer because her moves were good.

I have certainly had my fair share of down time. Mostly in my first year of service. This down time is in fact how I know that I can stare at a wall for 37 minutes before wondering how long I have been staring at said wall. But this down time is also a necessary part of how Peace Corps Volunteers do what they do and stay (relatively) sane. Consider the fact that everything is new here. Every small piece of a Volunteer's daily life requires us to mentally process nearly everything around us.

In my field, we call this Schema Theory. I'll have to be a little careful here because there are three people (that I know of) who read this blog and quite literally are experts in this field. And because, well… Its been quite a while since those UMD days. Under Schema Theory, people create scripts for how certain situations will play out. These cognitive scripts are what help us get through repetitive daily tasks without having to think too much about them. For example, when you go to a grocery store. You have a list of things you know will happen, or have to happen. You know you can put your food items on the small black conveyor belt, the clerk will scan each one, a small screen will show you the total, maybe someone will be at the other end to put them in bags for you. You can put all the bags back into your cart and take it outside to your vehicle as long as you return the cart to one of the designated spots in the parking lot. Just imagine how difficult all of this would be if you had never been inside a grocery store before, meaning you would have never developed these schema for how to act in one. Don't believe me? You should see some of the Rwandans who wander into one of the three grocery stores in Kigali. It's actually really humorous. Or the fact that one of my best students, who's actually from Tanzania, was reading over my shoulder and asked what it meant when I wrote 'the clerk will scan each one.' It's not that he's stupid, he just doesn't have those cognitive scripts.

These scripts allow us to go about our daily lives without processing every minute detail around us. They also are the basis for stereotypes and, therefore, racism, but that's for another day. The 'problem' this creates for Peace Corps Volunteers, as anyone who has spent more than 36 hours in a foreign culture can tell you, is that these schema are based on the culture we live in. When you completely change the culture, those scripts are nearly no good any more. It's like currency: a Rwandan will not take Ugandan Shillings. Why? Because they have no use for Ugandan Shillings; they're in Rwanda. My cognitive scripts for how just about anything should work, from schools to meetings, relationships to stores, do not usually apply here. This means that every time I leave my house, I'm faced with situations I have to mentally process in order to understand them, instead of already having built the schema for them and just being able to interact without thinking. So while you may see these YouTube videos and hear the stories of Volunteers being bored out of our minds, or doing such senseless things as staring at concrete walls convinced they will eventually move or reorganizing their bedroom because, well, there isn't anything else to do and it makes them feel like they are back in the States, we do this in part because simply stepping outside forces our brains into over drive and a person can only take so much.

Wow, that was a long sentence.

To bring this back into the point I'm trying to make, this is all fine and dandy until you get comfortable with the new culture. During my second year (which I'm now between 2 months and 5 months into, depending on if you include my training), I began to get far more involved in secondary projects; the ones that didn't involve me in the classroom with students. Without really recognizing it, these became a huge tax on my time. Here's a simplified list of all the projects I either started or have agree to help with:

- An ICT resource (read: textbook) that another Volunteer and I are building from the ground up
- Rebuilding my computer lab (which is a never-ending struggle
- Tutoring a dozen or so of my teachers in English
- Tutoring a dozen or so of my teachers in science methodology
- Tutoring a dozen or so of my teachers in basic computer skills
- Working with a Volunteer-led project to teach Judges and court staff English to create an online-based resource
- Helping to create a seamless digital way for Books For Africa libraries to manage and organize their books
- Helping our Safety and Security Coordinator to prepare a pocket-sized version of our Emergency Action Plan so Volunteers will always have the information on their person
- Serving on the Peace Corps/Rwanda Volunteer Advisory Committee as a Representative for my region as well as the committee's Secretary
- Working with the Office's IT Specialist to re-work the way Office Staff and Volunteers share information and resources when Volunteers are out in the field
- Coordinating the first-ever flash mob in Rwanda

With the exception of that last one (which, let's face it, is pure amusement), all of these projects have taken and are taking majoring chunks of my time. As it stands now, I wake up around 7am and am at school by 7:30am, either teaching or working in the computer lab. I zip home around 1 to each lunch and am back by 2. My time from there to dinner is either filled with more work in the lab or with helping other teachers. I again zip home for dinner at about 6 and am back in the lab after that until 9 or 10pm, which allows students to access the lab during their self-study time. This does sound like a good amount of work, but not too over the top considering that I'm working on my own most of the time, or remotely with other Volunteers. If I were in America, you'd get absolutely no complaints from me. But I am not in America.

Consider the point I was making above about how whenever I am in any way involved with Rwandan culture, I have to mentally process everything. Even after being here for 16 months this is still true, even though sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Sure, I've developed cognitive scripts for the world I find around me now, but that only helps so much. By far the biggest thing it does is lull me into a false sense of adaptivity so I feel like I can take on more responsibility and work. A Peace Corps Volunteer really is working 24/7. Except when we're sleeping, we're always on the clock (do the math and you'll notice a Peace Corps Volunteer gets paid about $0.36 an hour). My mind set on my work in Rwanda functioned quite nicely until I was told by the Peace Corps Doctors that I have so much stress and anxiety in my life that I literally pinched a nerve in my upper back.

And there it is.

The day to day job I do here in Rwanda has become so stressful because I was never taught (or better yet, never learned) how to say 'no.' We operate under this inherent pretense that we will only be serving for two years. Two years and then it's over. I can barely resign myself to go to bed at night and accept the fact that my work for the DAY has to be finished. How am I supposed to look at my service, see that I'm already 16 months in, and NOT feel pressure to hurry it all up and be productive? Weather I like it or not, I'm well past high-noon in my service, and soon enough the sun will be touching the proverbial horizon. Wait, does that mean everything after Peace Corps will be dark? OK, so it's not a perfect metaphor.

So even though I'm on Doctor's orders to remove as much stress as I can from my life until my back is better (a point to which they were very serious, going as far as convincing some of the Volunteers I've been working with to not allow me to help for a while, requesting I stay in my village for a few weeks, and almost taking away my BlackBerry [an idea they rescinded after I pointed how integral THEIRS' was to their work and life]), I cannot help but remember the other thing I heard before coming to Peace Corps almost as much as 'you will be bored':

Peace Corps: the hardest job you'll ever love.

Truth be told, I work myself to death. And I know I do it. I do it not because I feel like I owe this word something (which is an arguable point), but because I truly LOVE what I do here. I could sit in my house all day and watch TV on my computer. I've got a terabyte drive with 200+ movies, 312 seasons of 40 different TV shows, 4024 hours of podcasts and NPR radio shows, 11,000 ebooks for my Kindle and 27 different computer games. Save for electricity actually in my house (which is an issue that is quickly being resolved, more on that later), I never actually need to leave my house. I could sit inside all day, lay in bed while the teen-aged boy I pay $10 a month to do all the chores I don't want to do takes care of all that unpleasant stuff. While I'm not out to fire my house help, I am also not about to become a hermit. I love going out every day and greeting my neighbors, helping my fellow teachers, playing Need For Speed with my computer-literate students, discoverying a typewriter in a locked closet and teaching my favorite student about codes and how to make them by switching the typewriter's keys around. I love meeting with my counterpart at the bar and eating skewered goat covered in hot pepper extract. I thrive for the thrill of opening the lunch pot to see what concoction of random foods Emmanuel has conceived of today. But most of al I love that rush of knowing that this is where I belong. That this is my home now. And I will work myself to the bone (or the pinched nerve in my back, pick your favorite) to help get these people everything they deserve, nothing they don't, and the knowledge to understand the difference.

-DFTBA

Shawn

Let the Blogs Roll

Hey all!

I know, its been quite some time since I lasted posted a blog. I now come at you with renewed vigor. You've got questions? I've got answers. But you do need to ask them first...

If you're new to this list, this is how blogs from me will look. You'll get an email from me mere moments after I hit the 'send' button over here in Africa. Gotta love technology. My blog is also archived at

shawngrund.blogspot.com

From there, you'll be able to see ALL of my previous posts as well as some 'bonus content' (now doesn't that sound fancy). I update my blog through the same email you get. Don't worry, its all blind carbon-copied, which also explains why the email you just received has a 'To:' field as my address and not yours. This keep everything on the dl. It also explains that funky subject line you'll see every time. Just a little HTML so you know what the email is but the blog title isn't redundant.

Also, I run a second blog with the Alworth Institute for International Studies from the University of Minnesota Duluth. That blog can be found under the 'web-blog' tab of the alworth's website (www.alworth.org). That blog is different than this one, but there may be some overlap.

If you DO NOT wish to receive these emails, just shoot me an email back (a simply 'reply' will do the trick) telling me so and, poof, it'll be done. No hard feelings.

Look for the next blog in about 10 minutes.

-Don't Forget To Be Awesome

Shawn

PS:
I am also required to inform you, yet again, that anything contained in this email and blog (past, present and future up to December of 2012) is solely my own opinion and does not necessarily reflect that of the United States Government, the Government of the Republic of Rwanda, or the United States Peace Corps.

In addition, these writings are protected under federal law and are in the public domain. Therefore, it is not legal to copyright, trademark, and/or sell them in any way. Even I can't do that. Anyone can, however, copy and distribute them by any means.

Shades of Gray

A while back (as I'm sure most of you will recall as it's come up
several times now), I wrote a blog entitled 'The Dark Side of Peace
Corps'. Admittedly, that blog was, well… dark. In reality, Peace Corps
Service isn't 'dark,' but neither is it 'light.'

One of the best word I feel could be applied to being a Volunteer
is 'ambiguous.' We come into a culture that we have almost no ties to,
that we have to attempt to understand and comprehend at the same time
as we try to learn a new language, develop technical skills,
rationalize our life choices, and generally stay sane. But let's be
honest, that last one is questionable.

My point here is that we are (quite literally) on our own. Yes, we
have Rwandan counterparts and co-workers. Yes, we have other
Volunteers. Yes, we have Peace Corps. There used to be a time when
Peace Corps literally dropped you off in a remote village with a
2-year supply of anti-malaria meds and a pat on the head (actually,
they still do this, but now they only give us a 3 month supply). While
Peace Corps does provide support, Volunteers are generally left to
their own devices when it comes to our projects (so long as we
actually try at our primary jobs). In the realm of other people, our
counterparts and coworkers are simply not equipped culturally to help
us define our roles here. Peace Corps usually gets invited into a
country to help facilitate behavior change and capacity building.
While it is possible that some Rwandans (like my Headmaster) will give
me project ideas, most of them either see themselves as not part of
the flaw in the system or see no way to fix the flaw, and therefor
simply do not worry about it. While we can have fun and work with our
co-workers, the improvement techniques usually need to come from the
Volunteers, rendering the Counterpart relatively useless in the realm
of determining our roles.

While other Volunteers have the capacity to understand us culturally,
they are also going through the same ambiguity. Of course, we share
our jackpot ideas and best practices. And yes, this can and usually
does help us to define our role in our community. However, every
Volunteer, every community, every village, every school, every
hospital, and every Peace Corps experience is different. Just because
my school wants me to build a recording study (sidenote: telling
students who live in a country literally obsessed with Justin Bieber,
pop music, and AutoTune that you used to help produce music is a
horrible idea) doesn't mean it would be a good/applicable idea for
another volunteers. Just because one Volunteer is asked to only teach
8 hours per week doesn't mean we all will. Just because I have to deal
with one cultural burden doesn't mean that another has to.
Some days you find yourself accompanied on your 45 minute walk to the
market by a gaggle (I believe that's the appropriate term) of school
children who speak Kinyarwanda you can actually understand. Other days
you find yourself crammed into a mini bus with 20 drunk people, none
of whom speak English and all of whom are curious as to how your hair
feels, if your skin will rub off, why your teeth are so straight, or
why you do not seem to understand the difference between 'gusura' and
'gusuura' (they're actually spelled the same, just with different
lengths of the second 'U'). Some days your students are rays of
sunshine; answering your questions, doing their work, passing their
exams. Other days you find out your neighbor was never married. The
father of her only child, who didn't die in the War (as you expected)
but was actually a local officials and she, in her words not mine,
"was required to sleep with him.' Some days, this country, these
experiences, make you feel like the world is coming together, that we
finally have hope, that you are being productive. Then some days the
experiences make you want to hurl. To curl up in a ball and just...
let it all go. To fight back. But this is the Peace Corps. We all
signed up for this knowing it would be the furthest thing from easy
we'd ever done or been through. Some days you're the dog...

These are the physical ambiguities. If you ask Peace Corps what we
should be doing, they will simply stare at your, puzzled, and ask what
we see as potential projects in your communities. And perhaps
rightfully so. After all, we are the ones who live here. We are the
ones who eat, play, live, work, and drink with these people. We are
the ones who will have to do the projects and have the talents. It
isn't the Peace Corps Office that is making changes in this country,
it's the Volunteers.

The problem most of us run into is that we are relatively
inexperienced. I had never taught a class before. I had never led
training sessions on SMART objectives. I've never built a computer lab
or written a textbook. But here, we are called to do these things. I
fell it's a little absurd that we're sent here to 'build capacity' in
the education sector when we can barely teach ourselves. That
withstanding, I think it breaks down to culture on issues like this.
I'm not a licensed teacher. I don't have a degree or a Ph.D. in this.
Damn near the only training I do have is 16 years in Western schools.
But it more so boils down to how we see things. It never occurs to my
teachers that lesson plans can be re-used. Or to relate your new
material to something that the students have already learned (or,
ideally, are currently leaning or just have learned). In that realm,
maybe I have a leg up on my co-workers. Not because our way of
education is better, but because Rwandan education is trying so hard
to be western and I have that down pat.

Everything is ambiguous. If you ever find yourself in Rwanda and wish
to test this, just try to get a straight answer out of a Rwandan. It's
not that they won't tell you definitively, it's that you can ask 10
different people and get 10 different answers when they really should
all be on the same page. For instance, I asked around to find out when
exam week would starts. My Headmaster says October 17th. The Dean of
Studies says the 10th. My Counterpart, Anatole, says somewhere in the
middle. When I point out the discrepancy to the Dean of Studies, he
rescinds and says the Headmaster must be right. When I say something
to the Headmaster, he says the Dean of Studies must be right. I've
just decided that no one actually knows. But of course, as figures of
authority, they MUST know the correct answer to every question I pose.

On top of all this, there is a general emotional ambiguity. I could
talk and talk about how we have emotion swings strong enough to rival
McGuire and Sosa, but I think I already did that once. We know we have
ups and downs. However, one thing that perhaps isn't obvious is what
happens when you couple this with serving in a post-conflict country.
How am I supposed to feel about Rwanda, the government, and its people
when my best Rwandan friend says he cannot finish University because
of the 'ethnicity' of his father? Or how he describes to me the day
they came and 'cut down' his cousins because of whom their father was
(the 'they' he is referring to is the INTERAHAMWE, which is
Kinyarwanda for 'those who fight/work/kill together' and was the main
militia force used during the Genocide). How am I supposed to feel
about this? How are we supposed to reason that away and do our jobs
when our Counterparts have been trying to do this for 17 years and
still face the difficulties of it every day? I've been in the country
for a year and am still reduced to tears when I walk through my
church, running my hands over the bullet holes in the brick left over
from a 4 day, 3,000 person massacre.

Yet every day I see the hope in the eyes of my students. I asked one
of my Senior 4 students (about 10th grade) why he decided to continue
school. You should remember here that Rwanda is currently a 9-year
basic education system, meaning that Senior 4, 5, and 6 are not
considered 'basic' and therefor rather expensive to attend. He told me
that he knew he will be nothing even if he finishes Senior 6, but he
would be even less if he stopped at Senior 3. What drove him, he said,
is the simple hope that he will find something, anything, to support
him and his family. And he will not stop learning until he is on top
or out of money. Unfortunately, the latter is much, much more common.

My emotional connection to this country, culture, and these people is
torn. On one hand, I see them smile through adversity, I see them take
what they're given and be happy with it. I see them deal with
corruption, discrimination, ageism, and sexism and still proclaim that
they are proud to be Rwandan. And then I remember what happened. What
still happens. I remember what happened the last time a large group of
Rwandans unified and declared that they were proud of who they were.
How in the world can a people come back from a million-person
massacre? How can they trust their leaders when the last ones twisted
and distorted one group into systematically destroying another out of
pure hatred? How do they rationalize these emotions? How to they carry
their grief, doubt, shame, honor? How? How? How?

I tell my students that I love Rwanda. That I came here because I love
the people and want to help. I can never explain the pure bewilderment
in the eyes when I tell them this. It's almost like many Rwandans are
ashamed to be Rwandan. Give them an opportunity to leave and live
somewhere outside Rwandan and they'd be gone. Don't get me wrong,
there's nothing wrong with going to the States or to Europe if your
Rwandan, and I would definitely encourage any of my students to get to
the best University they can get into regardless of where it is. What
bothers me is Rwandans who 'jump ship.' This is your country and you
should be proud of what you are, especially considering where the
country was 17 years ago. Rwanda has made remarkable strides in
thrusting itself into the world community despite the War, despite
it's overwhelming lack of resources, despite the general lack of
education options, despite the poverty levels. Kigali and Rwanda were
once compared to Mogadishu and Somalia. No one who has ever been to
either would make that comparison now.

Things are not black and white in Peace Corps. Nor are they in Rwanda.
The ambiguity, the open-endedness, the flip flopping and the back and
forth can easily destroy any semblance of consistency and normality we
are used to in American life. Yes, on the surface everything seems
clear-cut, straight-forward, and obvious. And then you start trying to
learn Kinyarwanda….

But the ambiguity, the duality, and often monotony of it all is well
worth it. We are not here to feel good about ourselves. Trust me when
I say there are much better ways to do that then join Peace Corps. No,
we are not here for us (as much as we actually are in the end). Our
time here is about moving forward. America and the West do not need
people like me just yet. The most productive I can be in the States is
to help get burgers to your plate faster (that's mostly a joke). But
Rwandan can really benefit from us. Not only can we bring our
educations, but we can start to condition Rwandans to see America and
the West for what it really is. America is not its military force. It
is not the democratic foundation or its politicians. Believe it or
not, America is not Barack Obama or 'Yes We Can.' America is its
people; you and I. Furthermore, America is and will be its Youth. If
the only thing I show these kids, these students, is that I am just
like them, then we all win.

I'll leave you with this quote that was in the Peace Corps/Rwanda
Volunteer newsletter that I think is pretty fitting for this post.
"Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process, gradually changing
opinions, slowly eroding old barriers, quietly building new
structures. And however undramatic the pursuit of peace, that pursuit
must go on.'
-President John F. Kennedy, Address to the United Nations General Assembly, 1963

-DFTBA
Shawn

Re: Blow-Your-Mind Delicious (or How I Ended Up in South Africa Part II)

After rolling across near-all of South Africa for 28 hours on a train,
I was as ready as ever to get off and get my real vacation started. I
held on to the rail as the train slowed and watched the other tracks
converge together as we approached Cape Town Station. The train had
barely stopped before I jumped down and made my way out of the
station. I was headed towards Long Street and the rest of my Peace
Corps vacation buddies.

But I had done my homework. I knew that Long Street was 4 block west
of the train station. I also knew that there was a Subway Restaurant
two blocks off Long Street just passed the hostel. Yeah, that
happened.

After getting my fill of Americana for the first time in nearly 10
months, I turned back and found Two Oceans Backpackers, where we would
be staying while in Cape Town. To my dismay, the rest of the crew were
not there (remember, their flight landed at about 9am in Cape Town)
but the receptionist informed me that they had come and gone and
hadn't said when they would return. I told her I was the last member
of their group and she showed me into the room.

Two Oceans is a pretty awesome place. Set above a small furniture
store, we had a fully-stocked kitchen and laundry room (which was in
the kitchen, how… European), a flat-screen TV with more channels than
Aaron and I could surf through in 10 days (we tried), a pool table,
hot showers, and a balcony overlooking the best and worst of Long
Street.

I tried to call Aaron using MTN (the cell provider in Rwanda who is
also a major provider in South Africa and, in fact, most countries in
Africa) and managed to eat through a few thousand francs on several
failed attempts. With nothing left to do but wait, I tapped into the
hostels wireless internet (oops, did I forget to mention they had
that, too?) and checked my email. While on Gmail, I noticed that
Danielle, one of Rwanda's resident Fulbright Scholars, was online. In
a moment of sheer brilliance (mostly on her part), she was able to use
the MTN Rwanda services to send me some phone credit while I looked up
on Google how to dial internationally from inside South Africa (which
is actually really tricky). With some more money and a plan, I was
finally able to get ahold of Deanne who, as it turns out, had just
sent Markey and Kerry into the hostel to find me. She remarked that
they were all just down the street 'with Emma and the car.' Wait,
what?

As it turns out, we knew a South African. Something like Matt's
brother had studied in South Africa and had had a local Teaching
Assistant of sorts. The whole connection was kinda lost on me. But
also as it turns out, Emma (our new friend) had a car. I grabbed my
jacket and booked it down the staircase while a guy on the hostel's
couch remarked offhandedly about two girls coming to look for me.
Outside, I spotted Markey and Kerry and caught up with them at 'the
car.'

The car was admittedly not very big. I peered inside and said hi to
Emma in the front and Aaron and Matt in the back, who were soon
scrunched in by Kerry and Markey. I climbed in the front and we took
off in search of a place to eat. It was several stoplights (what an
invention!) later before I realized something was amiss.
"Wait," I said, counting the people in the small car. "Where's
Deanne?" Aaron let out a laugh and Emma just grinned.
"Back here!" came Deanne's muffled reply. She was in the trunk.

We arrived at a local Mexican restaurant and, after letting Deanne out
of the trunk, headed inside. The place was filled with locals from the
nearby University. But these locals were also white, so as long as we
kept our mouths shut or didn't speak too loud, they'd never know.

Now, something peculiar happened as we sat down to order (maybe not
too peculiar, but a little out there for me). See, in Rwanda, I had
decided that I didn't like how I didn't like a lot of foods,
especially ones I had never tried. I had already vowed to challenge
these unknowns, but the variety of food in Rwanda is rather limited.
However, not so in South Africa. I had in front of me the perfect
opportunity to challenge my blind taste perceptions with 'exotic'
food. I don't remember exactly what I ordered that night, which might
be due to the two giant pitchers of margaritas we sucked down prior to
eating as a group, but I do remember that it was good.

With our livers on duty and our stomachs overly full, Emma drove us
back to Long Street and the hostel, where most of us were content to
simply crash and watch TV. Matt, however, had been in contact with
another local South African who had promised to take him out for a
drink. Not wanting to go alone, he invited the rest of the group. They
all had, however, just rediscovered Sports Center (something I had
done earlier that day) and were pretty complacent. So Matt and I
headed back down out onto Long Street and met up with our new new
friend (who also had two American study abroad students with him).
Side note, apparently it's legal to park on the corner of two streets
on the side walk cap in South Africa. Yeah, we did that. (As it turns
out, this isn't legal; it's just that no one pays traffic tickets in
South Africa.)

Our new new friend led us back onto Long Street were we walked into a
random building and got into the elevator (another great invention!).
At this point, Matt and I were both wondering what we'd agreed to when
the elevator opened and we found ourselves inside another hostel. We
walked down the hostel's hallways, through the kitchen and then
through an emergency exit door and up a flight of stairs. Our doubts
started to creep back in until we walked through the door at the top
of the stairs and found ourselves on the roof, where a quaint and
beautiful open-air bar was set up. College students shot pool, others
played foosball, and the beer was decently priced at 12 Rand (about
$1.75). Save for being on a roof overlooking the southern cape of
Africa, it was just like being back in the States (this is going to be
a reoccurring theme of the vacation).

We arrived at the Rooftop Bar (I have no idea what the real name of
the bar was [which will be another reoccurring theme of the vacation])
at about 10pm and were already feeling the margaritas from the Mexican
place (which I want to say was named Harry's). A few beers, games of
pool, and a foosball tournament later, Matt and I decided it might be
a good idea to call it and head back to Two Oceans. We checked our
watches. It was almost 1am. And that's Day 1.

Day two was one of our few days with absolutely nothing planned or
scheduled. Aaron and Deanne snuck away from the group for a day to
have a getaway in Simon's Town on False Bay, so Matt, Kerry, Markey,
and I awoke a little late (Matt and I more than the others) and met
Emma who drove us down the coast to a breakfast place that she loved.
After breakfast, our on-the-spot plan was going to be to try to climb
Table Mountain, but Emma convinced us to take advantage of her day off
and let her tour us around. We agreed without much hesitation (having
a car opens up so much more of Cape Town).

After breakfast, Emma drove across the cape towards False Bay. We
turned off the main road and ended up on the side of a decent sized
hill with awe-inspiring views of mountains on three sides and massive
False Bay on the other. Continuing on, we visited a winery where Emma
used to work and tasted some wine (there's just something about
drinking wine at noon…) before heading into Muizenburg.

Muizenburg is one of the premier surfing spots in Cape Town and, even
though it was 'winter' and therefore a little cold (but nothing like a
good Minnesotan winter), was rather active. We swung into Knead, a
restaurant well-known for its bread and pizza and had even more great
food. Sorry, nothing too 'exotic' at this meal. Emma had some work to
so she dropped us back off at Long Street. After a swing-in to the
hostel while the sun set, we headed out for a Long Street pub crawl.

We started out at the Dubliner, an obviously-themed Irish pub with
nightly live music. The music that night, however, was a not-so-decent
set of 90's covers. We finished our Guinness' quickly and ducked out
to avoid going insane. Too bad; we had heard great things about the
Dubliner although it wasn't our last experience with it. The Dubliner
having been our only real recommendation, we resided to walking down
Long Street until we found a place that looked intriguing. 3 blocks
later we spotted what appeared to be a rather fancy Italian place
where the tables were all set in a front yard of sorts under massive
oak trees. What better place to laugh and drink?

Pleased with the atmosphere and the humorous waiter, we asked him
where we should go next for drinks. He recommended another place just
a few more blocks up Long Street that also had good drinks (it was
also coincidentally owned by the same company). Cool Atmosphere Place
#2 was cool for completely different reasons and it was difficult to
see how both restaurant s could be owned by the same group. CAP #2
(the whole Peace Corps acronym things is rubbing off, I guess) was
almost like a scene strait out of Moulin Rouge. The wait staff were
all in vaguely Bohemian dress, all of the inside tables had rope
swings instead of chairs, the outside was stucco-white with brown wood
trim and growing vines. Another round of drinks later, in which Kerry
was convinced there was no gin in hers and the bartender congratulated
her on her ability to take alcohol because he swore he put more than
usual in it, we were on our way back down Long Street to investigate
some places we passed up.

Next up was a random bar that offered R10 (that means 10 Rand) vodka
shots of questionable quality. We ducked in for a minute for the
novelty of the literally hundreds of kinds of horrible vodka. That
place is mostly memorable partially because of their tip jar. It was
hung from a rope behind the bar by about 6 feet with a sign taped to
it that claimed that anyone who could throw a R2 coin into it would
get a free shot. What we didn't know what that as soon as Markey was
getting ready to toss the coin I gave her, the bartender reached up
and swung the bucket in quick circles. Markey still took her shot and
sunk it on the first try. And we'd already been drinking for several
hours.

After the novelty wore off, the general consensus was food. We
remembered a place we'd past up earlier that wasn't too far from our
hostel; Pickwick's. We walked in and, even at midnight, had trouble
finding a place to sit. Finally snagging a picnic table on the
upstairs balcony, we asked the waitress if they still served food,
which was apparently a stupid question because 'everybody knows
Pickwick's serves food until 4:30am.' I am not making that up.

Pickwicks was also our first encounter with spiked milkshakes. That's
right, milkshakes with alcohol in them. After a massive burger (I
PROMISE we'll get to the interesting food soon) and a Jack Daniels
shake that didn't taste like alcohol at all, we were ready to crash.
Good thing the hostel was only 2 block away. No TV this night.
Straight to bed.

Day 3 Matt and I concocted a new plan. Seeing as we canceled the
previous day's plans to summit Table Mountain, we decided today was
the day. Matt and I set out just before 6 with crude directions from
Emma as to how to get to the trails that would take us up. Our
original plan was to hike up the mountain, revel at the top, then take
the cable car back down midday. Admittedly, we had no idea what we
were doing.

Our first attempt at getting to the Mountain was met with the locals
laughing at how we were in the wrong part of town. We quickly
regrouped, asked for clarification, and walked back past the hostel
and to the train station, where we caught a 15 minute train to the
opposite side of the Mountain and started walking towards the summit.
The trail (at least what we were convinced was the trail) switched
back and forth across this side of the Mountain before turning strait
up and heading into a place I swear was called 'Dead Man's Ravine.' I
had experienced nothing like the steepness of this ravine since being
in Scotland…

Finally dragging ourselves onto level ground, we found ourselves in
The Devil's Saddle. Aptly named, if you ask me. We had another
climbing council and decided we could still make it up to the actual
top of Table Mountain and to the cable car (which we could now see for
the first time) and back down in time to keep our original meet-time
with the girls. We set out to the south and began climbing towards the
actual Table Mountain, which from the Devil's Saddle requires class 3
scrambling (hands and feet most of the way). 45 minutes later, Matt
and I stopped before a 100 meter cheer cliff wall. As it turns out,
it's almost impossible to climb from the Devil's Saddle to Table
Mountain. With the summit taunting us the whole way, we escaped back
down into the Saddle, off the south side of the Mountain, and strolled
back into Cape Town.

We met Markey and Kerry at the train station and hopped on a train to
Simon's Town, where we were meeting Aaron and Deanne. An hour later,
we all met up at a decent restaurant in Simon's Town for lunch. Given
that Matt and I had just tried to summit Table Mountain (even though
we failed) and they only had one line fish special left (which Aaron
claimed dibbs on), we both opted for a two-burger special. 2 bottles
of wine for the table later (which included a bottle of Goats Do Roam,
a play on words with the famous French wine ________) and we were all
pretty happy.

Finally, the day's main event: Penguins. Yes there are penguins in
South Africa. I forget exactly what kind of penguins they were, but
I'm pretty sure they're the only penguins indigenous to a place that
is a block of ice. They inhabit a protected beach about half a mile
south of town which allows tourists and penguin enthusiasts alike to
observe them via boardwalks set a few feet above the sand. The park
staff warned us that these penguins will bite you if you get too
close, something the group ahead of us didn't listen to. After seeing
that, I really had no desire to attempt to pet a penguin.

Up next we had a dilemma. The last train back to Cape Town left at 7pm
and it was already 4:30. We were all really excited for seafood dinner
in Simon's Town, but knew we would never make the train. Aaron came
through in the end and called a local driver (who was supposed to take
Deanne and him fishing the previous day if it weren't for the high
winds) who agreed to drive us back later.

With that set we headed to a place nicknamed 'The Naked Chef.' To our
initial dismay, the Naked Chef wasn't working that night (although as
it turns out he just cooks shirtless), but we were assured his
full-clothed son was just as good of a cook. As we waited for our food
to come, we notice a bakery across the street, where most of us
discovered donuts and assorted pastries for the first time since
America.

Dinner that night got a little… filling. Now, I've never really been a
seafood person (at least not beyond fish and shrimp poppers) but
tonight was MY night. After perusing the menu, Aaron and I decided to
order together: one kilogram (about 2.2 pounds) of ribs and one kilo
(again 2.2 pounds) of Prawns. Now, if you're like me, you have no idea
exactly what prawns are. Think of them as oversized shrimp. Or if
you've ever seen 'District 9' (where the aliens are nicknamed 'Prawns'
due to their facial resemblance to the food), my plate reminded me of
the scene where they open the mothership and all of the aliens are
lying about starving to death. Not the best way to start a meal. Also
up for consumptions was a small portion of calamari (I have no idea if
that how you spell it or not). I wasn't the biggest fan mostly due to
its rubbery texture, but Kerry assured me that good calamari doesn't
taste nearly as rubbery.

Luckily, you don't normally eat the heads which were visually the most
obnoxious part. Aaron showed me how to crack open the shell and
removed the head and tail. I do have to admit, the prawns were pretty
good. The waitress quickly came over and showed us how to remove the
heads in such a way that all of the brain-juice stayed inside, which
she insisted was the best part. Hesitant to believe her, Aaron and I
tried it. Aaron was a much bigger fan of the prawn brain juice than I
was. Can't win 'em all…

The ribs were admittedly nothing 'exotic' to me but were still pretty
damn good. Like falling off the bone good. With over 4 and a half
pounds of food (not including the salads and fries), Aaron and I were
doing pretty good when he dropped to help Deanne finish her food. He
came back, though, to help me top them off which was good because my
stomach was about to burst…

Day 4 brought us east of Cape Town to what we'd all be waiting for:
shark diving. Our diving company's van picked up in at Two Oceans
ridiculously early in the morning and shuttled out about 2 hours east
to Gaasbei (that's not how you spell that, I'm sure). As we pulled
into the parking lot, the driver (and later on our Dive Master)
pointed out the boat we'd be taking out in a little bit. Aaron
careened his neck to be able to see it out the window and just shook
his head. "We're going to need a bigger boat."

3 waivers and $247 later, we boarded the boat and chopped our way away
from shore. The tour company had had a group out previous and let the
cage tied to a buoy. This had the added effect of having sharks
already lingering around the cage for us. When we arrived, the crew
strapped the small cage to the boat and began to chum the water while
we donned wetsuits and facemasks.

The cage was wide enough for about 5 people shoulder-to-shoulder and
left just enough room for you to almost be able to fully extend your
arms. Once inside the cage, the crew slipped a weighed sash over our
shoulder that was desgined to lower us a few extra inched below the
surface once we let go of the hang-on bar. We had no SCUBA devices, no
snorkels, no breathing apparatuses at all. When a shark passed by the
cage (lured by the bait the crew would throw out and then pull back in
at the last minute), the Dive Master would yell 'DOWN!' and we'd all
let go of the hang-on bar. While visibility was really good above the
water, once you were submerged it dwindled to about 4 and a half feet.
We'd usually get under the water just in time to lose sight of the 17
foot Great White Shark, only to have it instantly appear in front of
our faces and turn to swim alongside the boat, wondering where the
tuna heads had gone.

We were told not to be afraid of the sharks. First of all because
sharks generally know that humans have alotta bones and not much
energy-rich meat. Also because, while they were capable of detecting
us moving inside the cage, they overwhelming sense of the cage's metal
was more prevelant to them than our form. They know what a boat is and
know it isn't alive. They then associate the big metal thing with
moving parts as a part of the boat, and therefore not alive. This
sounds great until you are quite literally staring one of these things
in the face. On top of that, these massive sharks we were seeing (we
had 7 total) were mere adolescents. They are curious about the boat
and merely intrigued by the bait (they know dead fish don't provide
much energy), which is why they come to the surface. Their wiser and
older (and much bigger) friends stay beneath the surface where the
prey is better.

After getting our fill of the sharks and fighting our way through
4-meter high swells, we made it back to land, dried off, and were
shuttled back towards Cape Town. On the way, we stopped at another
small bay to try to spot a few whales. We could see them in the water,
but they were far enough out that we wouldn't have been able to tell
what they were had the drive/dive master/tour guide not told us what
they were.

That night we went out for dinner at a burger joint as a group. Aaron
and Matt sampled some of the local beers while the rest of us opted
for more spiked milkshakes. First up was a Jack Daniels with Peanut
Butter. I almost died. Most of us got burgers that night, and while my
lamb burger was pretty spectacular, Aaron took the cake with the Fat
Bastard. I can't remember what was all in there, I just remember there
being 4 different kinds of meat and being surprised that Aaron didn't
have a heart attack then and there. But I think I took the dessert
cake (hehe…) with my milkshake concoction of Oreo, chocolate brownie,
and Kahlua. For the win.

Day 5 brought us once again out of Cape Town and into the Stellenbosch
wine region to the north where we had arranged no less than 4 wine
tours. Throughout the day, we dried more wines (and cheeses, too!)
than I think I have ever seen in my life. I still would never claim to
be an expert on wine, which is why I really cannot go into specifics.
We were treated to a steak lunch by our awesome tour guide between the
third and fourth vineyards. By the time we piled back into the van to
return to Cape Town, we each must have had a solid 8 glasses of wine.
It was then that Aaron busted the road wine…

Day 6 was supposed to be one of our relaxation and no-planning days in
Cape Town. Unfortunalty, it was alos our last day in Cape Town. Emma
returned to take us to this amazing food festival. If you're ever in
Cape Town, I would highly recommend it. Although I cannot remember its
name…

We arrived early morning and feasted on waffles, truffles, oysters,
cheese steaks, pizzas, beer, chocolate liquor out of tiny chocolate
cups, and many other fantastical things I cannot remember. At one
point, I couldn't find any of the others and sat down with a massive
chocolate and cream Oreo-esk puff ball to wait it out. Just as I
finished it, I noticed a wine shop offering free wine tastings and
talks with the Wine Master. I knew then and there I had found Aaron
even before I walked in.

We headed back towards town, where the girls decided to do some
last-minute shopping before dinner that night. Us guys headed to an
Irish pub (let's call it O'Malley's) to drink expensive whiskey none
of us could pronounce the name of and watch the end of a cricket
match. That as my second time watching Cricket (the first in Scotland
for a full 4-hour game) and I must say I still have no idea what the
hell was going on. We waited around a little bit for the rugby match
to start (South Africa was playing to qualify for the world
tournament). Rugby is one of the most brutal yet awesome sports I have
ever seen and I have to say Aaron and Matt and I really got into it
towards the end.

For the main event, we all went to one of Cape Town's well know sushi
restaurants. Yes, you read that correctly. We went for sushi. And I
ate sushi. With chop sticks. I have pictures to prove it. Later that
night we had heard that Pickwicks would be having karaoke. We decide
it would be cool to go as a group, drink some more spike milk shakes,
and sing a few songs. Matt was the only one brave enough to sing…

In the morning, the rest of the group scrambled out of bed early to
catch their plane to Johannesburg, where they would spend the day. I,
on the other hand, had another date with a train. As I found out on my
return trip from Cape Town to Johannesburg, me initial trip was rather
lucky; we were only 20 minutes late.

At about 3 in the morning, I was awoken for the most peculiar reason;
the train was NOT tossing me from side to side. Peering out the
window, I could see we were in the middle of nowhere, stopped. For 8
hours.

We would find out later that a section of the track was without
electricity, meaning our fancy new electric engine couldn't carry us
across it. So we had to sit and wait for a diesel engine to work its
way down the line, grab us, and tow us across the dead section. It was
an interesting show to watch the European man in the cabin with me
freak out on the train manager (who had slept through 'the incident').
Because of the delay, we pulled into Park Station in downtown
Johannesburg at 9:30pm instead of the schedule 1:48pm. Not sure why
they bother being so precise if the trains are always late…

The group had stayed with Bash (a friend ofEmma's) and her parents the
night before and had to be at the airport for a 1am flight. Unsure if
I really wanted to hang out in the airport for 12 hours until my
flight, I caught a taxi to the 'burbs were Bash lived and met up with
the group for an amazing dinner (including more South African Wine).
After dropping the others off at the airport, I had a full-sized bed
that was HEATED. Yeah.

in the morning, Bash had to duck out early, so her mother forced me to
eat some breakfast and drove me to the metro station, where I was able
to catch a downtown train to the airport, board my plane, and return
to Rwanda. But not after 8 hours in the air and 6 hours in various
airports.

And that's How I Ended up in South Africa.