Mama Arlene's

Today we had one of my favorite experiences so far. We visited a beautiful school/orphanage run by a hilarious old white woman from Pennsylvania. She wore a lime green muumuu and everyone called her Mama. She started by showing us around her new building which holds a library, art room, music room, and small stage. Absolutely gorgeous, I didn’t want to leave. We performed for her teachers and spoke with them about incorporating drama-based education. They seemed a bit hesitant at first, but became more an more interested as we explained just how much storytelling can help kids to understand and engage with.

Then we were set loose to play with the kids. Mama had them sing a few songs for us- You Are My Sunshine, Happy And You Know It- then a few of them (including a one-year-old) led the rest in prayer. It was the cutest thing. Then she said “Alright, everyone grab a Muzungo (white foreigner) and go at it!”.  They swarmed us. Their English was incredible, and they were full of questions. “My name is David,” one boy said (Earlier when talking about drama based education Mama said “David will love this-he can’t sit still”). He definitely had a lot to say- “Is there snow where you live?” “Why is Rebecca’s hair pink? Who did that to her?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Do you have a girlfriend?” His energy was all over the place and he reminded me strongly of a camper I’ve had- I’m sure any of my camp friends will know who I’m talking about.  Finally he said “I don’t want to have a girl, I want to have a boy!” and left (“Ditto,” said Rob). My other kids kept changing, but I had a boy named Emmanuel and a girl named Sarah who loved singing camp songs with me. Sarah was especially fond of the Penguin Polka and kept asking for “the penguin one again!!” I loved playing with these kids. After so many months away from camp I couldn’t be happier to have kids to sing with, and I felt like I was back in my element. When the donations that we brought came out Emmanuel was thrilled. “Did you bring FOOD?!” he asked, but was equally happy when I said no, just toys and games. I was so sad to have to leave, this incredible place filled with kids and the arts (not to mention their farm that we didn’t see) was like a little utopia. I hope through AFP I can become involved with storybuilding in classrooms, because working with kids fills me with such a joy and energy that I can’t find anywhere else.

The Power of Forgiveness

Yesterday we visited a work camp where prisoners convicted of genocide crimes serve their sentences. As we drove down the steep hilly road to the valley where the camp lay, I tried my hardest to rid myself of preconceived notions. These people had committed horrific acts of murder and other violent crimes, but the camp has been rehabilitating them, so I did my best to breathe away my fear and look with eyes of humanity.

The prisoners, all men wearing the same dark blue outfit, waited in a group in the center of a dusty yard. Chickens pecked around their feet. There were no chains, no bars, no handcuffs- they just stood there, looking perhaps a little nervous themselves. The warden, a woman named Pelly who wore military garb, stood with them and translated for us. We started with introductions, then we were told to ask questions. My mind went blank- what sort of questions could I ask of genocide criminals?- but then Carl began asking questions that put us all at ease.

“How many of you are married?” he asked, and when Pelly translated nearly all of them raised their hands.

“How many of you are happily married? How many of you love your wife?” The hands stayed up. Carl asked them a few other simple, human questions- do you have children, do you have boys or girls, are you grandfathers- and by the time he was done I wasn’t nervous anymore. He asked the grandfathers to give us advice, and the few who did said essentially the same thing- Don’t do what we did. Learn from us. Stay in school and focus on your studies.

Then they asked us questions. One man asked what people in America would think when we told them we had visited genocide criminals. Drew explained how we don’t have restorative justice in America- in America prisoners are stripped of their humanity, locked up like animals, and in several places America is one of the last countries in the world that practices the death penalty, which is teaching our children that killing is bad by killing. He explained that people would be afraid because in America we don’t have forgiveness in our justice system, and that people think that criminals should be locked up and the key should be thrown away. The man then asked a question that broke my heart- “Where does that hatred come from?”

And it’s true. America’s justice system, with prisoners returning again and again because they are dehumanized and never taught how to become good members of society, is incredibly damaging and flawed. Seeing these men in front of me who had committed these horrific acts of violence gave me the simple yet startling realization that any person who commits any horrible crime across the world is really just that- a person. We took photos with them, smiling arm in arm with these criminals who were looking at us with such love, and thinking that the hands around my shoulders and waist, so gentle, had killed people didn’t really fit the equation. When more questions were asked, they all seemed to feel the same way- they had all confessed, they had all asked for forgiveness. Asking for forgiveness was a requirement to come to this camp, where they all agreed that the work they did made them feel like they were helping to rebuild the Rwanda they had tried to destroy. The hands that destroyed were now building.

Then something magical happened- it started raining, and the entire group of men started singing and dancing for us. They were clapping and laughing and spinning around, grinning ear to ear, so happy to share some joy with us- their new friends. Pelly, the warden, danced and sang with them, and it was so incredible to watch these men who have found themselves again, who are working to rebuild this country, dancing with their warden.

The rain poured down and we were given freshly cooked charred corn that they had grown and cooked for us. When the rain slowed to a drizzle we performed, only to have it come back in a downpour. The prisoners loved our play- I heard them laugh during my monologue and it felt incredible- and they stayed out in the rain to watch the whole thing. At the end they did a special thank-you clap they had taught us at the beginning, and they were all smiles.

Our bus driver, Gaga, was anxious to leave because the rain had left the hills very slippery. Once we piled in the bus we tried to leave but ended up getting stuck. So we got out and stood around waiting while Gaga attempted to maneuver the bus out. Then, like a scene from a movie, dozens upon dozens of prisoners came walking up the hill, with garden hoes over their shoulders, to dig the bus out and create a pathway for him to drive. They worked and worked as we watched in awe as the message of the day came alive right in front of us. We walked up the mountain so he could meet us at the top, and from there we saw the prisoners all pushing the bus up the hill until Gaga finally got it going. One man ran following it all the way to the top.

These men who had committed horrible crimes but through rehabilitation and the ability to give back they have regained their sense of peace and repented. Because they were given the opportunity to be forgiven and move forward, incredible things are happening. These people who have murdered danced with us and pushed our bus up a mountain. The United States needs to examine their fear and hatred and look at justice through the eyes of humanity.  I really understand now that only with forgiveness and compassion can things actually get better.

Thoughts from Gihembe

Yesterday we visited the Gihembe refugee camp, and the experience could not have been more different than I expected. On the drive there I found myself attempting to temper some anxiety- I think I expected it to be too sad, too challenging, and I was nervous. However, once we get there, I instantly knew that it would be okay. Dozens upon dozens of children surrounded our bus, shouting and waving and grinning ear to ear. When we got out they piled on us, fighting over who got to hold our hands, rubbing our skin, touching our hair.  They were thrilled to use little bits of English- “Good morning!” “How are you?” “Fine, thank you!” “What is my name?” (meaning “what is your name?”). I had a group of about five little girls (and some boys here and there) who followed me the whole time. We sang and joked and exchanged names, and then they discovered that if one of them made a silly face I would make one in return, and they were thrilled- dragging their friends to the front of the group to show them. I adore children (back home I’ve worked at a summer camp for five years) and though I was sad to see the state of them- dirty, wearing old, torn clothes- I felt so happy to connect and play. These kids were not wallowing in misery because they live on a refugee camp, they were just being kids.

            We then had the opportunity to visit the family of Clovis, our main contact who lives in the camp. His mother and siblings all live in a very small home made of some sort of clay or mud. They were incredibly welcoming- he and his mother had known Drew for a few years and were very happy to see him. Though their home was incredibly small, it was very neat, with soccer posters hung on the walls (his younger brother is a big fan). I was struck by how happy these people were, and it made me think that if the United States could be exposed to these issues in less of a sad-eyes UNICEF commercial way and more of a human connection way we would understand them much better. When we think of poor people as being “the poor” or “the less fortunate” we strip them of some humanity in our eyes and make them a faceless entity. These people weren’t faceless, they were real and tangible and happy and sad and alive. I felt honored to meet them and to be in their home.

            We performed our play for the first time in the basketball court in the camp. Kids sat on a hill to watch. I wish I could have seen them watch it, but Eve said they totally got it. They may not speak English, but the story comes through. Anne Frank’s story is their story, too. I was so glad to share it with them. A visit I was so nervous about ended up being perhaps one of the most memorable days we’ve had so far.

Stories everywhere

            Two days ago we visited a second genocide memorial, this time a church where 10,000 people had gone for protection but where they then ended up being slaughtered. It was horrific- you could see the holes in the ground from where a grenade had blown the door open, windows were broken, and you could see bullet holes in the ceiling. The pews were covered with piles of clothing collected from the victims-pants, dresses, a small pink flip flop, a tiny shirt with a cartoon character. The statue of the Virgin Mary had been shot at (because Hutu soldiers said she would protect the Tutsi) and a cross had been used as a weapon. Below there was a case filled with skulls, and a coffin holding the body of a woman who had been raped, killed, and mutilated after death. Going outside we saw more mass graves, two large headstones, one with names of people identified, one completely blank. There were two graves with stairs so we could walk down into the crypt. One held caskets, one held caskets, bones, and skulls. I went into both, and I realized something interesting about my personal response. I would think, going into this, that skulls would have a more frightening, “creepy” impact on me and that I would prefer being surrounded by coffins, but having experienced both I realized that the coffins were the only thing that made me afraid. The skulls upset me greatly, but looking at them- some smashed, some with bullet holes, a few that seemed the front of a baby’s skull because their entire skull wasn’t fully formed- they didn’t scare me. I cried, and I was moved, but seeing them for what they really were instead of faceless boxes made me able to face reality instead of being caught up in fear. Fear makes us lose our connection, which is one of the reasons I think these kinds of memorials are so effective. The facelessness in the U.S in the ways we process things keeps us from processing at all.

            While there, we had the incredible gift of meeting a pastor who had lived through the genocide and wanted to tell his story. His friend translated for him, saying that his entire family had been killed- his parents, wife, and four children (all under the age of 5). He said he has forgiven the perpetrators because anything that doesn’t promote peace isn’t helpful. He expressed his joy that we were there and that we would continue to tell his story. Carl led us in prayer with this pastor in a moment of absolute connection that moved me nearly to tears and that I will remember for the rest of my life. So many gifts keep opening up all around us.

            Then we went to Akagera National Park. On the drive there we had to pass through a very impoverished town, and it was very difficult to see. I'm not used to looking at that much poverty in the face, and it was jarring. Children were asking for water bottles and offering to sell things as we drove past. However, they were very excited (especially the children) to wave at us and make a connection. Connection is quickly becoming one of the themes of this trip for me- it's everywhere, we just have to look for it. We stayed the night in the game park in a beautiful hotel and went on two incredible safaris (one each day) where we opened the roofs of our cars and stood out. Rob and I stood most of the time and got covered in red dirt being blown from the car in front of us. We ended up looking like we had gotten awful spray tans. We saw incredible wildlife- I saw THREE elephants that I was so excited about I nearly cried. We also saw baboons, impala, giraffes (from a distance), hippos, and more. Standing out of the top of that car I felt like I was flying through this astonishing savannah landscape, and it was magical.

  This juxtaposition of beauty mixed with sadness is a huge part of Rwanda. It is a place that the United States has much to learn from if only they choose to look.

Beauty and sadness

Things that happened today:

-Went to a market and got totally ripped off for a wooden spoon after laughing at Tim for getting ripped off for fruit (karma?).  Our guide Eric told me that I paid about 10x what it was worth. This led to the theme of the day being the most priceless spoon in the world, and landed me the nickname Spoon. I’m not even mad, I love this spoon because the story is now so hilarious.

-Spoke to adorable children who were playing in the street. They were fascinated by Rebecca’s tattoos. Eric translated the response of a little girl who looked very concerned- she said the bird and the flower were good, but not the snake. She was cautious to touch it.

-Then we went to the first of the genocide memorials we will be visiting. This site had, amongst lush green plants and beautiful flowers, enormous concrete slabs that marked mass graves where approximately 250,000 people were buried. Someone had laid a rose (now dried) on one of the graves, and I walked around unable to comprehend such staggering loss and destruction. The inside of the museum had panels that told the story of the genocide with horrific imagery amongst stained glass windows, paintings, and sculpture that processed the horror. One room was filled with photos of people who had been killed, all hung up with clips so if someone recognized a photo of a relative they could take it. Some people had clipped up notes to their deceased relatives or friends. These pictures were family photos, wedding photos, candids, selfies, pictures of people laughing, holding babies, spending time with friends. I sketched a few of them and reflected on the way this exhibit offered no opportunity to disconnect. These were not just numbers, these were not just victims, these were individuals who lived full lives before being murdered. In America we talk about genocide in numbers. Our memorials have no faces, have nothing to really connect us to the individual victims of atrocities. While drawing these smiling faces I almost forgot what happened to them. I was in the world of the photographs, and I felt bad about it for a moment before realizing that it’s important to remember people as the people they were, not what happened to them. The images of smiling faces had no connection to a brutal genocide, but at the same time they did, and that juxtaposition was striking.

The hardest parts of the memorial came next- one room was full of cases that held skulls and bones. Some skulls had bullet holes, some were cracked open, some were smashed apart. Some were very small. I thought of the children we had talked to on the street and I couldn’t stop crying.

The next room was called the Children’s Room. This room had photos of some children who had been victims of the genocide in an effort to show the individual horror, because they could not of course have a description for every victim. Each photo was accompanied by their age, some favorite foods and activities, and the cause of their death. Their ages ranged from nine months to seventeen years. Seeing photos of beautiful, smiling kids accompanied by “Age:2. Favorite drink: Milk. Cause of death: Smashed against a wall.” made me ill. Shot in the head. Grenade thrown into shower. Machete in mother’s arms. I was lost and wandering aimlessly with tears streaming down my face, thinking of the children I know, wishing I could have protected these ones. These kids would be around my age now. That nine-month-old could have been in my grade. These children were taken out of the world just as I was brought into it, and it seems so unfair that innocent people, even babies, can be the victims of violence so unimaginable when they had done nothing but be born in the wrong place in the wrong time. I could have been born a Rwandan in 1994. That could have been me if the cards were dealt a different way. I’m not sure how to process that thought, but it’s an uneasy realization.

-This evening we went to a gorgeous Italian restaurant (the idea of an Italian restaurant in Africa was so interesting to me) and de-stressed while eating pizza after a long and exhausting day. I feel very connected to this group and I'm glad to be a part of it.   

It is such a gift to be in Rwanda with Carl Wilkens- in the museum we found his picture and a description of him, and in the gift shop I watched a man pick up and examine Carl’s book while Carl looked around five feet away.  His knowledge and willingness to share his experience make for an incredible asset to our trip as our group processes what happened here. We’re so lucky to have the tools we have – theater, art, people like Carl- to explore this experience as it happens.

Magical

Our journey to Rwanda has been a blur of exhaustion, beauty, and joy. Small things stand out to me- the inky indigo clouds streaking across the sky during the sunrise as we rode the bus to Toronto, a happy toddler smiling and running around on the plane, the law student from India who watched Friends on his laptop next to me for half the flight. I loved seeing people of so many different cultures in the airports, all a whirl of faces and stories that were endlessly fascinating. I remember thinking to myself as I wrote in my journal on our second flight how I’d already experienced so much and the trip hadn’t even “happened” yet!

I sat next to a businessman from the Republic of Congo on our second flight who was traveling to Uganda and so interested in hearing about what I was doing. “Kigali is good, very good,” he told me, “But cold”.  (I have found that the African definition of “cold” differs greatly from that of New York State. The weather here compared to CNY is an absolute dream).  When I told him I would only be in Rwanda for three weeks he said “You should come back! Come back and stay. Come back anytime.” This incredibly welcoming attitude is something so foreign to me coming from the US. So far it seems that the people of Africa cannot wait to greet you and make you feel at home. I can’t imagine how different America would be if we shared that mindset.

“Africa has many problems,” the man said, “Life is very hard.” He paused. “But we try anyway.” When he got up to leave when the plane stopped in Uganda he handed me a piece of paper with his phone number and email address written on it so I could contact him to tell him about my trip. I felt an incredible glow to have arrived in a place where people meet you and they want to hear your story.

After waking up with a start as the plane landed in Rwanda, marveling over the beauty of the city and our air-conditioned bus, and arriving at the youth hostel we spent the evening visiting and relaxing. The hostel had laid out a beautiful table for our dinner- it was outside with a campfire, live music from a man singing and playing guitar, and lights strung in the trees. Some women read spoken word poetry as we ate some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life. I had been told before coming here that I would eat better as a vegetarian here than I do in the US, but I did not fully comprehend that until I ate this otherworldly food. Rice with cooked peas and carrots, soup, fried potatoes, and more. There was an avocado salad that blew my mind. “I want to marry this avocado,” I said, and Tim made me write it down to record the moment. Fruit kebabs were arranged stuck into a pineapple, and it was the best fruit I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know how I can go back to eating the fruit from the States after this. I wish there were a way for all of America to experience it so we could all understand. It’s better than candy. Writing about it now makes me want more.

After chatting with some people from England and Australia who were also staying at the hostel, those of us who were not going out to celebrate New Years (like my very tired self) went to bed. I awoke early this morning and sketched out on the porch. We went for a walk after breakfast and these kids (maybe around ten years old) were interested in meeting us and ended up sticking with us during the walk. We started with two, Robert and Jean-Paul (who live nearby and are hilarious and awesome), and ended up gathering two more as we walked. The kids especially are so interested in hanging out with and talking to us. This friendly culture where it’s acceptable for kids to walk around alone and follow groups of foreign strangers as they walk around the city is so different, but so trusting and warm. I love these kids. They remind me of my experience as a summer camp counselor and I feel so lucky to be able to connect with them. As we walked people were so happy to greet us- stopping cars to shake hands, high-fiving as we walked past, waving from motorcycles and shouting “Happy New Year!” or “Mwaramutze!” We walked past a group of maybe five little girls all eating fruit, and we smiled as we passed by. One girl reached out her small hand to me and I shook it and said hello, and she tried to offer me the fruit she was eating. This kind of genuine joy and connection with strangers is something I have never experienced in the States. I have lived in the US my whole life and I have never felt so overwhelmingly welcomed anywhere. It’s truly remarkable.

            After going out to lunch and exchanging our currency we returned to the hostel and utilized our time to rehearse. Some other guests were interested in our play and watched our process (they even want to play theater games with us, which we’ll be leading as an evening activity at some point). It felt really good to be back in the play that had been rehearsed and finalized in my absence over break. Rehearsing on a patch of grass behind the hostel with the beautiful hills and buildings of Kigali spread out in front of us, children laughing, birds chirping, was magical. It’s so much easier to be present in a place that already makes you feel connected to everything around you.

            Tomorrow we start our real journey, learning about history, visiting a genocide memorial. I feel so incredibly lucky and blessed to be here. I can’t believe I get to do this, and I’m ecstatic that I can. 

Less than a week

The preparation for this upcoming trip has given new and deeper meaning to the word "unreal".

Next week at this time I'll be in Africa. If someone had told me in high school that my college theatre training would take me to Rwanda I would not have believed them for a second. When I began my college career I just wanted to be a good actor. How lucky I was to land in a program that has stretched me, challenged me, and left me every day wanting to be a good person. I feel so fortunate that I have this opportunity and will be able to use it to help and inspire others. My experiences in the department have taught me just how powerful a tool theatre is to really affect people and create change. 

Something I've noticed in my preparations is just how little the Western world really knows about modern Africa. All I really know comes from my involvement in the Anne Frank Project, so I don't say this with any judgement. It's just interesting and perhaps sad that people in the United States hear Rwanda and either know nothing about it but genocide, or have never heard of it at all. I've been asked about Ebola more times than I can count (though Ebola is 3,000 miles from Rwanda and much closer to Buffalo), and it's assumed that I'm going there to build houses or teach about AIDS. The West has this unshakeable view of Africa as this impoverished place that depends on us (with our imperialist complex) to go in and "save" them. Though of course there is poverty in Africa, as is true everywhere, I feel very fortunate that I'm going on a trip to Africa where the goal is not to be the "Western savior", but to really learn about a culture and a history so different from our own. I'm looking forward to challenging my own preconceptions of what Rwanda is like. The less we assume, the more we can be open to learning from one another.

It feels both like it's very close and that it's never going to actually happen. As much as I pack and plan and study my script I'm sure I truly will not believe it till I see it. I suppose the best way to do this is to plan, prepare, and then let go. I can't wait to see what happens.