in-between

Wed. June 30, 2010

In-between

It is already the last day of June. It seems like last month that I celebrated the beginning of this glorious year. And, glorious it has been, in all its many ups and downs; and there have been many. Yet I am not in the mountains of North Carolina as I was then. Now I am in the hills of Rwanda, quickly turning from lush green to hungry yellow as the recent nourishment from rain becomes a memory. Here there are many people, but they are not peers, and socialization is lacking. Here I am in bed 12 hours before the sun rises. Here there are few luxuries, though there is still more than plenty. Here, there are not a lot of things, but here I am. With more than plenty. Here I find myself in-between. In fact, in-between is a state that articulates what it is like here with keen precision. Here, in-between haunts me. Here I remain in-between, and I like it. I have begun to notice it more and more. The most obvious factor to such liminal feeling is the seeming timelessness that governs existence here. “Rwanda Time,” it is called, usually by Americans finding themselves uncomfortable outside of the over-structured time regulated state of being they are used to. “Rwanda time” honors moments of absorption in the present. Because of such commitment to being when one is in fact, being, there seem to be no in-betweens at all, which makes it feel like it is all one big solid in-between. But the in-between is never solid. Rather, it is the opposite: transcendent, empty of preconceptions, open to new knowledge, void of firm identity, unpredictable, undefinable. This is what makes it the in-between. It is not one thing or the other. It is neither, and it is both, and something else entirely. While every in-between mirrors others in certain aspects, the details are interchangeable. Time is not the only in-between detail here. Here, I find myself in-between meals, which is acknowledged by constant hunger humming just loud enough to be distracting. Here I find myself in-between home and home. Let me break this down even more: The last thing I did before leaving for Africa was move. I moved all of my belonging into one space, now crammed so tight as to prohibit movement throughout. Upon my return, I will have very limited time to make this space home. In this way, I am truly in-between homes. But, Woodruff, in his book on Reverence, explains that home is any place where there is reverence, where there is ritual. In this way, I have made a miniature version of home here, but it is lived in with time pushing on the edges, with in-between pervading, slipping under the mosquito net like all the bugs during the night. I’m getting used to it. I suppose I constantly find myself in-between, which in a way is the way of reality, and which is likely the reason for my fascination with ritual. My dad always says that what we do is exactly what we need. Ritual facilitates the unknown in-between. I have struggled with this place since as long as I can remember, and I am getting good at being there. Ritual provides a structure to being there, to getting one there, to getting one through. So I supposed it makes perfect sense that I want to understand everything I can about it.

But no-one can exist in-between forever, without going crazy that is. Eventually one must exit the ambiguity and forge through the future into the present. This being said, I am looking towards the next move. Though I strive to live in the moment as much as I can, there are a lot of moments here that allow enough time for thinking, and that leads me to what’s next. It is great here, but I already feel as though I have been here forever, and it has only been a little over half of our stay. That means that there is much before us blooming with goodness. Truly, the time here is a luxury, and I am grateful.

I was not so grateful for time this past Saturday. It seemed to drag on forever as we marched through the ritual movements of a Rwandan wedding. Our friend Pascalina just finished the last of 3 wedding celebrations characteristic to tradition. The one we attended was the church one. The day before, we went into Gitirama to rent traditional Rwanda “Fancy clothes.” Then, Saturday, we got up amidst the chaos of many extended family members, and the wedding party, preparing. We had no idea how to get dressed, but we managed to enlist the help of our other friend Genereuse, who dressed us properly. Then there was a lot of down time, in-between the next thing. I was walking around taking pictures, when all of the sudden I found myself in the middle of the procession. It had started suddenly, with the entrance of Mark, Pascalina’s husband, and their shared drinking of milk. They then followed the 3 adorable sharply dressed pairs of kids (girls and boys) out the door, where they passed through the traditional intore dancers who were dressed up, and looked awesome! They then got in the car together, after which we all loaded into mini-bus taxies we had rented. We were stuffed in there to the max. What followed was a loooong ride to Butare. About an hour and a half later we finally arrives at the Butare Cathedral. It resembles a cathedral, kind of. The service that followed was very long, but the choir was unbelievable. Afterwards, we loaded up again, and headed to the national museum...where we stayed for around 45 minutes taking pictures. Then we loaded up again and proceeded to the hotel for the reception. Now don’t think that this was the kind of reception we are used to in America. It wasn’t. There were lots of looong speeches we couldn’t understand, and finally we were served one fanta and one small piece of cake. People came up individually to give gifts. Afterwards, the tradition is to go to the newly married couples new home. That is what we thought we were doing, but its turns out we were wrong. We figured this out when we arrived at a bar after thinking we were lost, only to find out that we would be “taking fantas” while waiting for the others. Apparently, the parents of the bride are not aloud to go. SO, we drank fanta (I tried the new “fiesta” flavor, which was gross), watched the first half of the USA, Ghana game, and starved. Finally those we were waiting on arrived, at which point we crammed back in the vans to head home, except we didn’t head home. We spent the next hour trying to figure out who was supposed to be in what bus. We finally made it home around 12, at which point we ate, and tried to go to bed, but some other visitors that were here insisted on a long drawn out, loud, good-bye to the boys. Ahh, there was sleep at last. And it was good.

Another note on the wedding: The deal is, after Pascalina left the house that day, she will no longer be allowed to spend the night, except for once a year. This explains her somber mood and many tears throughout the day. I know tradition is important, but it is also important to allow traditions enough flexibility to change. It was really a pretty sad thing for her and her brother who said “we will no longer we able to joke around.” I am glad I don’t ever have to do that! She isn’t completely forbidden though, so can visit during the day some. Next week we are going to visit her in Butare!

I have also been a little sick. I say a little because it hasn’t been completely debilitating, but I have not been feeling good. I think I have had a little bit of a flu, but not too bad, and after three or four days, I am finally feeling close to normal.

But don’t think it has been so horrible. This is just the latest big news. There have also been lots of eggs, which we looove, and tell Hadija constantly, who then confirms that we are crazy. She says “all you want is eggs and bread and rice and beans.” This is true, as a result of our effort to avoid potatoes, etc. In addition there have been mangos, tiny ones, that are very difficult and messy to eat, but delicious. We have also gotten a lot of work done, which leads me to...

***Work Update***

This week the boys have been making masks: one of their past self, their future self, and their present self. For our warm-up we have been getting our bodies moving, and energy flowing. This has included patting our legs and telling them thanks for all the good work they have done today. It then includes shaking our entire bodies out in a ridiculous manner. Surprisingly, all the boys, even the oldest ones, have loved it, and we have ended with big smiles and giggles. This is not the first time we have been surprised by the willingness of teenagers here to participate in activities that teens at home would be embarrassed by.

We have also finished many interviews, and now only have 5 boys left, plus anyone else we wish to talk to with a translator. I am excited about this, for we are going to talk to Grandma, who has been around forever, and seen many things.

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Before that though, we will see Gisenyi. This weekend we are going to this beautiful town on lake kivu, bordered by a chain of volcanoes, and accessorized with beaches! Thanks to the suggestion of Mamma McEaddy we are taking a trip and getting away from here for a couple of days. We are both looking forward to it greatly. After that, we have little over a week left, and then we begin our long journey home.