Being a female on the mission field can be a bit trippy, especially here in Africa. Today consisted of three interrogating instances that made for an overall interesting day…
Mondays are our “rest” days. Naturally, I slept in…until 9:18 am to be exact. I went on my morning outhouse run to liberate myself of last night’s tea. The family was up and moving, for they had probably been awake since before 6:00. There was a tall, lanky man outside talking to Pastor Emmanuel from a distance. On my way back into the house, he approached me. Most Africans are anxious for a handshake with a mzungu (white person). He extended his arm with his hand in a fist, so I instinctively pounded it like a G. I found that’s not what he intended. The dude wrapped his long arms around me, but it wasn’t any ordinary hug. It was more of an uncomfortably inappropriate embrace. I tried to play it off as “just a hug,” but then he went for the kill. He kissed me somewhere on my upper cheek, practically on my eye. I tried to break away as the pastor repeated, “Sorry, sorry, Mareesha!” I had to slap/push the smiling, scattered toothed guy to free myself. Yup, I was kissed this morning by a drunk man in my backyard.
Later on, the girls and I were in the process of one of our daily moto negotiations. There must have been at least 20 bikes surrounding us on the side of the street. Once they begin to congregate, the congregating does anything but die down. It’s always a scene. Picture six white girls. Now envision tons of black guys on bikes aspiring to be the lucky ones to drive them around. It’s no longer a shock to hear an “I love you” or “I want to marry you” thrown around by these contesting individuals. I finally hopped on a bike whose driver said he knew where the restaurant was located. Then, I felt a firm tap on my back. Another driver motioned for me to get on his bike. I told him I was I good. Then, there was another firm tap that was more like a smack. I abruptly yelled at him not to hit me. He was taken aback and I didn’t feel at all bad about it. Another slapped one of my teammates, and she pounded him. This feistiness is justified in my book.
I do believe that tonight’s incident was the most awful. I was headed out to the outhouse again this evening. We had just returned home from dinner and everyone was in the living room having tea. I grabbed my headlamp and slipped out to do my business…no big deal. There are what I would call “ventilation windows” at about the level of my head of the mud structure. They’re nice, I suppose. Anyway, I stood up from squatting to pull up my pants when I stared into a pair of dark eyes. He surely had been watching me the entire time. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “What the heck are you doing? Get outta here!” My throat still hurts from the eruption. Frightened that he would trap me in the outhouse, I bolted toward the back door as fast as my little legs would carry me. It was probably a punk kid from the college dormitory next door. Apparently, they hop their gigantic fence to hang out in the field of banana trees behind our backyard.
Lesson learned from today? I will only take the 30-foot trip to the outhouse with a buddy. Maybe I will also invest in some mace.
As for the moto dudes, I will just have to continue to use verbal and possibly physical force.
Things do get a little dicey out here. You’ve just got to keep going.
After all, there is work to do.
Sorry for the recent ramblings about little difficulties. I promise that I have so much more to write about. I had the opportunity to visit the genocide memorial today and have rolling thoughts and emotions about this. So much history, so much terror, so much needed justice. The other day, I was able to go to a soccer game and was “accidentally” ushered into the press conference. That was exciting. There is also some crazy stuff going on with the church here in Rwanda.
I hope to write more soon, but now I must rest for tomorrow. Plan to visit the Peace Corps and World Vision headquarters.
Can’t take credit for the word, dicey.
