More Must-Reads

To follow the last post, here are some more must-reads, from a variety of other bloggers:

Six Non-Obvious Points about Conflict, Security, and Development (Africa Can…End Poverty)

Somewhat similar to Chris Blattman’s post about things he kind of believes, this one lists a few messages that Shanta Devarajan, the World Bank’s Chief Economist for Africa, thinks are important but not always discussed. My favorite is #6.

3 Roles for Aid (and let’s stop kidding ourselves) (Waylaid Dialectic)

Here, Terence, who I don't know much about other than what I've garnered from reading his blog, describes three types of aid – development, band-aid, and keeping-it-together. In short, development aid is a lie, band-aid aid is unsustainable but at least honest with itself, and keeping-it-together aid tries to stop things from totally falling apart.

Dear Everyone Who’s Ever Thought of Starting an NGO (Blood and Milk)

International development and public health expert Alanna Shaikh, known for her International Development Careers newsletter, tries to stop people from starting NGOs. Why? “You’re not going to think of a solution no one else has, your approach is not as innovative as you think it is.” Harsh, but true. (She also offers advice for the people who are going to do it anyway).

Finding Meaning in Africa (Shotgun Shack)

Experienced aid workers often have little patience for, well, a lot of things. People who go to Africa to find themselves, or do anything for themselves while pretending it's for others. People who jump into “helping” others when they have no idea what they’re doing. People who insist on starting their own NGO (see the post above for why not to). Here, another well-known anonymous blogger, and co-founder of the hilariously cynical Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like, writes about an encounter with someone who fits all of those descriptions, and raises the question of whether Westerners' pictures of Africans are often just documentation of our own experience of seeing “Africa.” (Also, read Emily’s comment at the bottom.)

The Logic of Compassion (Bottom Up Thinking)

The anonymous blogger here, known only as MJ, discusses different sectors of aid projects, and mentions a stark criterion for evaluating projects: “If you took the total cost of the project and divided it up between all the intended beneficiaries, would they prefer to receive the cash or the benefits of the proposed project?” Perhaps the folks at a certain project (or two) here in Rwanda should ask themselves this question…

If I Had Only Known… (How Matters)

This is one of the most thoughtful and thought-provoking blogs out here. In another post geared toward students, Jennifer Lentfer discusses a myriad of things she wishes she’d learned in grad school. For example: Most young aid workers come into the business with “a worldview in which change in poor people’s lives is possible with our help.” But, in her mind (and mine), “The jury is still out on this.”

Going Deeper: A Letter to My Fellow Do-Gooders (One World Children’s Fund)

In a guest post for the One World Children’s Fund, Lentfer writes about the harm aid can cause to beneficiaries' self-confidence, self-reliance, and initiative. She calls on aid workers to question themselves and to make sure this work isn’t really all about us. Otherwise, she warns, we risk unconsciously perpetuating colonial attitudes in the places we live and work.

What the People Wanted (Msafiri Mzungu)

This post from Msafiri Mzungu is actually an image – depicting all-too-accurately how what the people want usually differs dramatically from what donors want to give (which also often differs from what is actually given in the end).

Must-Read Posts

If you're interested humanitarianism, aid, development, Africa, etc., the following posts are must-reads:

Tolerance (Tales from the Hood)

The anonymous but widely respected blogger at Tales from the Hood, known only as J., writes about the difference between aid workers being tolerated by locals and actually being accepted and appreciated. He says, accurately, that Westerners in developing countries shouldn’t assume locals actually want us there.

Humanitarian Aid 101 (Tales from the Hood)

J. gives us ten basic facts about humanitarian aid.

Dear Students: Motivation (Tales from the Hood)

In this post aimed at students, J. writes candidly about aid workers’ motivations. Too many volunteers and aid workers refuse to recognize that many of their motivations are entirely self-interested – it’s not all about helping other people and making the world a better place. People don’t just want to do good – they want to be recognized for doing good.

Dear Students: Sacrifice (Tales from the Hood)

In his second post for students, J. discusses the dangers of viewing volunteer and aid work as making a sacrifice. Seeing the choice to pursue this line of work as a sacrifice is self-righteous and exacerbates the already unequal power balance between Westerners and locals. Working in a developing country isn’t making a sacrifice – it’s making a choice. And, for most of us, we’re gaining more than we’re giving up – we’re getting adventure, work experience, learning opportunities, résumé builders, and the chance to live the kind of life we decided we wanted to live.

Confronting the Demons of Ethnocentrism (Tales from the Hood)

This much older post from J. can pretty much be summed up in this (very accurate) quote: “At some point you will encounter another culture that drives you crazy, and it will not be pretty.”

10 Things I Kind of Believe about Conflict and Governance (Chris Blattman)

The study of conflict, politics, and development in poor countries is extremely murky, with very few absolute truths. Thus, Yale University political scientist & economist Chris Blattman has compiled a list of ten things he thinks he believes.

Should Student Researchers Go to Conflict Zones? (Chris Blattman)

This one’s not exactly about aid, but much of Blattman’s advice is relevant to all types of volunteers and aid workers. The bottom line: go to every possible length to ensure that you are actually beneficial (or at least not hazardous).

Mom's Return (continued)

At the end of the week, we left my town for Musanze, situated amongst the volcanoes of northern Rwanda, which necessitates passing through Kigali. Since that day was umuganda (nation-wide community service work that occurs on the last Saturday of each month), no buses were running in the morning. Fortunately, a very kind friend of mine in Nyagatare has a car and was willing to drive us to Kigali. As a thank-you, we took him to lunch at Mille Collines, one of the few places open during umuganda, where we ate at the poolside restaurant. Despite one of the most Western people I’ve met here, he was a bit confused by the strange muzungu food on the menu – like teriyaki chicken, lasagna, and pasta alfredo. He settled on a ham and cheese panini, which was not exactly his favorite food, but we all decided it was good practice for when he goes to the US (which I’m sure he will) and has to eat muzungu food all the time. After lunch, we boarded a bus bound for Musanze, and met a Marine stationed in Djibouti, who had come to Rwanda specifically to go gorilla tracking. While waiting at the bus park and riding on the bus, he made balloon animals for the kids, which was random and funny. Even more unlikely, he later told us that his wife is from Great Falls. It’s a small world.

Once in Musanze, we checked into Hotel Muhabura, a small hotel where Dian Fossey (of the book and movie Gorillas in the Mist) once lived. While in town, we had a chance to visit one of my favorite restaurants in Rwanda. The Volcana Lodge is a cozy pizzeria with some of the best pizza I’ve had in Rwanda, and it even has a fireplace!

We started the next day bright and early, with a 5:30am breakfast at the hotel. Then, we headed to the headquarters of Volcanoes National Park. The hotel’s driver took us to the meeting point for gorilla tracking, where we, along with a fellow Volunteer and her mother (who happened to be visiting at the same time), joined up with three other girls (one of whom I’m pretty sure this post was written about) and a guide. From there, we drove another 45 minutes down the worst road I have ever been on in my life, until we reached a small village near the edge of the park that “our” group of gorillas was closest to that day. We walked about 30 minutes to the park entrance, which was basically just a little rock wall with a makeshift step ladder allowing people to climb over it. By that point, it was already raining, and we had no idea how far we still were from the gorillas. We spent the next 2.5 hours or so climbing, slipping, and sliding through the rain and mud, up and down mountains, often seemingly dangerously close to the edge of cliffs. Because there was no path during much of the hike, one of the guides went in front of us, chopping through the brush with a machete. Every single person fell down multiple times – actually, at times, it was literally too slippery to stand up, and the only option was to somehow slide or crawl. We were all completely covered in mud within about an hour.

Just when we were beginning to think that maybe there weren’t any gorillas, we rounded a curve, and there they were. Just a few feet from us, lounging peacefully amongst the bushes, eating grass. We just watched them, observing the giant silverbacks and adorable babies, for about the next 45 minutes. They were extremely calm – other than that one would get up, run around a bit, yell, and beat its chest every little while – and seemed totally unfazed by humans.

We didn’t want to leave the gorillas, but it was soon time to start the trek out. Going out seemed somewhat easier than coming in, though that may have been largely because we were just so used to being wet and muddy that we didn’t really notice anymore. About 2.5 hours later, we stumbled, exhausted and filthy, out of the forest – and into a small village full of people waiting to watch us. Naturally. I don’t know why one of those people hasn’t opened up a tea shop, because I would gladly have shelled out about 3,000F ($5) for a cup of icyayi and a piece of chapatti (the normal price being 200F, or about $0.33). But, alas, we had to wait out the hour or so ride back to town. The hotel staff was surprisingly unfazed by the pack of filthy bazungu and, being amazingly kind, offered to wash our muddy clothes and let us order tea to be delivered to the room. A couple cups of icyayi, a hand-held shower, and a change of clothes later, and we felt almost like real people again. Tired, sore, and blistered real people, but it was a definite improvement. Then, we headed across the street for dinner at Musanze’s Hotel Gorilla, the nicest place in town. An early dinner of cheesy pasta, and we called it a night. What a great day!

The following morning, after a brief stop at a craft workshop, we hopped on another Virunga Ponctuel and headed west. After about an hour of winding through the mountains, we arrived at the lakefront town of Gisenyi. Situated on the shores of Lake Kivu, Gisenyi has Rwanda’s only beach (though I guess some people would say it’s not much of one). Because Gisenyi borders the Congo and is basically attached to the Congolese city of Goma (famous in the media for rape and conflict minerals), Gisenyi is something of a commercial hub. We spent the afternoon exploring the town, checking out the border crossing, shopping, and finally having a delicious pizza dinner with a fellow Volunteer who lives in Gisenyi.

The next day started with yet another delicious breakfast buffet, followed by a little relaxation by the pool. Then, the driver from New Dawn Associates arrived, ready to take us on a tour of a nearby coffee plantation and cooperative. We drove about an hour out of the city, into what felt like the middle of nowhere. The aptly named “From Crop to Cup” tour showed us every step of the very long and labor-intensive (and low-paying – most of the farmers and workers make $1/day or less) system of processing coffee. We started at a coffee farm, where we chatted with the farmers, and they taught us how to pick coffee cherries (unprocessed coffee looks nothing like what we would recognize as coffee – it grows in red, yellow, and green marble-sized cherries). From there, we went to the washing station, where the skins of the cherries are removed, and the beans are washed and sorted. It’s not until the skins come off that they actually begin to look like coffee beans. After the washing station, the beans have to be dried in the sun. Then come the final stages of the process – another papery skin is removed, and the beans can finally be roasted and ground. The tour ended with a cup of fresh, delicious coffee. After purchasing some bags of coffee beans – 2,000F ($3.33) for 500g – to take home, we made our way back to where we’d left the car (on the other side of a bridge not fit for a car) and headed back to town.

We spent the rest of the afternoon pampering ourselves at the Serena, laying on the beach, and eating at the poolside bar. We also met an interesting older British fellow, who lives in a fancy apartment complex next to Hotel Laico in Kigali, but comes to Gisenyi regularly for work. He claimed to work “in minerals,” which made me wonder if whatever he does is either straight-up illegal or at least somewhat suspect.

The next day, we headed back into Kigali, where we did some last-minute shopping, including some craft purchases at the Kimironko Market, Rwanda’s largest. Kimironko really intimidates a lot of visiting parents, I think, but, after Mom’s experience at the much more intimidating Marche Sandaga in Dakar, it didn’t faze her. We spent that night at Chez Lando, an oasis in the middle of Kigali. The following afternoon, after a final smoothie at Bourbon, I dropped Mom off at the airport, so she could begin the 42-hour trip, via Amsterdam, back home. And I returned to my real Rwandan life.

Mom's Return to Africa

As I mentioned before, stories from my mom’s visit would be coming! She came in March for two weeks, and we spent one week in Nyagatare and one week traveling.

Her visit got off to a good start, when her flight was early (when does that ever happen?) and her luggage was accounted for. We spent the first two nights at Hotel Gorilla in Kigali’s plush Kivoyu neighborhood on the edge of downtown. The hotel is a bit more outdated than the website indicates, but had hot showers, CNN, and a delicious breakfast buffet! During Mom’s first full day, I showed her around Kigali, including a visit to the Genocide Memorial, a stop at the Peace Corps office, lunch at Bourbon, dinner at Hotel des Mille Collines, and a 7,000F (just under $12) mani-pedi!

The next morning, we left Kigali for Akagera National Park, with a nice driver from Jambo Tours & Travel. I’d heard bad reviews of the park’s Game Lodge, but they seemed unfounded to me. It was charming and peaceful, with another wonderful breakfast and a nice restaurant that served excellent pizza! There is a bit of an issue with baboons – the hotel’s staff had to remind us to keep the room to our door closed at all times, to keep the baboons out and prevent them from damaging or stealing anything, which they have been known to do! But in our experience, they were more cute than annoying. We began our visit to the park with a boat trip on Lake Ihema, during which we saw numerous hippos and all manner of birds. The elephants that sometimes roam the shores eluded us, unfortunately, but the lake was lovely and the boat ride was great. We spent the afternoon relaxing by the lodge’s outdoor pool. It’s really hard to relax when you live under a microscope, so the peace and quiet of a calm afternoon at a beautiful (and empty!) pool in the middle of the park was greatly appreciated.

As the sun was getting ready to set, we headed back out into the park for a night safari. It was just us and our guide, driving through the night under the wide open sky. It felt like Africa. We saw a giraffe and tons of deer-like animals. Though the leopards I’d been hoping for weren’t out that night, driving through the empty savannah under the stars was a great experience. Mom was slightly alarmed at one point, though, when a group of motos appeared out of nowhere. Our guide seemed skeptical of them, but let them pass when they said they were just going to the village on the other side of the park. Poaching has been a problem in Rwanda, and two rangers in Akagera were killed in December, so it was a valid concern. Fortunately, though, these moto drivers seemed uninterested in both us and the animals.

After a lovely night at the lodge, we were up bright and early the next day, to begin a six-hour game drive through the park. The morning was full of wildlife sightings and photo opportunities. We saw numerous zebras and monkeys, more baboons (which seemed less accustomed to humans than the ones hanging around the lodge), and, during a stop at a small lake, a crocodile and more hippos. The drive ended with a delicious picnic lunch, which had been packed for us by the lodge, under a gazebo. We were both sad to leave the park, but it was time, and I was excited to show Mom my Rwandan home. We made the short drive from the north edge of the park to Nyagatare, and were dropped off right at my house.

I had initially been worried that Mom would get bored spending an entire week in Nyagatare. Well, so many people wanted to meet her, there was no time to be bored! There also wasn’t exactly any time to relax, but it went well overall. We basically spent each day visiting multiple people around town – and being fed multiple meals, snacks, and Fantas, of course. On our first night in Nyagatare, we visited Rebecca, one of my neighbors. Mom brought a rattle for her then one-month-old son, Noah – which she later told me he absolutely loves. Mom also had her first real Rwandan meal that night – ubugali (a gelatinous substance made of cassava flour) and beef. She didn’t exactly love it, but she got it down, and I was proud of her. Upon hearing she’d eaten that, and on her first night in Nyagatare, one of my friends later exclaimed, “Oh! That is too much African!”

As the following day was Sunday, we went to church in the morning, as I usually do. Mom had attended a church service with me in Dakar a couple years earlier, so the African style of worship wasn’t a shock to her. After the service, we had a lovely meal with the pastor and my supervisor in the church’s courtyard.

Later that week, we went to visit my friend Ezekiel’s family in the next district, which involved a 45-minute bus ride and about a half-hour walk through the countryside. There, we had an excellent meal – including peanut sauce, my favorite! – and spent some time with Ezekiel’s mother and siblings. His village is closer to what the Peace Corps is supposed to be, so I was glad Mom had a chance to see it.

I took Mom to visit the school I’ve been teaching at and to meet my students and colleagues. She brought candy (Life Savers) and ink pens for the kids, which they loved. We also went to visit the new girls’ secondary school, where I’ve just recently begun teaching as well. To get there, we had about an hour walk into the countryside, and then visited the nuns who work at the school. We toured the spacious classrooms and immaculate dormitories (most secondary schools in Rwanda are boarding schools), and were then treated to the best ikivuguto (something between yogurt and curdled milk) and amandazi I’ve had here!

Our last major trip out of Nyagatare was to visit a small organization I’ve been working with in the next sector. It was founded by two Rwandan men, who freely put their own time and resources into trying to help vulnerable people in their community. I’m continually impressed by them and their attitude – a refreshing change from the NGO workers who refuse to do anything unless they’re getting a per diem and think nothing of keeping villagers waiting for hours. While visiting them, we went to see a deaf school they’re working with. I’d actually never been to the school before, and it was really interesting to see. It currently has about 100 students and offers a very rare opportunity to deaf children in Rwanda. I was very impressed by the school’s staff, who seem to be extremely dedicated and are willing to do difficult work for little compensation in order to the help the students.

We spent the rest of our time in Nyagatare seeing friends here and visiting my favorite places in town. Everyone was extremely excited to meet Mom, and people now ask about her constantly.

Stay tuned to hear about the rest of her visit...

Genocide Commemoration

April 7^th marked the beginning of the 17^th Genocide Commemoration. The Commemoration officially lasts one week, but is subtly observed for 100 days, ultimately ending on July 4, Liberation Day (the anniversary of the official end of the genocide).

As I’ve mentioned before, the 1994 Rwandan genocide killed nearly 1,000,000 people in just 100 days and forced over two million to flee as refugees. It is frequently compared to the Holocaust, past genocides in Cambodia and Armenia and, more recently, the genocide in Darfur. What makes the Rwandan genocide different, and, frankly, more disturbing, is the level of mass participation in the killings. Pol Pot and the Khmar Rouge killed in Cambodia; Hitler and the Nazis killed during World War II. In Rwanda, ordinary people, including youth, killed their neighbors, friends, colleagues, classmates, and family members. Many major massacres occurred in schools and churches: teachers killed their students, and priests killed their parishioners. And, only killers were “safe.” Hutus believed to be “moderate” (ie, Hutus who opposed the genocide, even passively) were targeted as well.

During the genocide, the international community knew exactly what was happening in Rwanda. Canadian Lieutenant-General Romeo Dallaire, the Force Commander of the United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR), told the UN his forces could put a stop to the genocide with just 5,000 troops. Instead, UNAMIR was reduced to 270 soldiers, and they were essentially prohibited from using force to stop the genocide. The U.S., bearing the political backlash of “Black Hawk Down,” in which American peacekeepers had been killed just six months earlier, refused to even use the word “genocide” to describe what was happening in Rwanda, as use of the term would have mandated intervention. While the genocide garnered a fair amount of media coverage, Americans were primarily inundated with news of the O.J. Simpson trial, the death of Kurt Kobain, and the Nancy Kerrigan-Tonya Harding rivalry in 1994. So, the killing in Rwanda continued – until corpses and genocidières (killers, organizers, and planners of the genocide) both totaled nearly 1,000,000 – put to end only when Paul Kagame (Rwanda’s current President) and his army of Tutsi rebels, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, seized Kigali in July.

But, I digress – this post is supposed to be about the ongoing commemoration. Volunteers, trying to be culturally sensitive while also involved in the community, have different ways of commemorating the genocide, and it’s often hard to know what’s appropriate. At the advice of a Volunteer from the first group, I decided to attend events if invited or asked to, but not to show up alone or invite myself to join people. I didn’t want to cause a scene and be a distraction, nor did I want to burden anyone with muzungu-sitting while they were grieving and should be focused on their families.

The first day of memorial week is the only official holiday and has the longest, and most emotional, events. Nobody asked me about attending, so I opted to stay at home that day. I did, however, attend a few events later in the week, the most notable being the all-night one. It began around 4:30pm and lasted through the night. Several hundred people gathered at the university and walked through town, the leaders carrying a large purple banner, which is a common way of beginning memorial events. The march ended at a church in town, where there was a short ceremony of music, speeches, and an offering. Around 6pm, the entire crowd headed back to the university and settled in for the night. The next several hours consisted of speeches, music, skits, and films, as well as a candle-lighting at midnight. During the films following the candle-lighting, tea and Fanta was distributed to the people who were still there. I gave in and headed home around 2am, so I’d be able to make it to church the next morning, but I’m told a small crowd remained five or so more hours.

All in all, I’m really glad I went to the mourning events. It seemed like people really appreciated my being there, and the experience provided a lot of insight. It also highlighted how little, at least in some aspects, I can relate to people here. I literally cannot imagine the things my friends here have seen and experienced, I don’t know what it’s like to see your loved ones murdered or to fear for your life, and, even after a year here, I don’t fully understand the implications of ethnicity in Rwanda.

The Last Two Months

Wow, I can’t believe I haven’t written anything in two months! I guess I’ve been pretty busy.

Here in Nyagatare, I’ve been working on lots of new projects since I got back from the U.S. in January. The water project at Saint Leonard is finished, and a new one at Groupe Scolaire Nyagatare is underway. There's also a shipment of books for Saint Leonard on the way from the Darien Book Aid Plan, and details are being finalized for a donation from the International Book Project, which will be for Groupe Scolaire Nyagatare and possibly a couple other schools. I’ve been teaching English at Saint Leonard for the past three months as well, though the schools are on vacation at the moment. At the end of the vacation, which will be in two weeks, I’ll resume teaching at Saint Leonard and will also start teaching part-time at Mary Hill Girls’ Secondary School. I enjoy teaching young students, but I’m really looking forward to working with the teenaged girls at Mary Hill. As this is the school’s first year, they have only Senior One (7^th grade), which is the first year of O-Levels, and Senior Four (10^th grade), the first year of A-Levels. And, there’s just 40 students, which is great, because it means I’ll actually be able to get to know each of the girls and see them all regularly.

Unfortunately, the past couple months hasn’t been all positive. Godfrey, one of my friends here, who was just 28, was killed in an accident at the end of February. He was hit by a car while driving a motorcycle on a dirt road outside of town, and then waited four hours at the local hospital for an ambulance to transfer him to Kigali. I attended the funeral, which took place two days later at his father’s house, about 30 minutes towards the Ugandan border from here. It wasn’t dramatically different from American funerals, other than that everyone just hung out, laughing, joking, and drinking Fanta, as though everything were completely normal, for a couple hours after the ceremony. Which brings me to a funny story.

The funeral took place in a rural area, so, of course, the sight of a muzungu caused quite a stir among the neighbors, namely the children (thankfully, I don’t think I was too much of a distraction during the actual ceremony, which I had been worried about). I was standing outside with a group of friends, and a mass of children eventually gathered to watch me. At one point, a friend of mine came up and put his arm around me, and the children screamed and said, “Aren’t you scared to touch a muzungu?” Of course, he said no, and then had them all shake my hand to show them I wasn’t scary. A little while later, they were still gathered, watching. Finally, my friend gave them money to go buy pineapples, and they ran away, ecstatic, faster than I’ve ever seen kids here run – and probably the only time I’ve seen kids run away from a muzungu. I guess pineapples are more exciting than bazungu.

At the other end of the life cycle, Rebecca, one of my neighbors, just had a baby. His name is Noah, and he’s about six weeks old now. As is customary, she left Nyagatare a few weeks before he was born and went to stay with her parents, who live an hour or so away. She came back with Noah (who, at that time, didn’t have a name) a few days later. The following Sunday, she and her husband held the kwita izina, traditional naming ceremony, at their house. Many of their friends gathered, ate dinner, drank Fantas, and chatted for awhile. Then, each person suggested names for the baby. Naming the children is the responsibility of the father so, at the end of the ceremony, Rebecca’s husband stood and announced the names he had chosen – Mugisha (the Kinyarwanda name) and Eric (the Christian name). However, Rebecca much preferred the name Noah, so now their baby has three names instead of the usual two, and people mostly call him Noah.

In other exciting news, my mom came to visit for two weeks!! She just left, and my house feels very empty right now. But, this update is long enough, so stories from her visit will have to wait until next time.

Reflections - Westerners in Africa

I warned you that I’d soon be ranting about the behavior of Westerners in Africa. In general, too many bazungu are unhygienic, unprofessional, and inappropriate. I used to be one of them, but my time in Rwanda has helped me realize that’s not okay.

Rwandans expect foreigners to furnish and decorate our houses, just as they do. They expect that we’ll keep our houses clean, like they do. They think we should shower and wear clean clothes – it’s the Rwandan way, after all. Not only that, Rwandans often dress up much more than Americans would for a similar occasion, and most tend to be quite fashionable. I would even say that things like jewelry, make-up, and nail polish are expected, particularly among young people. People comment, constantly, on Westerners’ clothes, shoes, accessories, skin, hair, nails, teeth, etc. If we’re dirty or underdressed, people notice and they lose respect for us. When Rwandan girls wear skinny jeans and stilettos and white girls wear t-shirts and Keens, is it any wonder they sometimes don’t think so highly of us? Frankly, it’s pretty condescending of Westerners to assume that Africans just don’t care about hygiene or fashion.

Alcohol is, of course, another issue, though less of one in Rwanda than in many countries. Many Rwandans drink a lot (especially Catholics, to generalize), but many others don’t drink at all. In some situations here, drinking isn’t a problem. But, when the Rwandans around aren’t drinking, it’s really not appropriate for Westerners (Western women, at least) to either. And, it’s almost never appropriate to drink to excess.

Even some things we wouldn’t think much of are a big deal here and can make people here lose respect for Westerners. The first thing that comes to mind is spending a lot of time alone. Being social is highly valued in Rwanda. If Westerners often stay alone in their houses, people find them to be anti-social, unlikable, uninterested in Rwandan culture, and just weird. Rwandans’ social behavior is also taken very seriously – a teacher at a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer’s school was recently fired, solely because the school’s administration viewed him as too anti-social. Another thing is sleeping in. Rwandans tend to get up really early and assume others do as well. When Westerners are known to sleep late, Rwandans view them as lazy and unproductive.

Maybe there is some value in “not caring what people think,” but being respected is essential for personal and professional success here, especially among Peace Corps Volunteers, who are continually trying to develop relationships with locals and gain acceptance in their communities.

Another thing I’ve grown critical of is short-term volunteering (which I’ve done, and enjoyed, in the past). As a disclaimer, I think there are, possibly, some projects that could benefit from this type of assistance, and some people offer specialized, technical skills or knowledge that could be useful in this context. But, that is often not the case. Short-term projects often include manual labor, for example, often take jobs away from locals. And, when volunteers teach for a week at a school, they don’t know what the students have learned or what they need to learn. Worse, when volunteers spend a week at an orphanage, they worsen the attachment and abandonment issues those children likely already have. And, in any of these cases, the volunteers certainly know very, very little about local culture, needs, or resources. Peace Corps requires a two-year commitment precisely as a way to reduce these problems – and some people would say even that’s not enough time.