What Happened – Part I

Having to keep secrets makes me less of a writer. 

Staying out late, having to be let into our building by Butter’s smirk and pretend-casual, “So did you have a hot date?  Did you kiss?!” is a level of punishment that I don’t deserve. 

Yes, and no, respectively.

Throwing my newly-washed fit from our fourth-floor drying line was likewise undeserved - although he claimed it was preemptive revenge for the next night, when he had to step out of the shower to let me into our building again.  It’s a good thing friendship is all about keeping score. 

But how do you quantify being invited to help someone purify bidon water using a tea strainer and a small basin?

“But you can see if the water is dirty and not use that one,” I gasped through my giggles.

“Here, you have to do it like this!” he insisted, receiving a particularly bright flash of genius that blinded him to the insanity of holding a tea strainer over a bidon like a toupee in a hurricane. 

Though weak from laughter, I heroically tried to help him, only to have him smack my hands away.

“I’m going to do it with or without your help!” 

It being hoisting a 20L bidon in one arm and pouring it through a tea strainer (held in the other hand) into a shallow basin on the floor while your roommate asphyxiates on the floor beside you. 

The dry season affects us all differently.   

Cooking the bathwater

Even the onset of the rainy season has not seen a change in our power situation – we now have no power from around 3:30pm-9:10pm.  Which is when normal people would be cooking for their families after a day of work or school.  Which is a much better time to have no light or power than during the day, when the sun exists.  Apparently, we used to have a great power schedule because an official from the electricity company used to live in our area.  He’s now moved to a richer part of town, and it seems all the electrons are attracted to him there. 

But I’ve been able to escape the last few weeks of the dry season due to a series of retreats with my church, with our organization’s women, with our team members…  All of which were blessed times of fun and prayer.  Including when a relative of one of my church members explained to me the benefits of Branham’s revelation to the masses and wanted to know how I, personally, specifically, felt about condoms. 

No comment.

…Actually, lots of comments, but only due to Carrottop’s fortifying presence across the table, without which I would have muttered into my potatoes that I was a Christian and that the Bible was kind of cool.

The women’s retreat was much more Biblical and much less awkward – aside from when, you know, I suggested that women also bear some responsibility (not in being harassed or raped, but) in ensuring their and each other’s safety, which involves not being very friendly (headphones and sunglasses are great accessories), not giving their numbers out, not taking unknown phone calls, or not wearing a fake wedding band for the long-term goal of teaching men that sometimes women are just not interested because (surprise!) they are just not interested.  While I know that I am spineless, give out my number on a fairly regular basis, and have a shameful tendency to smile, I also know that by doing these things, I may be encouraging a short, pot-bellied man to think he has a snowball’s chance in hell with me.  Though I am a strong believer in the fact that men should just not be idiots, I also feel that women should not be idiots – I’m equal opportunity that way. 

Thankfully, I also learned about song, love, marriage, and about the beauty and burden of petals and prickles…  But mainly I learned that towns in Rwanda have two names - pre- and post-new world order – and that intonation and clarification are important.

“We should turn now.”

You were just imitating a hibernating bear and now you want to turn left?!

“Um.  Should we turn?”
“Are we going there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

What just happened.  Have I forgotten English again?  I’ll seem so neurotic if I ask them to repeat something they’ve both obviously understood...  I'll show them I can be normal.  I’ll show them all!

I was wrong on many levels. 

Despite knowing that our hotel was on the lake and that we had left the lake far behind, we continued for about a half an hour before stopping to ask for directions.  On the way back, we picked up a couple of our teammates (fresh from a successful celebration of a generous donation of school uniforms for children in an IDP camp) like it was part of our master plan.  Carrottop also accepted responsibility for not telling us about the new town names, even though I’m certain she told us last time and I just totally forgot.  In any case, I have long known and made known the fact that directions mean nothing to me, so I refuse to accept any blame for this whatsoever. 

If I’m in charge of a trip, I will do my best to find out about all directions, papers, stamps, and money at least a day in advance using all the wonderful human resources I have at my disposal (mainly I_TJ females who also feel that not-knowing is like showing up to work on the Starship Enterprise in a red shirt).  This is to, for example, avoid arriving at 1pm to make a presentation that should have taken place at 9am.  To avoid that horrifying flush of embarrassment in standing in front of fifty irritated-but-intrigued community leaders who want to know about biopsychology, but also whether the speaker is a Madame or a Mademoiselle. 

Part II