From Lake Superior to Lake Kivu

As I swam in the cool lake bordering the Democratic Republic of the Congo, I looked at the volcanoes surrounding me. A goofy grin plastered across my face and I let the moment sink in. Yo, I thought to myself, I am in Lake Kivu! Just a year ago I was swimming in Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota. If you ever took a dip in this icy Great Lake, you would know that swimming in Lake Superior isn't really swimming, well not for me. The water is so cold that my legs start to go numb after a minute or so. The only time I welcome the mind-numbing water is on one of Duluth's rare sun scorching days. Not only could I actually swim in the warm waters of Lake Kivu, I could bask in the moment reminiscing.

When I first learned I was selected for the Rwandan Education Program, I can't lie, I thought I would be roughing it in a village with no electricity, no running water, and no friends, but, in reality, living in Rwanda has been pretty great so far. Now I'm not going to sugar coat things; washing clothes by hand, cooking on an imbambura (charcoal stove), bathing with a bucket, and using a latrine hasn't been the easiest thing in the world, but it certainly wasn't as hard as I imagined. I remember one day I finally had my amakara (charcoal) delivered and I was so excited to finally be able to cook myself a meal, something that brought me joy and comfort in America. My friends knew me as the person in the group who would go to the farmers' market on the weekend to buy up all the heirloom tomatoes I could carry so I could make salsa and gift them to friends and family. If I wasn't at the farmers' market buying up pesto or learning about a new hybrid vegetable, I would joyously spend my time cooking whatever creation I made up that day. Who knew once I moved to Rwanda it would take me well over two weeks to simply boil water to make rice. The day I had my amakara delivered I was ready to reclaim my inner chef, so I assembled all my tools: imbambura, amakara, matches, sticks and paper, and then I set to work building a fire to cook some rice… long story short, it didn't happen that night, or the next, or the next, or the next! Every day that I tried and failed, I felt a little worse. How in the world was I going to feed myself?! Well, I am so blessed to have wonderful neighbors who saw me struggling and helped me countless times. I was also immensely grateful for a man named Kiza. Kiza is the Fathers' chef and he took me under his wing and taught me the culinary world of Rwandan food. Every night, I brought my tools and ingredients, and Top Chef Kiza showed me how to make incredible dishes, which is a whole other post. Every time we cooked together, he even surprised me with treats that he wanted me to try. Without Kiza or my wonderful neighbors, I would be eating amandazi (similar to doughnuts) and sambusas (triangular shaped dough stuffed with meat and/or potatoes with onions and hot peppers) every night. It's my fault though, I didn't take the “lighting the imbambura” part of PST seriously enough.

Speaking of PST, I remember a time when I was bathing at night, something I loved doing back home. In the States, when hot running water was always at my disposal, showering at night was my way of unwinding. When I lived in Duluth and my roommate was away (shout out to Courtney!), I would light my favorite incense, frankincense, play some Erykah Badu, light some candles, and treat myself to a steamy Epsom salt bath with a plethora of essential oils. I would try to read in the bathtub, but most of the time I would just sit there soaking in the warmth and enjoying my alone time. In Rwamagana, my host family's bathroom facilities were outside, separate from the house, no bathtub, just a cement space and a tin roof. That night I was scrubbing away, covered in soap, when I heard something scuffle on the tin roof above me. I looked up and saw a lizard scurry across. Nta kibzao (No problem/worries), I thought to myself, lizards are chill. I continued scrub-a-dub-dubbing away, whistling a little tune, and then I heard another scuffle. I looked up again, thinking I was going to see my new friend, Ms. Lizzy (I thought of that cool name while whistling), but nope, instead of Ms. Lizzy, I saw Mr. Rat. Mr. Rat was chasing Ms. Lizzy right above my naked body covered in soap. When I tell you I screamed bloody murder… if it wasn't for the soap covering my body I would have ran out that bathroom completely naked. My host mama (who was outside talking with a guest at the time) ran over and shouted, “Shewa! Iki (What)?!” I shouted back, while crouched in the furthest corner of the bathroom, “Maaaammaaaa!! Imbeba (Rat)!!” By this time, my host sisters crowded around the bathroom to see what all the fuss was about. When they heard my reasoning, everyone let out a hearty laugh and walked away. I made it out alive though.

Each of these moments, whether failing to light my stove or learning that my one year old sister can chase a rat away for me, left me feeling so useless, but now that I know that I am supported, I feel stronger than ever. Now, that I have mastered the art of lighting and cooking on an imbambura and though I am still afraid of rats, I know that I can handle it. Not only did my neighbors help me in my time of need, I know that I am completely capable of working with the hand that I have been dealt because I am exactly where I want to be. While swimming in Lake Kivu, which is only a 4 hour bus ride from my site, I realized that I am here, now, living my dream and I should accept and embrace every moment. Who would have thought a year ago, while I was swimming in Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota, that the following year I would have this very moment in Lake Kivu in Gisenyi, Rwanda?