I suppose it wasn't in the best taste to post an article about war in the area and then neither post nor respond to comments for a couple weeks. In my defense, the internet, nationally, has been terrible of late. There is only one internet company in Rwanda, Rwandatel, so when its slow or changes its servers or its http address or whatever, it affects everyone. Its not unlike my nemesis of cable television, Comcast. Hard to say which one infuriates me more. Actually, no its not. Comcast, definitely comcast. Anyway I am fine. In fact, the only news I hear about the conflict in the Congo is if I look on international news sources. The government here isnt exactly open about anything having to do with the genocide, existing genocidairres, or any possible involvement they may have with conflict in neighboring regions. But everything in this region is tied up together, so I would be very very surprised if Rwanda wasnt involved somehow.
In other news, one of President Paul Kagame's top aides was arrested upon her arrival in Germany yesterday upon her arrival to prepare the President's visit. Apparently, the French issued an order for her arrest in 2006 for her suspected role in the assassination of former president Habyiramana, whose death facilitated the genocide in 1994. No one has ever been able to uncover evidence about who actually shot down the Habyiramna's plane and in fact there is just as much speculation that then-government officials did it as there is that rebels did. Kabuye's arrest comes a few weeks after a report issued by the Rwandan government that heavily implicates the French in the genocide and a few weeks after Kagame declared that the only official language of Rwanda will be English beginning in 2010, no longer French and English. It is an interesting coincidence that this arrest comes so soon after these announcements. I cant help but feel like France is being the bully of the schoolyard. It got shamed and now its taking it out in a petty and vindictive way. Only these actions have the potential to seriously undermine both Rwanda's stability and the French government's credibility. I guess bullies dont think too much about that...
Here are two links to the story if you want to read an actual journalists reporting...
http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/11/10/germany.rwanda/?iref=mpstoryview
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2008-11-10-voa2.cfm
Despite this news, please dont worry about my safety. Kigali remains peaceful and orderly, as it has for the past decade. In fact, another reason I have not posted recently is I have not really had anything to talk about. My days are as routine and quiet as they are at home, probably more so. Other than Obama's election there has not been anything particularly exciting happening. That was amazing though. For the first time in eight years, and maybe for some time before that, I am proud to identify myself as American. Of course, there are still problems with the US and there is a good chance that Obama will not be able to deliver on his promises but he represents at least the possibility of change, the possibility of hope. Even here, his election has energized people. After CNN predicted his win, everyone in the restaurant that I was at all night started hugging and crying. Perfect strangers were clinging to each other. He delivered his speech just as the sun came up and all of us were were quiet, listening to him accept the nomination. As we left, all of the Rwandans that we met on the street were enthusiastic about his win. People were shouting and giving the thumbs up sign as we drove home
Monday, November 10, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
New York Times article
Congo City Is Calmer After Night of Violence
GOMA, Congo — At dawn on Thursday, the United Nations trucks began to move. A convoy of desperately needed supplies was finally entering this besieged town.
The rattle of gunfire was remarkably absent for the first time in days. United Nations peacekeepers were patrolling the streets.
The crisis seemed to be easing.
The rebels who have encircled this strategic town in eastern Congo, casting this region into a vortex of violence and uncertainty once again, seemed to be respecting the unilateral truce they declared on Wednesday night.
“Today there has been no fighting,” said Lt. Col. Samba Tall, a commander for the United Nations peacekeepers in Congo. “All belligerents are abiding by the cease-fire.”
Government soldiers who had fled the advancing rebels on Wednesday night, trudged back into town, with guns slung over their shoulders and sleeping rolls balanced on their heads. They looked exhausted. But they talked tough.
“We’re in control now,” said one of the Congolese soldiers, Col. Jonas Padiri.
Perhaps. But few people here trust them. On Wednesday night, in the security vacuum that opened up with the rebels marching toward town and the Congolese army fleeing in droves, rogue government soldiers turned on the people of Goma. The blood-soaked results were literally on display Thursday morning.
The body of a 17-year-old boy named Merci lay on a mattress, his hands folded carefully in front of him, his nostrils plugged with cotton.
His relatives said that a gang of uniformed government soldiers burst into Merci’s house at 10 p.m. on Wednesday and ordered Merci at gunpoint to load all the things in the house — rice, clothes, pots, pans, blankets — into the soldiers’ truck. After he complied, the soldiers shot him in the back.
Next door, two dead women, also victimized by rogue soldiers, according to residents, lay in a room packed with people. The whole neighborhood was pressed around the bodies. Nobody had any answers.
“They didn’t resist,” said Alan Bulondo, a relative. “They gave up their money. There was no point.”
Congolese soldiers are infamous for training their guns on civilians and fleeing at the first sign of a real threat. The looting, pillaging, raping and killing seems to happen every time a city switches hands.
United Nations officials said they were negotiating intensely on Thursday with government commanders and the rebels’ leader, Laurent Nkunda, to solidify the cease-fire. On Wednesday, Mr. Nkunda had declared the cease-fire, saying he did not want to spread more fear in Goma.
Mr. Nkunda, a renegade Congolese general, has said he is waging war to protect the Tutsi people. Congolese officials accuse him of being a front man for neighboring Rwanda, which is led by Tutsi, and say that Mr. Nkunda is trying to carve out a buffer zone between Congo and Rwanda. Rwandan officials deny this and on Thursday there were high level talks between the two countries.
One of the biggest concerns now is the hundreds of thousands of people who have been displaced by all the fighting. Many of them are sleeping in the rain, with no food and gravely ill children. So far, aid workers have been unable to reach them.
But on Thursday, for the first time in more than a week, the fighting in the hills around here stopped and aid officials were hopeful they could resume operations soon.
“Things are still volatile,” said Ivo Brandau, a United Nations spokesman in Kinshasa, Congo’s capital, in the west of the country. “But it’s calmer today than it has been. The situation is improving.”
Goma is an important staging ground for United Nations aid efforts in the region that are keeping millions alive. The United Nations also has its largest peacekeeping mission in Congo, with 17,000 troops with tanks and helicopter gunships. But United Nations officials have said it is not necessarily their job to repel the rebels.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Media and the expat
In the US, I rarely, if ever pick up the newspaper. For the last two years, that would have been the Atlanta Journal Constitution, a mix of conservative ranting and furniture ads, so I forgive myself for that. But because I am a reading junkie, something picked up from my Dad, I did find myself reading other "legitimate" news sources; US Weekly, People, and occasionally People Style. This was my attempt to stay current on the news that somehow seemed relevant to my life, a testament to both the quality of US journalism in general and my own narrow view of what I think of as relevant. So I find it interesting, that now, living in a country almost half a world away from the US, I read not just one, but several newspapers everyday. The New York Times online is my morning read, then the New Yorker, and inevitably I click my way to a range of other news sources and blogs, finding myself just yesterday in the National Review, which was for me, a new foray into conservative journalism. I'm not sure why I think this is strange. I guess because the reason I left the US was to get away from it and now I find myself tracking developments religiously. Perhaps I do this because now I get to pick and choose what parts of American culture I want to surround myself with. I dont have to hear about the President's latest fiasco or Brangelina's newest family member unless I want to. I can read about why Obama is better equipped to be the President than John McCain or pick and choose articles highlighting Palin's many, many weaknesses. I dont need to hear about the girl that was abducted or the latest doping scandal. The parts of the news that are so often highlighted in evening news or mainstream media, the parts of the news that are basically why I stopped watching the news or reading the newspapers, are blessedly missing from my life. I am not bombarded with newspapers, magazines, black and white pictures and fantastic headlines. I have to look for what I want to read and even though its more work, I definitely find it more rewarding. Its as though by leaving the US and choosing to keep up-to-date with only specific things, I get to recreate my own country, free of sensationalism and abounding with intelligent commentary. I suppose its dangerous since I have to come back some day, but for now, I enjoy the superpower I have created.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Weekends
I think that one of the best things about travel is that really everything is pretty much the same, its just a little different and the little differences are what makes everything so entertaining. For example, in the US, the night traditionally ends around 2. The bars close, there arent generally too many after hours clubs, you go home and get sleep. Here, the clubs dont start going until 2. On Friday night, Kate, one of my roommates, and I stayed out dancing until, well Im not sure exactly but I think probably 3 or 4. And then on Saturday night, we were understandably quite tired. So we told our friend Sylvia that we were going to go to bed early, we wanted to be home by 1:30. She was shocked that anyone would go home at such an early hour. If you make a commitment to going out here, then you are in it for the long haul.
So with all intentions to go home early, we went to dinner, then to a house party where some guys had brewed some home made banana wine (it was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever had but then I was also drinking Waragi, which is a Ugandan liquor that basically burns your taste buds off so maybe it tasted better (or worse) than I thought), and then to a club. And when Marta, my other roommate, and I got home to my extreme shock, the sun was coming up. Really, i could not believe it. Again, at home, I would not be able to stay up all night. I think the last time I did that was when I caught my flight here so that I would be sufficiently sleep deprived to sleep on the plane. But here, its standard practice. And I mean standard. And in the morning, instead of sleeping in, our friend woke us up to go to church. We didnt go of course, but he did. Along with everyone that had been out until 5 in the morning. Its just a little different...
But here are a couple of pictures...
Marta and Sylvia before the trouble started...
Roomies!
ahhh look how cute we are
Omundi (who woke us to go to church) and Teta, who i think may be the most beautiful woman in the world
Yep... that happened
So with all intentions to go home early, we went to dinner, then to a house party where some guys had brewed some home made banana wine (it was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever had but then I was also drinking Waragi, which is a Ugandan liquor that basically burns your taste buds off so maybe it tasted better (or worse) than I thought), and then to a club. And when Marta, my other roommate, and I got home to my extreme shock, the sun was coming up. Really, i could not believe it. Again, at home, I would not be able to stay up all night. I think the last time I did that was when I caught my flight here so that I would be sufficiently sleep deprived to sleep on the plane. But here, its standard practice. And I mean standard. And in the morning, instead of sleeping in, our friend woke us up to go to church. We didnt go of course, but he did. Along with everyone that had been out until 5 in the morning. Its just a little different...
But here are a couple of pictures...
Marta and Sylvia before the trouble started...
Roomies!
ahhh look how cute we are
Omundi (who woke us to go to church) and Teta, who i think may be the most beautiful woman in the world
Yep... that happened
Monday, October 13, 2008
Mount Kabuye
I went hiking last weekend with some friends and a lot of children at a place called Mount Kabuye. Now although I stand by my earlier statements that the hills in Rwanda are hills and not mountains, that doesnt mean that the hills arent really big and really steep.
The summit of Mount Kabuye is actually behind the mountains. Which at the time was very intimidating. However, no matter how high we climbed, there were always children with us, usually barefoot and running ahead and running back while we struggled up the hill with backpacks, hiking books, and books telling us where to go. Felt a little foolish.
But it was absolutely gorgeous. Even from the bottom the scenery was blue and green rolling hills, and though the sky was threatening to rain the whole time, it made a perfect backdrop.
The higher we climbed, the more hills we could see and the view just reiterated why Rwanda is known a land of a thousand hills. On a clear day, from the top, apparently its possible to see the volcanoes, but as mentioned, we were hiking on a cloudy and overcast day, the hills just seemed to fade into mist.
Although it was a tiring day and a mix of fun, frustration, and general foolishness, it once again reminded me that Rwanda is a beautiful place, blessed with amazing scenery and kind, proud people. The rest of my photos are posted at
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2022083&l=9caa6&id=48101028
The summit of Mount Kabuye is actually behind the mountains. Which at the time was very intimidating. However, no matter how high we climbed, there were always children with us, usually barefoot and running ahead and running back while we struggled up the hill with backpacks, hiking books, and books telling us where to go. Felt a little foolish.
But it was absolutely gorgeous. Even from the bottom the scenery was blue and green rolling hills, and though the sky was threatening to rain the whole time, it made a perfect backdrop.
The higher we climbed, the more hills we could see and the view just reiterated why Rwanda is known a land of a thousand hills. On a clear day, from the top, apparently its possible to see the volcanoes, but as mentioned, we were hiking on a cloudy and overcast day, the hills just seemed to fade into mist.
Although it was a tiring day and a mix of fun, frustration, and general foolishness, it once again reminded me that Rwanda is a beautiful place, blessed with amazing scenery and kind, proud people. The rest of my photos are posted at
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2022083&l=9caa6&id=48101028
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Adventures in the post-office... food, food, SNACK
Today was one of those days where I alternate between loving being here and hating it. I guess start with the bad. Someone has been stealing from us and although we arent sure who it is, its very disconcerting. My roommates have had over 500 dollars and a phone stolen and we have all decided that we are not comfortable with someone else having a key to our house, so we are letting our domestique go (isnt that a nice term. So much nicer than fire). There have been multiple times when the gate and the house have been unlocked and unfortunately, we are targets for theft. It is very easy to avoid being robbed here, just lock the house and the gate. But unfortunately this has not been happening. It is a difficult position to be in. On the one hand, we are expats here and we are comparatively wealthy; however, by US standards we are poor, the money we make qualifies all of us for poverty level, and in order to pay loans, we all have to save. No matter what, we are white and no matter what we say, that will always mean that people expect us to be rich. And despite the beneficence we feel in being here and the comfort that we give ourselves in "helping people" and "saving the world", that doesn't fly without generating some resentment.
But why I love this place... So after going to the embassy to cast our emergency ballots (Go Obama!) a month early because the US government somehow forgot to mail the absentee ballots to people overseas, I had to go to the post office to pick up two packages from my wonderful mother. Since there are no street names or building or home addresses in Rwanda, when packages are delivered, they are brought to the post office, which then generates slips saying that packages have arrived. Twice a week, someone from the office goes to the post office at approximately 3 in the afternoon and checks to see if any packages have been delivered. But of course the worker cant actually pick up the package because they are in our name and we have to have ID. They can only get the slip, return to the office, and give us the slips. This is always done at 3 when the post office closes at 330 so it is impossible to get your package the day you learn of it. Rather you have to wait eighteen hours to wonder about what possible treats are sitting in a locked room. Now although the post office is in a very official looking building with marble floors and high ceilings, that is not actually where you go to pick up a package. Nope. You go to "eight". What is "eight"? "Eight", which is for no discernible reason called eight since there are only two rooms in the post office, is the room where the packages are stored. It is located in the back and the basement of the post office, with the entrance in a gravel parking lot catering to taxis and buses and getting there necessitates exiting the post office, walking a block past craft stores, post card sellers, and a barrage of "foreign exchange bureaus", which are from what i can tell men sitting outside of shops yelling "sister, you need change?". Now "eight" is broken up into four rooms. The first room comfortably fits about three people and is where you go if you are a customer waiting to pick up or ship a package. The first room leads directly into the main storage area where a man sits at a desk full of papers and surrounded by pictures of Jesus and a rasta singer named "Cool Dube". When I arrived today, I put down my things on a small table in the entrance area to look for my claim slips and of course proceeded to drop all of my change that I have accumulated in the past two months all over the floor. Now even though there were three men sitting in a directly adjoining room watching every move I made and a man at the "Cool Dube" desk, no one made a move to help me. So, after scrambling on the floor to pick up my change I stand back up and immediately a gust of wind blows my two claim slips into the storage area. Keeping in mind that there are very few "official" areas in Rwanda, I just ran after the slips into the middle of the storage area. Three men and a cool dube continue to stare. Finally, I stuff my change and the slips back into my bag and retreat to the correct side of the window. Not a word has been uttered. While I have been running around "eight" a Japanese couple has entered the small room and has started to try to mail a package. Only English isnt their first language nor is it the first language of the man attempting to examine their packages so their communication is basically limited to hand gestures and broken french/ japanese/ english. Until the woman starts repeating, at first very quietly and then escalating with each word "food... food... SNACK! food... food... SNACK... food... food... SNACK" and her husband just clings desperately to the box to keep the postal man from cutting open the package. Finally, the couple relinquishes the package, the postal worker open it and the woman repeats "food... food... SNACK" and the man retapes the package. After the package has been taped, the couple walks away saying in perfect, unaccented english "Thank you. Have a nice day." I swear to you this happened. Moving on, I give the cool dube my slips and my drivers license which he takes stares at and then says "Linnea? Your name is Linnea?" as though perhaps I made up that particular name, printed a drivers license, and was conducting an elaborate ruse to get someone elses package. So I reply "Yes, my name is Linnea." Disgusted sigh and incoherent hand gesture. Umm ok. And then out of nowhere a general worker appears. The general worker dissapears into the fourth room and comes back out with a huge box and another balanced very precariously on top, puts them on a table, and then takes the two thousand francs I was holding out of my hand and walks away without a word. Suddenly, one of the men in the other room who up until now has stayed securely on his chair, comes out dressed in a full-pressed uniform and in a very official voice says "Hello, Im the customs official. What is in these boxes?". Please keep in mind that the boxes are securely taped and sealed and the man has been watching every single second of this scenario. Obviously I have no idea, so I say, "Obviously, I have no idea, They are from my mother." To which the original postal worker from the other room wisely says "ahhh mother" and nods his head. Im still not sure if he was saying "ahh yes mothers send very nice care packages" or "ahh yes I understand the word mother". So I just nod and say "ahh mother" back to him. During this exchange, the customs official has taken the customs form off of only the small box and apparently that satisfied him because he turned around, went back to the other room, and sat back in the chair to stare some more. By this point, another man has entered the waiting area and is talking to the general worker who has miraculously reappeared, still holding the 2000 francs, and the postal worker. The general worker takes a log book from the postal worker, walks around his desk, and comes over to my side of the wall, puts the book on the table and says "name, date, sign". So I find my name, print, date, and sign. He then finds another entry "name, date, sign". Puts the original claim slips down and says "name, date, sign". Meanwhile the other man waiting to be served is simply staring at me. Right when I have finished signing the various forms and the general worker has collected his books and returned to the other side of the wall, the man asks me "Are you German?" Uh... no. "Where are you from?" US. "Are your parents German or perhaps someone farther back in your family?" Sure, my grandfather. "Ahh yes. You look German. I am very good at identifying Germans. Have a nice day." And with a nod, he turns and goes. During everthing I have just related to you, other than when chasing my claim slips, I did not move an inch. It was an entire universe of bizarre brought directly to swirl around me. And that is why I love this place. Because there is no predicting when something absolutely wonderful and weird is going to happen.
Oh and just in case anyone is wondering what was in that giant box...
Food... food.. SNACK. I love my mother.
But why I love this place... So after going to the embassy to cast our emergency ballots (Go Obama!) a month early because the US government somehow forgot to mail the absentee ballots to people overseas, I had to go to the post office to pick up two packages from my wonderful mother. Since there are no street names or building or home addresses in Rwanda, when packages are delivered, they are brought to the post office, which then generates slips saying that packages have arrived. Twice a week, someone from the office goes to the post office at approximately 3 in the afternoon and checks to see if any packages have been delivered. But of course the worker cant actually pick up the package because they are in our name and we have to have ID. They can only get the slip, return to the office, and give us the slips. This is always done at 3 when the post office closes at 330 so it is impossible to get your package the day you learn of it. Rather you have to wait eighteen hours to wonder about what possible treats are sitting in a locked room. Now although the post office is in a very official looking building with marble floors and high ceilings, that is not actually where you go to pick up a package. Nope. You go to "eight". What is "eight"? "Eight", which is for no discernible reason called eight since there are only two rooms in the post office, is the room where the packages are stored. It is located in the back and the basement of the post office, with the entrance in a gravel parking lot catering to taxis and buses and getting there necessitates exiting the post office, walking a block past craft stores, post card sellers, and a barrage of "foreign exchange bureaus", which are from what i can tell men sitting outside of shops yelling "sister, you need change?". Now "eight" is broken up into four rooms. The first room comfortably fits about three people and is where you go if you are a customer waiting to pick up or ship a package. The first room leads directly into the main storage area where a man sits at a desk full of papers and surrounded by pictures of Jesus and a rasta singer named "Cool Dube". When I arrived today, I put down my things on a small table in the entrance area to look for my claim slips and of course proceeded to drop all of my change that I have accumulated in the past two months all over the floor. Now even though there were three men sitting in a directly adjoining room watching every move I made and a man at the "Cool Dube" desk, no one made a move to help me. So, after scrambling on the floor to pick up my change I stand back up and immediately a gust of wind blows my two claim slips into the storage area. Keeping in mind that there are very few "official" areas in Rwanda, I just ran after the slips into the middle of the storage area. Three men and a cool dube continue to stare. Finally, I stuff my change and the slips back into my bag and retreat to the correct side of the window. Not a word has been uttered. While I have been running around "eight" a Japanese couple has entered the small room and has started to try to mail a package. Only English isnt their first language nor is it the first language of the man attempting to examine their packages so their communication is basically limited to hand gestures and broken french/ japanese/ english. Until the woman starts repeating, at first very quietly and then escalating with each word "food... food... SNACK! food... food... SNACK... food... food... SNACK" and her husband just clings desperately to the box to keep the postal man from cutting open the package. Finally, the couple relinquishes the package, the postal worker open it and the woman repeats "food... food... SNACK" and the man retapes the package. After the package has been taped, the couple walks away saying in perfect, unaccented english "Thank you. Have a nice day." I swear to you this happened. Moving on, I give the cool dube my slips and my drivers license which he takes stares at and then says "Linnea? Your name is Linnea?" as though perhaps I made up that particular name, printed a drivers license, and was conducting an elaborate ruse to get someone elses package. So I reply "Yes, my name is Linnea." Disgusted sigh and incoherent hand gesture. Umm ok. And then out of nowhere a general worker appears. The general worker dissapears into the fourth room and comes back out with a huge box and another balanced very precariously on top, puts them on a table, and then takes the two thousand francs I was holding out of my hand and walks away without a word. Suddenly, one of the men in the other room who up until now has stayed securely on his chair, comes out dressed in a full-pressed uniform and in a very official voice says "Hello, Im the customs official. What is in these boxes?". Please keep in mind that the boxes are securely taped and sealed and the man has been watching every single second of this scenario. Obviously I have no idea, so I say, "Obviously, I have no idea, They are from my mother." To which the original postal worker from the other room wisely says "ahhh mother" and nods his head. Im still not sure if he was saying "ahh yes mothers send very nice care packages" or "ahh yes I understand the word mother". So I just nod and say "ahh mother" back to him. During this exchange, the customs official has taken the customs form off of only the small box and apparently that satisfied him because he turned around, went back to the other room, and sat back in the chair to stare some more. By this point, another man has entered the waiting area and is talking to the general worker who has miraculously reappeared, still holding the 2000 francs, and the postal worker. The general worker takes a log book from the postal worker, walks around his desk, and comes over to my side of the wall, puts the book on the table and says "name, date, sign". So I find my name, print, date, and sign. He then finds another entry "name, date, sign". Puts the original claim slips down and says "name, date, sign". Meanwhile the other man waiting to be served is simply staring at me. Right when I have finished signing the various forms and the general worker has collected his books and returned to the other side of the wall, the man asks me "Are you German?" Uh... no. "Where are you from?" US. "Are your parents German or perhaps someone farther back in your family?" Sure, my grandfather. "Ahh yes. You look German. I am very good at identifying Germans. Have a nice day." And with a nod, he turns and goes. During everthing I have just related to you, other than when chasing my claim slips, I did not move an inch. It was an entire universe of bizarre brought directly to swirl around me. And that is why I love this place. Because there is no predicting when something absolutely wonderful and weird is going to happen.
Oh and just in case anyone is wondering what was in that giant box...
Food... food.. SNACK. I love my mother.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
How times have changed
As no doubt many of you learned from the classic Sandra Bullock film, 28 days, it takes 28 days to form a habit. With this in mind, I developed the brilliant plant to write in my journal every day for 28 days to get into the habit. So far, its pretty hit and miss. Today I decided that if I wrote an extensive entry then perhaps it would make up for my relative lack of commitment over the past week and a half. However, as it always happens when I try to overload myself on recording life, I got distracted. This time I started rereading my journal, which I started keeping upon my arrival in India (that was almost three years ago, an indication how little I write). I was amazed by some of the things that I wrote. Fresh off the plane I was shocked and full of pity for people who I imagined were so poor. Dont doubt it, the people who I pitied and mourned over were poor. But I realize now that pity is a useless and even harmful feeling. What does pity do but make the person I pity resentful and fill me with misplaced pride in my own emotions? Better empathy, better respect, better friendliness. Not pity. And I was shocked by the poverty, truly floored that people could live in such terrible conditions. But people had roofs, they had stoves, food, television. I am not trying to say that the villagers in India were living perfectly comfortable lives. I am sure that many were lacking comforts and that many would have loved more money and more comfort. I realize now however, that people were still happy, they were still content with what they had. It doesnt mean they cant want more or that they dont deserve a more equitable distribution of wealth, but it was fairly naive to assume that because people lived in cow dung huts (which is actually a very sanitary, sustainable, and insulating material) that they were unhappy and miserable.
Finally, it occurred to me what I dont feel necessary to put in my journal anymore. So much of what used to be shocking is now commonplace. So much of what used to elicit pity, elicits nothing. I dont mean to sound callous or worldly. It was simply interesting to me to reflect on how adaptable people are. Within only a few years and a few experiences, what was once so foreign to me is now no longer worth mentioning. In this time of transition and uncertainty, it is reassuring to remember that humans are incredibly adaptable creatures. We are able to change, accept, and learn in almost any situation. Its nice to think that maybe we can weather the crises that we are facing after all.
Also, I didnt feel it was necessary to write about the mouse in my house (although I have mentioned it here) the crazy thunderstorms, the constant stares, the banana cooked a thousand different ways, or the banana wine. All these things you kind of get used to too.
Finally, it occurred to me what I dont feel necessary to put in my journal anymore. So much of what used to be shocking is now commonplace. So much of what used to elicit pity, elicits nothing. I dont mean to sound callous or worldly. It was simply interesting to me to reflect on how adaptable people are. Within only a few years and a few experiences, what was once so foreign to me is now no longer worth mentioning. In this time of transition and uncertainty, it is reassuring to remember that humans are incredibly adaptable creatures. We are able to change, accept, and learn in almost any situation. Its nice to think that maybe we can weather the crises that we are facing after all.
Also, I didnt feel it was necessary to write about the mouse in my house (although I have mentioned it here) the crazy thunderstorms, the constant stares, the banana cooked a thousand different ways, or the banana wine. All these things you kind of get used to too.
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