Jobs and Babies

So I haven't been blogging much lately at all. I told Rob that I hated not writing, but lately my mind had just been consumed with thinking about jobs and babies. Jobs and babies, who writes about these things on blogs and not really even ABOUT them, just THINKING about them.

Rob suggested that I do

So, perhaps a short little blog about jobs and babies will pacify this mental fixation and allow me to write about more interesting things and not be distracted from blogging in the future.

What do I think about jobs and babies? Well, I think I would like them, I think I would be good at having them, and I've been doing lots of research on both.

Inauguration

Tonight, on American soil, I watched the 44th president of the United States take office. There had been a buzz around town all day, advertisements of special dinners with live television feeds, and several drop in visitors each with the name Obama on their lips.

This morning, over our breakfast Deutsche Welle broadcast loud and clear that the world was waiting for this president and waiting for the sun to rise in the West.

Rob and I voted early before we left Georgia, were in D.C. on election night, and I could think of no better place to be than the embassy for the celebration this evening. As most other 20s and 30 somethings our age, I voted for the hope of change, the revoking of fear, and the promise to move America forward. Politics aside, the magnitude to me of this inauguration of an American President was so much greater than I had experienced before.

As I watched CNN pan the steps of the Capitol, I thought, I’ve been there before. I sit here in Africa on this little patch of grass and I’m watching this event take place from outside the borders of my home. It felt strange to know that world so well, that place so well and be so far away in a foreign land. Here on my little patch of grass, watching on a small television outside in the cool of the day, I shared the experience with people who a few months ago were strangers, yet tonight and for the duration of our time here, people who have become our American family.

I felt the pangs of homesickness as I heard English so loud and clear and saw the faces of America bundled up in hats and scarves against winter’s chill. I saw the signal switch between crowds gathered in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Memphis; America. Home.

I’ve never particularly felt American. I’ve never fully identified. I’ve often felt like we were a people without a culture, a hodge podge of immigrants. Perhaps this comes from being part of a generation which has grown up without a Great Depression, without World Wars, and without the memory of mother countries fresh in our minds. A generation that feels no ill effects from being at war and no knowledge of what it feels like to be without the freedom we enjoy or comprehend the price at which was bought.

But tonight, it felt different to be American; whether it was the romanticism of being away, the tears of homesickness welling up inside, the hope for a new era of America or a self discovery brought on by expatriate living, tonight I felt American. Being American no longer felt like an absence of culture; but a frame of mind. Not an absence of a common heritage, but the belief in a common ideal. I felt that by claiming American, I was claiming a land where people believed in hard work to achieve a better life for their families and their neighbors; where people were up for the struggle of doing what’s right in their world. Listening to Obama’s speech, excitement stirred inside as I wondered what America would do next. How fast will America rise again, in technology, innovation, and as a friend to the nations? What will ‘free men and women achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage’?

It was not just to those on the Mall or to Americans scattered all over the world that Obama spoke this evening. He spoke to Rwandans as well. “To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds.” A Rwandese man behind me elbowed his friend’s side and excitedly whispered, “That’s Rwanda, He’s going to help Rwanda!”

As the evening concluded, I reflected on this amazing feat of a peaceful transfer of power; I sat quietly and in awe. On a continent where the transition of power is rare, if ever peaceful, I thought how amazing it is that our leaders voluntarily hand over power to the newly elected. It’s not even a question. What a gift that is to its citizens.

When you Give a Two Year Old an Egg

I went to the market the other day with my friend Anne and her two year old daughter. As I watched a man hand the two year old an egg, which she immediately put in her mouth, my not-yet-maternal mind raced to things like: bird flu, e-coli, salmonella, etc. How can you keep a two year old from grabbing everything and “tasting” it? You can’t. I guess you just hope it’s building their little immune systems and pray. Good news: to our surprise the egg turned out to be a hard-boiled “less dangerous” snack which makes much more sense to hand to a two year old than a raw egg.

A Recipe from our Table to Yours

Just because I love to cook and because cooking occupies a lot of my time here, I present recipes from Kigali. Perhaps you would like to know how we eat on a daily basis or try to replicate these so that you can be "dining with us!"

I bought think sliced ham from Nakumatt and pan-fried it in olive oil, garlic, thyme and tarragon. Then I got to work slicing my market vegetables very thin: sweet potatoes, green bell peppers, onions, carrots, Mmm. I also pan-fried these in olive oil and garlic. When I was little, a staple side dish my mom would make was fried potatoes and onions. I guess this is a little African variation on that beloved recipe. As the ham finished cooking, I grabbed some left over noodles from the fridge and warmed them up in the same pan that I cooked the ham. I'll say I reheated the pasta in this pan to add seasoning to the noodles, rather than to save me another dirty dish to wash! Either way, two birds, one stone.

And voila!


A lovely meal for two.

Driving in Kigali

As a disclaimer it must be made known that I have not driven in Kigali nor do I have any intentions of doing so. I rely mostly on Rob and Musoni to take care of all my driving needs. I have never been particularly fond of driving so being here I have the perfect mix of excuses and legitimate reasons why I shouldn't drive. One - The truck we have is a stick shift and while I've driven one before (on a farm in south GA) I'm not up for the refresher course Rob's offered. And two- I'm easily distracted. It seems there are so many more things to watch out for driving here It's just not going to happen.... that being said, this is everything I know about driving in Kigali.


1. Directions are pretty hard. Road name markers are hard to come by. Everyone has given me directions based on 5 or 6 roundabouts. That becomes easy enough once you learn the distinguishing factor of each, but try to get to someone's house. That's difficult! I give directions to our house based on number of speed bumps and our church. For getting to others' homes I'm glad Rob has a good sense of direction. I just smile and nod and hope he's getting it. Before this, across from that, but if you get to the slight fork in the road you've gone too far. Confusing!

2. Once you're on your way, watch out! Motorcycles whip in and out of tiny gaps between traffic, 2 lane roads hold 4 vehicles wide in a moments notice, and pedestrians could care less that you're going 50 mph in a two ton vehicle.

3. There also exists an intricate language consisting of headlight flashes and beeps. Some examples: if you beep first, you get the right of way. You honk if you're passing to tell the passee that you're on their left. I have never heard so many cars honking so consistently before, mostly not in anger, just communication. And oh if there's a wedding, you wouldn't believe the honking that follows! Some warnings: Headlights on a clear day say "all clear, no cops"; lights flashing say, "slow it down there's a cop ahead".

4. In kindergarten we received marks on how well we colored inside the lines. No such thing exists on Kigali roadways. If your passing on the left and think, my this lane is nicer. Feel free to stay in it. No need to drive only on the right.

5. Cops have no radar detectors, and there are no posted speed limits. But that doesn't stop traffic cops from doing their jobs. We were pulled over for speeding on the way home from Kibuye. And we were speeding (and overtaking...multiple counts).
Speeding and speeding fines are big deals in Rwanda. Think you can bribe a cop, think again. No way, that's going to happen.

6. So, say you were fine with driving a stick, watching out for motos, sharing your lane space with other cars, speaking the diesel language, keeping tabs on people consistently inches from your bumper, while remembering where to turn. If all that you had under control, you should also beware of eight year old boys trying to hitch a ride without your knowing.

Rob has had multiple instances of discovering stowaways in the bed of his truck. He'll hear a subtle clank clank as they climb aboard and then just see the tops of their little heads huddling down near the cab. He'll pull over, give a tap tap tap on the roof and the boys will realize the gig's up and hop out with sheepish grins. This really puzzled us at first, they have no idea where we're going, why are they getting in the truck. Then, one day as we were stuck in some wedding traffic (horns going crazy) we notice we were being eyed by a young boy. Thinking he was staring at the mzungus we paid him no attention until we saw he had slowed his pace to get even with the bed of the truck. He gave himself away with the look in his eyes and his ride was over before it began. Joyriding! This is what these boys are after! They could care less where they end up, all the joy is in the journey for them.

Other things to watch out for: No one is allowed to be out driving on the last Saturday morning of every month. This is when Umaganda (community service morning) takes place and the only reasons for not being apart of it include going to the airport, hospital, and being a 7th day Adventist (and I've even heard that some of these are being cracked down on too!) But really there's no need to be out driving this morning, because nothing is open until afternoon anyway.

And finally, though we have yet to personally experienced it, we have been duly warned about the speedy whirlwind of the president's motorcade. If you see it coming stop; just stop. Don't try to get out of the way, don't look for a place to pull over. Just stop. This will keep everyone happy and you out of trouble.

There it is; everything a non-driver knows about driving in Kigali.

Choices

Rob and I have been here almost two months to the day.

Even though our transition here has been smooth, there are still some things I miss badly. Apart from family, number two for me has got to be grocery stores. In Atlanta we had fantastic grocery stores: Whole Foods, Publix, Kroger, Trader Joes, International Food Warehouses, and every type of specialty store you could imagine.

I miss choice, I miss variety, I miss imports, I miss out of season fruits flown in from Mexico, I miss fresh fish and aisles of frozen pizzas. I miss ingredient labels that I can read (or just ingredient labels period).

I used to roll my eyes at an entire half aisle devoted to different types of mayonnaise - low fat, nonfat, nothing but fat, with olive oil, with lime, with poly unsaturated fats and omega-3. Now, I want to have to chose from all of these. And even though we rarely bought cereal before, I've decided I do need an entire grocery aisle devoted to it. An aisle lined with cartoon characters and boxes filled with prizes.

Rob and I shopped at farmers markets a ton before Rwanda. I was also once paid in veggies by a local organic farm for my work there. I bought locally whenever possible and made sure we ate as wholesome as possible to begin a habit of feeding my family good foods, while also supporting local farming efforts and thrifty shopping. So I don't feel at all guilty for missing rows and rows of coke and snack chips and a meat department stocked with any cut of any meat I could want.

I will not be an expat who returns and touts, "in Rwanda I could get a pineapple for a dollar," or, "in Rwanda, everything we ate was fresh." Fresh, maybe, we've got eggs fresher than I've ever wanted, but where they come from I have no idea whether it's my next door neighbor or a government egg cooperative. As Americans we like disclosure, transparency. As Americans, choice makes us happy. It doesn't matter that we kept our budget so tight that we didn't shop at Whole Foods, or that we never bought the latest snack food that came out. What matters is that it was there and I could choose to buy it or not.

The aspect of choice permeates American culture from childhood on; Parent's tell their kids you can choose what after school sport to do, would you like to be a lawyer or doctor, what ramifications are there, if any, for children who choose not to do their homework? Choice. It is everywhere in our culture. In hindsight, I should have expected this adjustment as an avid lover of food, but I didn't realize then how limited food choices would be such a fundamental adjustment. There is just something about the presence of choice that makes Americans feel happier, wealthier, more complete, more in control.

If I ever begin to romanticize about how well we ate in Rwanda (and we absolutely do eat well), I will march myself down to Central Market or Roots in Lancaster County and enjoy fresh local foods there. Missing grocery stores now will not change our family's eating habits or shake my love of fresh foods and simple cooking values. However, I am confident that the next time I go into an American grocery store I'll whisper a little prayer and stare at shiny foil packages, pre-prepared meals, and baking mixes for hours. I will buy my favorite off-brand $2 granola bars and walk out quite a happy girl.

Oh home, land of many choices.

Coming Soon Posts!

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