July 19
We have done three days of interviews so far, and it’s been really interesting. Things have gone surprisingly well, after one of our translators evaporated the day before interviews began. We have reached our target number of interviews every day, and we got to the field on time! (The leaving on time thing may not seem like an accomplishment, but we are on “African standard time” here, which means that everything is late, even scheduled bus departures.) It’s interesting to realize that things we never thought would be cultural hurdles are actually posing lots of problems. For example, when we wrote the questionnaire and translated it, we checked with the Rwandese at work to make sure that none of the questions were culturally inappropriate. We have some about family planning, and we weren’t sure if it would make people uncomfortable. There are also questions that ask about the clients’ interactions with spouse/extended family, but those are touchy also because so many people lost their whole family during genocide. So, we fixed those problems, found ways to ask what we wanted to without being insensitive, but it never occurred to us to ask about the form of the questionnaire itself. It turns out that questionnaires like this are a very western concept, and the multiple choice questions are really difficult for people to understand. Who knew? One the questions that really throws people is this:
Describe your ability to meet your family’s food needs:
a) I am able to provide all the food my family needs, and it is not a concern.
b) I am able to provide all the food my family, needs, but I wish I could buy more food.
c) I am not able to provide all the food my family needs, and I sometimes worry about this.
d) I am not able to provide all the food my family needs, and I worry about this all the time.
It seemed straightforward to us, and it doesn’t even have a western bias because it asks about needs being met, not a number of meals per day or how often they eat protein, so we thought it was a pretty great question. But, it takes about 5 minutes to explain every time we do an interview. Dinah, my translator and fellow intern, tried valiantly yesterday, but we were in a poor, rural, uneducated area, and there was only one woman who seemed to really know what she was answering. The rest of them eventually said something, but Dinah thought they were just saying it so she would move on. The funniest part about it is that we are so embarrassed that we’re asking questions that are hard to understand, but the Rwandese interpreters are like, “Well, these people are just really ignorant, so we’ll do our best but sometimes they just don’t get it.” The other thing that’s hard to get at is anything that deals with the time-space continuum. The section at the beginning that deals with background info asks things like how long have you been a client, how many loan cycles have you been through, etc. People just say they don’t know, or they say it has been very many, but they don’t know how many. The only ones who are really sure about it are people who joined right after genocide, in 1997. And many of our questions are before and after scenarios, like the food one above has a part B that asks them to describe the differences in their situation before and after receiving a loan. Today was better, though, because we were in Kigali city, and the people who are in town are generally more educated. Must run, dinner is on.
Friday, July 20, 2007
One more stamp in the passport
July 16
This weekend was definitely one of the more interesting ones of my life: Janine, Sarah, Pierre and I went to Congo, and survived. There is a town on Lake Kivu, Gisenyi, that is near the DRC border. So close, actually, that we walked there from our hotel. So, we spent the day in Goma, DRC. It was interesting, but not at all like I thought it would be. It is immediately different, as soon as you get out of the border agent’s office. It was much dirtier, filthy actually, and not green at all. Which is weird, because it’s right on Kivu so it should have vegetation, but it’s gray and black. The UN headquarters blocks off the view of the lake (way to snap up all the cheap beachfront, UN!) so you can’t even see the water from downtown, and all the streets are ruined because a few years ago there was a volcanic eruption and it covered the city in magma. They speak different languages there, and the fashion is much different (apparently Congo is like the fashion capital of central/East Africa) but it was mostly that is just felt different.
Rwanda is an extremely optimistic country: Everyone is going to school and the politicians are constantly pushing for progress and reminding the Rwandese people of how far they have come since genocide. But there was definitely no optimism in Goma. It makes sense, of course, because the war in Congo has dragged on for so long, and has caused more deaths than any other war in the last few decades (I think, but don’t quote me on that). Because of its location Goma hasn’t really been ravaged, unlike the rest of the eastern border, which has been hit the hardest. The poverty was much worse than anything I’ve seen in Rwanda, every building was practically covered in razor wire, and there were AK-47s everywhere. It was definitely not as dangerous as I thought it would be, but the Rwandese border agent gave us a thorough talking-to before we crossed, and we followed his do and don’t list to the letter. We also went back early, to avoid the “roving gangs” that appear after dark, according to Lonely Planet and the State Department. [Note on the roving gangs: Our Swiss friend Pierre thought we kept saying roaming gays, and he couldn’t figure out what we meant for a long time, until he asked about the roaming gays, at which point we laughed for a long time, then immediately began making fun of him, which we will continue doing for some time.] And here’s a phrase I never thought I’d say: “Keep track of time, you guys, because we need to be safe in Rwanda by 6:30.” But when we got back across the border, I really did feel safe and sound. Rwanda is now really secure, but it was just funny to hear myself refer to it as a haven. On the whole, not a happy place, but very interesting for a visit. Plus, we found a place called the VIP Palace, and discovered a pretty good Congolese beer called Turbo King, which is definitely an awesome name for a beer.
That night we ate dinner at a hotel, swam in their pool, and froze to death (almost) afterward. It turns out that Africa, especially at the equator, is not necessarily warm. The waitress brought us a clay pot full of hot coals, and we huddled around it trying to get warm, but were forced eventually to resort to alcohol, which was much more effective. Sunday we went to the Serena hotel, which is one of the most amazing places I’ve ever seen, and used their private beach. It is such a beautiful place, on par with the amazing beaches in Malaysia. The lake is huge and has waves like the ocean, and they have big blue and white striped umbrellas in the sand, it looks like paradise. Then we had a good lunch, I met a guy from Portland (such a small world), and we came home. We laughed so much this weekend, my cheeks hurt by the end. It felt really good to relax because my work situation has been a bit tense, and I really needed to be away in an environment where I don’t have to censor myself so much.
We (the interns) are really trying to make Rwandese friends that we can hang out with outside of work, but it is hard! We’ve been invited to a couple social things, but they are always at church, and with prayers multiple times a day and church at least twice a week already, I am a bit hesitant to use my free time doing that. But there has been a good development on that front: We found a girl at work who definitely knows about Kigali nightlife. Plus, she’s really nice and super interesting, so she has now become our lifeline.
There are some things about home life that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while. Namely, that I am now allowed to help make dinner, and it’s really fun. I have discovered that Francois, the house boy, actually does understand a bit of French, which he has hidden up to now. So, we can talk a little, which is great, and the dinner prep takes forever so allows for some quality bonding time. And many laughs, of course, since I don’t know how to do anything. Today I came home right after work, which I don’t always do, and hung out with Neema’s cousin. We shared a mango and it was great. I am not super comfortable in situations where I can’t talk with people, since I like to talk so much, but I am learning that it’s kind of okay for me to say things in English that people don’t understand, and for them to say things in kinyarwanda that I don’t get either. But the mango was a good conversation substitute, and it was a good evening. There is lots of time to kill because we eat dinner so late, and since it has hit me that I don’t have very much time left here, I am determined to take advantage of the family time. I think tonight I will go ask if I can sing with the girls before bed. Neema, her sisters, and her cousin sing to the baby before they go to bed, and I always hear it a want to go too, but I feel awkward about it for some reason. But tonight, I think it’s time. It is tempting to pack my days full of things, but I know that if I do that, I will be sad after I leave that I didn’t invest more time with my family.
I just found out that Francois left to work for the family next door, and that Claude, Daniel and Neema’s previous houseboy, asked to come back to work for them. Being here makes me re-think my position on child labor all the time. I remember going to a lecture last year about child labor, and the professor who gave the talk was trying to make the point that legislation declaring child labor illegal is a bad idea because it addresses a symptom and not a root cause of poverty. So many people got up in arms, accusing him of being pro-child labor, but the point he made is totally valid. Prohibition was a perfect example of how useless laws can be, and how they can even worsen the behavior they are trying to prevent, if the society does not foster an environment that supports those laws. And I see that here daily: the cost of going to school is high, even though there are technically no “fees” for primary school, so for many kids it’s simply not an option. If they are already home, what do you want them to do? Nothing? Often, if one child stays home to work, they family is then able to send another to school because of the extra income. If there is a kid who may have a shot at a university scholarship, it could be considered wise for a sibling to work in order to assure that kid a chance. Especially because educated people who get good jobs often support many family members. Daniel takes care of his mom, a sibling or two, and several children, in addition to Neema’s sisters who live with us. It is obviously not the best-case scenario, but in order to get kids to go to school, laws will not be effective. They need to be able to afford it, which means not only lowering the costs but improving the ability of individuals to pay for that schooling. Also, there needs to be an environment in the country that values education and rewards people who invest in it. There is so much unemployment, and a shortage of jobs that require educated people, so in an environment where education doesn’t have a return on investment, why would you go to school?
Being allowed to help more at home is great not just because of the bonding but because I get more say in things, too. There isn’t a lot that is hard to adjust to as far as food stuff goes, except breakfast. No one eats much in the mornings, but I almost can’t make it to work without food. But peanut butter is saving me, and now I feel comfortable enough that I can get my own breakfast in the morning. But the other night, dinner presented a challenge. Luckily, the food here is pretty good (if unvaried) and there has been very little that I didn’t like. But a couple days ago, there was a dish with small eggplants, which are okay generally when mixed with rice or bananas, but they’re really bitter. Only this time, they were mixed with tiny dried fish. Since most of the time we have just one dish and rice or potatoes to go with it, you can’t just take a little bit of the thing you don’t like. I had a hard time getting it all down, but if that's the worst thing I have to eat, we're doing pretty well.
And as long as we’re on the topic of social faux pas, I made a huge one today: We are going tomorrow to Rwamagana tomorrow to interview clients, and this morning we had a huge meeting to discuss everything and nail down some last-minute details. We tentatively set a meeting time for tomorrow morning, but we needed to buy the bus tickets and confirm that meeting time this afternoon. The woman who said she would do it is the director of client training, so we said we’d be in contact later in the day to confirm everything. In the afternoon I went down to see ******* (not naming people), so he could call her and confirm for tomorrow. He is the person that I see most frequently at work, and he’s nice in his way and really tries to help us, but he is really frustrating to work with and his personality is just weird. He really creeped me out at first, and made some really inappropriate comments, but later I realized that they were not malicious, they just came off much more intense than he meant them to (I think…) And it’s hard to communicate with him because he is much more comfortable in French than in English, but he always wants to speak in English anyway, so conversations move at a glacial pace. I would be happy to speak English because I know it’s good practice for him, but in some business conversations there is no room for misunderstanding, and we should really pick the language that best suits everyone. Anyway, so I went to ask him to call about the bus tickets and meeting time. He called, and I thought he would just ask her, but instead he put me on the phone. I was surprised, not expecting him to hand it to me, and so didn’t know what to say, and just repeated the question. She answered me (we’re speaking in French) but I couldn’t really understand what she was saying. Her French is good in person, but she has a really strong accent so without gestures and lips to read, I was pretty lost. So I asked her to repeat, and I think she didn’t really understand me either, so I just asked her to hold on one minute. I handed the phone to ********, and asked him to speak with her (since they have a first language in common) but before I could stop him, he hung up the phone. So then I explained that she had still been on the line, that I just needed him to talk with her because I was having trouble hearing. I asked him to call her right back and apologize. But he just kept asking me questions about the interviews while I stand there freaking a bit because I’ve just hung up on someone, and he wouldn’t just call her back and say sorry. He eventually did, but I still feel really bad. I’m not sure how bad that is in Rwandan culture, but people are overly polite here and definitely don’t cut people off when they’re talking or anything. So I hope it’s okay tomorrow, but I felt horrible and helpless.
This weekend was definitely one of the more interesting ones of my life: Janine, Sarah, Pierre and I went to Congo, and survived. There is a town on Lake Kivu, Gisenyi, that is near the DRC border. So close, actually, that we walked there from our hotel. So, we spent the day in Goma, DRC. It was interesting, but not at all like I thought it would be. It is immediately different, as soon as you get out of the border agent’s office. It was much dirtier, filthy actually, and not green at all. Which is weird, because it’s right on Kivu so it should have vegetation, but it’s gray and black. The UN headquarters blocks off the view of the lake (way to snap up all the cheap beachfront, UN!) so you can’t even see the water from downtown, and all the streets are ruined because a few years ago there was a volcanic eruption and it covered the city in magma. They speak different languages there, and the fashion is much different (apparently Congo is like the fashion capital of central/East Africa) but it was mostly that is just felt different.
Rwanda is an extremely optimistic country: Everyone is going to school and the politicians are constantly pushing for progress and reminding the Rwandese people of how far they have come since genocide. But there was definitely no optimism in Goma. It makes sense, of course, because the war in Congo has dragged on for so long, and has caused more deaths than any other war in the last few decades (I think, but don’t quote me on that). Because of its location Goma hasn’t really been ravaged, unlike the rest of the eastern border, which has been hit the hardest. The poverty was much worse than anything I’ve seen in Rwanda, every building was practically covered in razor wire, and there were AK-47s everywhere. It was definitely not as dangerous as I thought it would be, but the Rwandese border agent gave us a thorough talking-to before we crossed, and we followed his do and don’t list to the letter. We also went back early, to avoid the “roving gangs” that appear after dark, according to Lonely Planet and the State Department. [Note on the roving gangs: Our Swiss friend Pierre thought we kept saying roaming gays, and he couldn’t figure out what we meant for a long time, until he asked about the roaming gays, at which point we laughed for a long time, then immediately began making fun of him, which we will continue doing for some time.] And here’s a phrase I never thought I’d say: “Keep track of time, you guys, because we need to be safe in Rwanda by 6:30.” But when we got back across the border, I really did feel safe and sound. Rwanda is now really secure, but it was just funny to hear myself refer to it as a haven. On the whole, not a happy place, but very interesting for a visit. Plus, we found a place called the VIP Palace, and discovered a pretty good Congolese beer called Turbo King, which is definitely an awesome name for a beer.
That night we ate dinner at a hotel, swam in their pool, and froze to death (almost) afterward. It turns out that Africa, especially at the equator, is not necessarily warm. The waitress brought us a clay pot full of hot coals, and we huddled around it trying to get warm, but were forced eventually to resort to alcohol, which was much more effective. Sunday we went to the Serena hotel, which is one of the most amazing places I’ve ever seen, and used their private beach. It is such a beautiful place, on par with the amazing beaches in Malaysia. The lake is huge and has waves like the ocean, and they have big blue and white striped umbrellas in the sand, it looks like paradise. Then we had a good lunch, I met a guy from Portland (such a small world), and we came home. We laughed so much this weekend, my cheeks hurt by the end. It felt really good to relax because my work situation has been a bit tense, and I really needed to be away in an environment where I don’t have to censor myself so much.
We (the interns) are really trying to make Rwandese friends that we can hang out with outside of work, but it is hard! We’ve been invited to a couple social things, but they are always at church, and with prayers multiple times a day and church at least twice a week already, I am a bit hesitant to use my free time doing that. But there has been a good development on that front: We found a girl at work who definitely knows about Kigali nightlife. Plus, she’s really nice and super interesting, so she has now become our lifeline.
There are some things about home life that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while. Namely, that I am now allowed to help make dinner, and it’s really fun. I have discovered that Francois, the house boy, actually does understand a bit of French, which he has hidden up to now. So, we can talk a little, which is great, and the dinner prep takes forever so allows for some quality bonding time. And many laughs, of course, since I don’t know how to do anything. Today I came home right after work, which I don’t always do, and hung out with Neema’s cousin. We shared a mango and it was great. I am not super comfortable in situations where I can’t talk with people, since I like to talk so much, but I am learning that it’s kind of okay for me to say things in English that people don’t understand, and for them to say things in kinyarwanda that I don’t get either. But the mango was a good conversation substitute, and it was a good evening. There is lots of time to kill because we eat dinner so late, and since it has hit me that I don’t have very much time left here, I am determined to take advantage of the family time. I think tonight I will go ask if I can sing with the girls before bed. Neema, her sisters, and her cousin sing to the baby before they go to bed, and I always hear it a want to go too, but I feel awkward about it for some reason. But tonight, I think it’s time. It is tempting to pack my days full of things, but I know that if I do that, I will be sad after I leave that I didn’t invest more time with my family.
I just found out that Francois left to work for the family next door, and that Claude, Daniel and Neema’s previous houseboy, asked to come back to work for them. Being here makes me re-think my position on child labor all the time. I remember going to a lecture last year about child labor, and the professor who gave the talk was trying to make the point that legislation declaring child labor illegal is a bad idea because it addresses a symptom and not a root cause of poverty. So many people got up in arms, accusing him of being pro-child labor, but the point he made is totally valid. Prohibition was a perfect example of how useless laws can be, and how they can even worsen the behavior they are trying to prevent, if the society does not foster an environment that supports those laws. And I see that here daily: the cost of going to school is high, even though there are technically no “fees” for primary school, so for many kids it’s simply not an option. If they are already home, what do you want them to do? Nothing? Often, if one child stays home to work, they family is then able to send another to school because of the extra income. If there is a kid who may have a shot at a university scholarship, it could be considered wise for a sibling to work in order to assure that kid a chance. Especially because educated people who get good jobs often support many family members. Daniel takes care of his mom, a sibling or two, and several children, in addition to Neema’s sisters who live with us. It is obviously not the best-case scenario, but in order to get kids to go to school, laws will not be effective. They need to be able to afford it, which means not only lowering the costs but improving the ability of individuals to pay for that schooling. Also, there needs to be an environment in the country that values education and rewards people who invest in it. There is so much unemployment, and a shortage of jobs that require educated people, so in an environment where education doesn’t have a return on investment, why would you go to school?
Being allowed to help more at home is great not just because of the bonding but because I get more say in things, too. There isn’t a lot that is hard to adjust to as far as food stuff goes, except breakfast. No one eats much in the mornings, but I almost can’t make it to work without food. But peanut butter is saving me, and now I feel comfortable enough that I can get my own breakfast in the morning. But the other night, dinner presented a challenge. Luckily, the food here is pretty good (if unvaried) and there has been very little that I didn’t like. But a couple days ago, there was a dish with small eggplants, which are okay generally when mixed with rice or bananas, but they’re really bitter. Only this time, they were mixed with tiny dried fish. Since most of the time we have just one dish and rice or potatoes to go with it, you can’t just take a little bit of the thing you don’t like. I had a hard time getting it all down, but if that's the worst thing I have to eat, we're doing pretty well.
And as long as we’re on the topic of social faux pas, I made a huge one today: We are going tomorrow to Rwamagana tomorrow to interview clients, and this morning we had a huge meeting to discuss everything and nail down some last-minute details. We tentatively set a meeting time for tomorrow morning, but we needed to buy the bus tickets and confirm that meeting time this afternoon. The woman who said she would do it is the director of client training, so we said we’d be in contact later in the day to confirm everything. In the afternoon I went down to see ******* (not naming people), so he could call her and confirm for tomorrow. He is the person that I see most frequently at work, and he’s nice in his way and really tries to help us, but he is really frustrating to work with and his personality is just weird. He really creeped me out at first, and made some really inappropriate comments, but later I realized that they were not malicious, they just came off much more intense than he meant them to (I think…) And it’s hard to communicate with him because he is much more comfortable in French than in English, but he always wants to speak in English anyway, so conversations move at a glacial pace. I would be happy to speak English because I know it’s good practice for him, but in some business conversations there is no room for misunderstanding, and we should really pick the language that best suits everyone. Anyway, so I went to ask him to call about the bus tickets and meeting time. He called, and I thought he would just ask her, but instead he put me on the phone. I was surprised, not expecting him to hand it to me, and so didn’t know what to say, and just repeated the question. She answered me (we’re speaking in French) but I couldn’t really understand what she was saying. Her French is good in person, but she has a really strong accent so without gestures and lips to read, I was pretty lost. So I asked her to repeat, and I think she didn’t really understand me either, so I just asked her to hold on one minute. I handed the phone to ********, and asked him to speak with her (since they have a first language in common) but before I could stop him, he hung up the phone. So then I explained that she had still been on the line, that I just needed him to talk with her because I was having trouble hearing. I asked him to call her right back and apologize. But he just kept asking me questions about the interviews while I stand there freaking a bit because I’ve just hung up on someone, and he wouldn’t just call her back and say sorry. He eventually did, but I still feel really bad. I’m not sure how bad that is in Rwandan culture, but people are overly polite here and definitely don’t cut people off when they’re talking or anything. So I hope it’s okay tomorrow, but I felt horrible and helpless.
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