Gisenyi Day 1 : Mining With Vestine

Last time we were in Gisenyi, we didn’t do the big plunge into the volcanic rock mines, but this time – we were down. The men and women that work in these mines are phenomenal. RA1 had always considered the summer jobs in her homeland (bailing hay on farms) as the hardest jobs on Earth. She was quickly corrected via 90 pound rocks being stacked on heads.

After touring all FOUR of Vestine’s mines (she had bought three more since the last time we had visited!) we went back to her original mine. As we watched the men slinging the hammers and breaking the rocks, we decided that now was the time – seize the day if you will. We headed down to the mine and asked the men if it would be okay if we gave the ol’ hammer a few swings. With a perplexed look, he looked to Clemence (our translator/Girl Friday) to make sure we weren’t losing each other in translation.

Since we were properly armed this time with cameras, enjoy the photographic evidence of our mining prowess.

To The Field We Will Go

Hey faithful readers :)

Your resident Manolos are heading back out into the field this week!! We're excited to see these women that inspired us so much on our last trip. We're looking forward to using heavy hoes in the field, sewing dolls with them and purchasing some of the fabulous things they make. AND we're traveling with a camera this time so you will see so much photographic proof of us in the villages it will make your head spin!!

We'll be a bit limited on the internets, but I'm sure we'll amass a bevy of stories to share with you throughout the week.

xoxo
nic & kaitlyn

Radio Rwanda

Everybody dies famous in a small town - and for a big city Kigali is a very, very small town. Tuesday afternoon our friend Charles called and told us that he has two friends who do a radio program every week, and they needed guests for that evening. Since it interfered with dinner, the highlight of our day, it's a good thing we owe Charles many favors, or we might have said no (Charles is Collin's brother, of Ivuka fame, and pretty much runs everything with iron-clad efficiency). As it was, we said yes, grabbed our fellow volunteer Margaret (MARGE!) and got a very cool inside look at mass communications in the developing world.

The two hosts of the show are women, which we thought was awesome. They do an English-language show called The Melting Pot, which they hope reaches people trying to learn English, but they're pretty sure just reaches people who know them personally. Their show is on a Muslim station, so we were told no swearing and no Jesus. This is a shame, because what ended up happening was that all of us sat around and traded ridiculous stories of things that happened to us due to communication failures and culture differences, and some of our best stories definitely involve Jesus. Nevertheless, we managed to be entertaining enough to get invited back again next week! We will most likely be in the middle of our last trip to Gisinye and unable to take them up on the offer, but luckily, through us, they have tapped a rich reserve of volunteers with many hilarious accounts of our ineptitude. We also got to meet Mark, a friend of theirs who is organizing a genocide awareness march on April 7th, the national day of remembrance. There are going to be marches in Kenya and Uganda as well, and next year, they're hoping to organize one in NYC, which we will totally be attending. Mark actually worked as a radio host for awhile and it definitely showed; he was incredibly professional and lovely to listen to. He also wasn't bad to look at - we suggested he should look into TV. The two ladies also graciously caught us up on some of the music we had missed over the last three months (hello, Wyclef did a new "We Are the World"?! why were we not informed!!), and entertained us by attempting, for what we would discover was the one millionth or so unsuccessful time, to get the call and text-in system at the station to work for them. They also broke some things, like a chair and a set of headphones. Basically, it looked a lot like it would probably look if the Manolos were allowed to run rampant around a radio station with no chaperones - AWESOME.

Newest Little Member of Our Rwandan Family!

Our friend Claudine, whose daughter Sylvie RA2 is sponsoring through school, just had a little daughter, and we had the privilege of meeting her the day after she was born. As we told Claudine, not every little girl comes into the world with two ready-made muzungu aunties! Rwandans don't name their children until they're three weeks old, and the conversation about that went something like this:

Claudine: What are you going to name my daughter?
Manolos: ???? We're not going to name your daughter! YOU'RE going to name your daughter!
Claudine: OK, I will tell you a name, and you can name her that.

Since Claudine's daughter was born on International Women's Day, we did throw out a few appropriate ideas: Hillary (Clinton), Margaret (Thatcher), and Debra and Kelly for our moms.

We've said over and over that the best part about living here for three months has been having the time to form deeper relationships with the people we work with, and there couldn't be a better example of that than the privilege of being here long enough to get to know Claudine, meet her daughter the day after she entered the world, and watch them name her.

It was also really interesting to get a sense of what maternal health looks like here. The baby was born in a clinic, not technically a hospital:


The women have a dorm-style room to recover in afterwards. They bring everything they might need with them, including their own sheets:

Does the look on that baby's face, or it does it not, say "Who the hell are you, and why are you made of the wrong stuff?"

Yes, that IS in fact RA1 EVER SO GENTLY cradling a newborn. They were right - the strangest things happen in Africa:

Beautiful mommy and new baby!

God Bless Marc Jacobs

---Disclaimer: Completely unrelated to anything in our lives dealing with Kigali or Rwanda---

Since we are a blog named after a certain fashion label - I would think us remiss to not even mention the fact that Paris Fashion Week just wrapped. Being in Rwanda where people can barely afford school for their children and a week's worth of food has made me so completely reevaluate my attitudes towards consumerism and materialism - BUT - I will always appreciate fashion. Always it will be the one art form that I understand and love and eat up like chocolate ice cream. Our oft mentioned oasis, Ivuka Arts, is a haven (or harem of beautiful men?) for appreciating art. So I find it completely acceptable to take one teeny, tiny blogpost to discuss my recent appreciation of the Fall 2010 Louis Vuitton Line by Marc Jacobs.

Jacobs pays homage to the time when women's bodies were women's bodies, boobs' cups runethd over and hips actually existed. However, lest we forget that Miuccia Prada was the first to usher in the curvacious in Milan in February - but this was the closing show of Paris fashion week - this is the statement of the year and who better to make any statement than the deliriously talented Marc Jacobs. Here in Rwanda, as we have previously mentioned, being thin is not desired. It often connotates poverty, disease or inability to bear children. So it is with great adoration of Marc, his style and his show (entitled "And God Created Woman") that I proceed.

I'm not sure when I actually ever saw buxom on a runway (Minus the Victoria's Secret fashion show) - particularly on a Paris runway. Buxom counted out many fabulous models from even gracing the Parisian runways; Elle McPherson, Catherine McNeil, Bar Refaeli (and my new favorite model, Cameron Russell). But Jacobs - being the genius he is - put these models front and center in outfits that exentuated their waists and pushed those boobs up and at full attention. It was clearly a throw back to the now famous and infamous days of Mad Men and Revolutionary Road with a twist (leather gloves in earth tones, plaid with patterns, corsetted tops with metallic skirts, etc). And then there was this and this, which I've decided need to be in my closet. They should be there immeadiately. Sooner is better.

He busted out nip-waist jackets that make every woman love her reflection in the mirror, accentuating the natural waist and slimming down any pair of hips. As well as these jackets with puffed sleeves which balance out the line from head to hip. He also had these fabulous long jackets that were remarkably slenderizing (yes, I know they're size 2 models, but you get it).

His knits were superb. I've always thought a sweater can go one of two ways: frumpy or ribbed. Michelle Obama and her cardigans have proven me wrong over the past year and Jacobs takes it to a whole new level. There is a white, knit sweater that he put over a full ballerina skirt that says "Bring it on boardroom!"

Then: the S's - Sleeves and Shoes. Thank you Marc Jacobs for saying goodbye to the spaghetti strap and cutting down on the sleeveless. Thank you for using thick straps and that glorious '50s/'60s décolletage neckline that makes every woman look amazing. Thank you for the trendy little heels the models were wearing. The block heel (which can ACTUALLY be worn off the runway) with the delightful little Parisian bow were a smash and were one of the final touches on an amazing show; to be upstaged only by the following...

The bags. Oh darling, the bags. The LV Speedy bag was at its heyday in the '30s and Jacobs is bringing it back with his own flair. Jacobs has a knack for making the most glorious bags on the market and with LV's precision and recognizable shapes - we were bound for a masterpiece. Some were covered in fur, some were sequined, some were metallic and all were fabulous.

So from one of the world's curvy girls, thank you Marc Jacobs. Thank you for making a fabulous show of looks that remind us all what fashion is: fashion is putting on the outside what you're feeling on the inside. And believe me: Ladies, we're feelin' fabulous!!

xoxo
nic

How I Fell In Love In Rwanda

I’m sure some of you saw the title of the post and thought – “Whaaaaaat?” This is not a love letter and its not a confession of elicit romances set to the tune of a blog post. It is a thank you. A thank you to a certain someone(s) that make each day here in Kigali remarkable. A thank you to the children that took my Grinch-like heart (towards children) and made it grow 'three sizes larger.'

Thoughtful friends of mine will surely be picking their chins up off their desks at this precise moment. I have never lied about my… shall I say indifference – I feel aversion would be too strong – towards children of all ages. I specifically signed up for a program that involved adults and not children here in Rwanda. On my first day in the country (after a serious lack of caffeine, my first day of malaria pills AND 72 hours with no sleep) I was introduced to a large contingent of children who I was told “will be your kids!” I was horrified. Who were these children? Why would they be mine? What exactly would I be doing with them? WHERE WERE THE WOMEN?!

It was similar to dating, those first few weeks. I never knew what the next day would bring; I would make plans that were often sidelined; I was interrupted; I was misunderstood; some days were amazing, others made me want to eat glass. Ok – so it was like dating in DC, not the rest of the world. After a month of basically tolerating each other, the children and I came to a good place: they went back to school and I didn’t have to teach them everyday. This would be what we would refer to as the “honeymoon phase” in a relationship. We were happily rolling through tutoring sessions, they were teaching me how to teach them in Kinyarwandan (I learned words like “Listen” “Write” “Sit” “What is this?”) and dance lessons were also included.

After six weeks – it was official. I had fallen in love with my kids. I knew all of them by name (highly useful when needing to tell them to stop hitting each other or when needing one of them to translate) and they all knew my capacity to speak their language. I wasn’t under the stress of developing lesson plans, so I was able to enjoy being with the kids and doing their homework with them. Kaitlyn was able to turn a Marie Claire into a reading comprehension project with our older kids and I was able to fully realize my grasp on middle school math. The kids helped me learn how to explain things in Kinyarwandan, taught me new words and new traditional dance moves – in exchange I provided them with the opportunity to master things like: The Electric Slide, Musical Chairs, The Chicken Dance and geometry (clearly listed in order of importance).

So, this letter is to you my dear, dear children of our little school house. Thank you Pauline for always comprehending what I’m saying and translating what I say to younger students. Thank you Jean de Dieu for that one time you wrote an entire multiplication table on your leg because I forgot to give you scrap paper. Thank you Redempta for loving your name and always saying it in a way that sounds like “Re-Dumpt-A.” Thank you Olivera for looking like a chipmunk and clicking your tongue in a way that actually sounds like a chipmunk too. Thank you Sandrine for being the smartest little girl I have ever met and for always letting me hug you every time you walk in the door. Thank you Adison for being 5 and for all the things that make you awesome like every time I say “Go home” you say “NO!” but then leave anyway. Thank you for loving high fives and making them an acceptable form of reward for a job well done. Thank you for playing with our hair when we've ran out of things to do in class. Thank you for singing Meddy at the top of your lungs in the bus on our field trip.

When I think about all the things I will miss about Kigali and Rwanda, these children are at the top of the list. They dominate the list actually. I don’t know many children under the age of 12 that I like that much – but these kids I want to put them ALL in my luggage and bring them home with me. I want them to be a solid presence in my life everyday. As I stare down the barrel of 4 weeks left with these amazing kids, every day is special and every day with them I’ve begun to appreciate more than they know. I figure they all probably think I’m crazy when I hug them a little longer than usual nowadays – but hey, what is love if there isn’t someone clinging on til the last moment?


Sincerely,

nicole

Getting A Leetle Overinvolved

It's a gorgeous, bright, sunny morning in Kigali, which was preceded by a heaven-sent, beautiful and sunny week. The rainy season came early (CLIMATE CHANGE IS REAL, FOX NEWS) and we haven't been able to walk anywhere without being at the very least armed with an umbrella since about mid-February, so this has been a truly delightful change. Yesterday your RAs took a trip to the Mille Colline (yes, the Mille Colline, of Hotel Rwanda fame) and sat by the pool for the day. Laying out by the pool is a huge treat here, because it runs anywhere from $6 to the more expensive $10 required by the Mille, but we won ourselves a solid Best Teachers Ever award this week, and we decided to splurge. Even our 60 and 70 SPF couldn't quite stand up to the beast that is the ultraviolet light this close to the equator, and we're both spending the day nursing hard-won sunburns, but it was a glorious way to spend a Saturday. We had two laid-back, quiet hours and then another two full of screaming, splashing children, one of whom ran up to RA2 STARK NAKED and made a grab for her ipod while RA1 looked on, cackling, offering exactly zero help or emotional support.

Since neither of us even want to think about it, this will probably be the last mention of it in this blog, but we are 2/3 of the way through our time here, and staring down the one-month gun barrel. We have squeezed more action into 2 months than seems possible: giraffes, endless trips to the studio, dancing, karaoke, Primus, two trips to Gisinye, tye-dye, English classes, basket-weaving, Primus, a day by the pool, brochettes, Indian food, Chinese food, Primus, shopping, the bus system, and constant new adventures and discoveries, and we have every expectation that the last month here will hold the same.

As we've mentioned, being here for so long has enabled us to create amazing connections with the women and children we work with, and we've gotten particularly close with Claudine's family. Claudine recently gave birth to a baby girl, and both RAs were declared "muzungu Aunties" - we hope to put up pictures of our visit to her at the hospital soon. RA2 also decided to sponsor her first daughter, Sylvie, through school. Sylvie is in the rare and enviable position of having a mother who is very dedicated to and excited about her education, and a father without any inclination to interfere. The only thing she needed were school fees and money for all the incidentals Rwandan "free" public schooling requires: one or two uniforms, a notebook, a pencil, a backpack, a canteen, and a roll of toilet paper (we have no idea, we didn't ask). The cost is prohibitive for most Rwandan families, who largely rely on donors and foundations to scrape by each year, but comes out to just $80 a year for pre-school and about $200-$400 a year for primary and secondary school. University, if a student gets accepted, is only about $500 per semester, at two semesters a year.

Clockwise from top: Claudine, Sylvie's new principal, RA2 and Sylvie, registering for school.

Sylvie, her serious little face, and her new school equipment, which she refused to take off.

Sylvie and her beautiful mother, all set for school.