The Rain Down in Africa

So I suppose the rainy season has started. It rains usually really hard for a couple of hours, and then sometimes stops. It’s raining now, while my laundry (half of my wardrobe) sits outside on the line. I’m usually not outside when it rains, but I have been before.

One fine Sunday I was innocently heading out to buy some fruit, when I felt a couple of drops. Knowing what was coming, I decided to head over to another volunteer’s house to wait it out. But en route down it came. At first I tried standing under a overhang, but the rain started blowing at me, soaking me completely. Trying to make a run for it, I got slapped in the face with buckets and buckets of rain – I literally felt like I was drowning, until a Rwandan had to practically pick me up, since I was utterly useless at this point, and shove me into a shop – where everyone stood bone dry. There the kind owners gave me a towel as I waited out the storm. I always buy my bread there now, and somehow they always remember me.

The weather is just so unpredictable. Some days I’ll wake up, it’ll be slightly cold so I’ll wear pants and a sweater, but then it’ll pour, so I’ll need rain gear, but then by the afternoon it’s sunny and in the high-eighties/nineties so I’ll have to rip off my sweater and change my pants into capris while I sweat all over the students.

The good, and bad, thing is everything stops when it rains. Other volunteers have been told not to even bother coming to teach when it rains. The biggest problem is the tin roofs make the rain incredibly loud. Rwandans smartly stop what they’re doing, take cover and wait. Remember that one time when I was in kindergarten and I told my grandma I didn’t go to school when it rains, she let Meg and I have the day off? Well little did you all know, but I was just living the Rwandan lifestyle that I would soon enough come to enjoy.

PS – I went to the orphanage again on Sunday and my little boy was wearing a dress with a pretend baby on his back. Only I would fall in love with a confused, cross-dressing three year old.

The Time I Wore Sweatpants

Rwandans dress up. So if you come here, don’t think you can walk around looking like American WT, because you can’t. Rwandans dress very nicely – dress pants, collard shirts, not really jeans. Normally I wear nice pants or a skirt (below the knee, of course). But around my house, I’m my relaxed self in sweatpants, short shorts, tanks, whatever I feel like. But again, I’m in the comfort of my own home.

In DC I think this comfort extends to my neighborhood as well, and for those who don’t know, I live near the zoo so it’s quite crowded with tourists. But, I frequently will walk around my block and surrounding area in big gray sweats and a gray t-shirt, sometimes tucked into boots, sometimes a non-hooded overly large sweatshirt - usually pairing this with a jazzy clutch that I used the night before. Since it’s my neighborhood, all you tourists can take a good look.

This does not translate to Rwanda. And I learned the hard way. The one and only time I wore sweatpants in public was last Saturday at 6pm. After having worked all day, I came home to get ready to go out. So I showered and got right into my blue sweatpants and blue t-shirt, my normal monochrome outfit that I wear in the comfort of my own home. I wanted to put on music, but I realized I forgot my power cord at work, so I called my friends to have them drop it off on their way back from work. They said they’d meet me in 10 minutes on the “corner” of my “block”. So out I went in my blue on blue combo, and I waited on the street. Well, they were longer than 10 minutes. And I felt ridiculed. People pointed. Literally pointed at me. Normally, I’m used to people looking, but this was shock and awe at my attire – almost as bad as the time I wore the tank top. And then, of course, I ran into a student (because how could he miss me in this getup). I explained that I don’t normally lay around in sweatpants on a Saturday (lie), and that I was in fact going out…but that I better not see him out since he had exams! That’s right, lecturing in my sweatpants. I was outside in said sweatpants for maybe half an hour or so, but that’s all it took.

I will never wear sweatpants in public here again. Ever.

The Orphanage

I have an addiction. I’ve been going to a local orphanage to volunteer with kids – they’re about three years old. Not only do I look forward to going, but afterwards, I am in such a low, just missing them. But once I walk back through those gates, I feel better! It’s an incurable addiction that’s making me want to be a single mother in DC. Rest assured, adoption laws are insane, and I’m not sure my 23 year old maturity and finances would make it past screening #1. Otherwise, I’d be bringing home an addition to the family.

I literally walk through the doors and have crowds of children cheering and running towards me. I obviously melt at this point, and pick up two in my arms. All the children want is to be held and hugged. They fight over my attention, and it’s hard to tell them not to hit each other when a nun sits in a corner with a stick, used for discipline. Since there are so many of them, they really just want individual attention, so get jealous when they have to share my lap with other kids – I can usually fit three of them on my lap, one jumping on my back, and two hanging on my legs.

I have a little favorite. He sits and waits patiently when I’m holding other kids, just waiting by my side until my lap is free. A lot of the kids cry when I put them down after holding them, but he doesn’t – he just sits and waits his turn. He even gave up the prized seat of on my lap, closest to my body, when a little girl was crying. It really is taking all of my strength not to smuggle him out and into my DC house (which does have a sun porch mind you). I guess I just have to settle for twice a week hugs.

In sum: PLEASE ADOPT! These kids are so adorable and amazing and really deserve great homes! And thanks to everyone who has adopted and to my fantastic friends who plan to do so!