kigali

I just spent two weeks in Kigali, Rwanda and hoooo boy is it different from Chad. So, the first week was spent mostly in a conference room with MCC colleagues talking about tools and best practices for planning, monitoring and evaluation and if you think that sounds boring…you’d be wrong. It was fabulous!

Planning, monitoring, and evaluation (PME) is what I have been focusing on with my partner organization. Its the part of development projects where we try to ensure that our work is having the impacts we want and expect to see. My project has completed most of the planning and is currently in limbo before starting up activities this spring. It was the perfect time to get a refresher and learn some new techniques for the monitoring and evaluation which will come later.

The conference included MCC staff from all across Africa and a few sector specialists from the US and Canada. Over the course of the week, through many many powerpoint sessions, open-ended discussions, get-to-know-you games, small-groups skits, and buffet lunches, we got to know each other and shared our own country experiences. It was a little sad to see such such a wonderful group of colleagues leave at the end of the week, but we plan to keep in touch and continue the learning.

All-Africa PME Exchange 2019

And I can’t complain too much, since I was headed into a week of vacation! The trip to Kigali also served as a wonderful time to catch up with other SALTers and take a break from the dry Chadian climate that is getting hotter by the day…

There are two SALTers living and working in Kigali this year who I met at orientation in August. We met up one night during the conference at a burrito place that gave me Chipotle vibes called Meze Fresh. I don’t remember the last time I had pico de gallo or even tortilla for that matter and it was glorious!

The week after, when I was officially on vacation, I went around with them meeting their host families, attending a Friends church service in Kinyarwanda, and even playing with a host puppy!

Jake’s host family adopted a puppy the week I was in Kigali. It was christened Puppy Simba, after a heated debate between Jake (in favor of the name Simba) and his host mom, Esperance (in favor or the name Puppy). While wandering around a big supermarket one day, I found the pet aisle and bought Puppy Simba his first squeaker toy – which is pictured below. Unfortunately, he was only allowed to enjoy the squeaker for one night before the host family got fed up with it and Jake removed the squeaking mechanism. RIP squeaky hotdog.

On Tuesday, Jake’s organization had planned a field visit to a district a few hours north of Kigali and when they heard I was in town, invited me along for a little road trip. The project they were monitoring works with small-holder farmers on conservation agriculture techniques to improve crop yields. In Chad we have one rainy season and thus, one planting/harvesting cycle per year. In Rwanda, it rains consistently and I learned that farmers have 2 or 3 good harvests per year.

Volcanoes and gorillas are both found in this particular region of Rwanda, although the former are much easier to spot than the latter. Often, the ground we walked on was rocky or even looked like rippling lava from previous eruptions.

This volcano is not erupting. Its just the clouds. And an MCC sponsored cabbage field.

The final few days I spent in Kigali were filled with shopping for a few souvenirs, hanging out with the SALTers at coffee shops, and visiting a few more “touristy” sites. I spent a few hours at the Kigali Genocide Memorial one rainy afternoon and I left feeling heavy, but better informed about the people and histories surrounding me.

My last note on this post will concern my newest love: African Tea.

We met in a little corner shop/restaurant on a cobblestone street on my first rainy Kigali afternoon. I hadn’t even changed money yet (which I would later regret). The downpour caught me off guard and as I ducked under the awning, a young man asked if I wanted to step inside and eat. “Its okay, you can eat,” he assured me. We compromised on a cup of tea. “We have African tea,” he said. That’s okay, I drink any kind of tea. I sat down in a worn chair at a table covered with torn plastic, as he served me a steaming mug of milky, spicy liquid. It was love at first sip.

African tea is essentially black tea made with equal parts milk and water, steeped with crushed ginger and/or lemongrass and served with a few teaspoons of sugar. Absolute heaven.

From that first day, I had at least one cup and usually two per day. I’m working on perfecting my recipe here in Chad. I’ll keep you updated on how the nuns feel about it.

zwieback

I’ve been busy! I think its a net positive although it means that I have not had the time or energy to update you all as much as you deserve.

When you last left your heroine, I was getting ready to leave on vacation for Christmas. I spent the first week in N’Djamena visiting my former host family, including my host brother’s adorably chubby 6-month old, catching up with a few friends, reading, and cooking as I had the time and energy. The highlight of my week was definitely acquiring a new skill: slaughtering a chicken. I have included a picture of the chickens last few moments below, but unfortunately my phone died right as I was getting to the blood and guts part. He had a brother who followed quickly after him, but again, no photos.

I can attest to the tastiness of them both.

Yes, I am standing on his wings and his feet (photo and chicken slaughtering instruction credit goes to Bénédicte)

Then, I spent a more restful week staying at a missionary guesthouse in a little village outside of Moundou. My colleague Jackson is living and working in Moundou this year, so I appreciated time to catch up with him and meet his host family. We spent a few afternoons together, but otherwise, I didn’t have too many other people to visit. Instead, I spent my time cooking, baking, and watching movies!

I have been missing the joys of an oven since I moved to Chad, but luckily, the guesthouse had both a gas stove and oven for me to use! I learned how to light the oven (and almost burned my eyebrows off) and realized that you can do a lot with it, even though it basically only has two temperature settings: on and off.

Over a couple of days, I made chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, and even tried my hand at my mother’s recipe of zwieback and cinnamon rolls! Without a mixer, I was left with no choice but to knead the dough which left me sweaty but feeling accomplished. Everything turned out great except for perhaps the zwieback. Unfortunately, they were shy risers and when they did puff up like they were supposed to, the tops became unstuck and toppled over onto the pan. I was able to produce one single perfect zwieback, which was a triumph unto itself. You can be sure I took several pictures of that little guy.

Banana bread

Cinnamon rolls

The perfect zwieback

I traveled back to Gore on the January 5th and had a few days to re-organize everything before returning to work on the following Monday. However, when Monday rolled around, I left the office after lunch with a fever. Turns out, I was coming down with malaria.

Now, before you worry too much, know that people in Chad are constantly contracting and treating malaria. It is very routine and I had already brought a round of the treatment with me as a precaution. I can tell you that the first day of symptoms was not fun, but once I started on the medication, I improved rapidly. Even so, I flew back up to the capital to be closer to the MCC office and take it easy for a few days last week.

I am happy to say I have made a full recovery, I am sleeping a lot and drinking lots of water. I have also had some much-appreciated time again with my host family and my friends here in N’Djamena.

Bénédicte is the cousin of my host brother’s wife and she quickly became one of my closest friends.

In fact, I am still in the capital since it would take several days for me to travel back down to Gore and this Saturday, I fly to Kigali, Rwanda for two weeks! Some of you may have already been aware of this trip, but for those of you who aren’t, I will be attending a week-long training for Monitoring and Evaluation held by MCC. Following that, I will spend another week in the city to visit a few other SALTers and enjoy some more vacation. It feels like I just had time off, but this will be my only chance to get out of Chad for a bit. I am so grateful for the opportunity and I will try to keep you all posted as I travel!

twelve

The Twelve Days of Christmas (In Chad)

I won’t type out the entire song, because that would just be ridiculous. Instead, I’ll just list my twelve and let you substitute them for the original lyrics. I did my best, people.

12 Books a-reading, [1]

11 Children waving, [2]

10 Days: vacation,

9 Roosters crowing, [3]

8 Hours sleeping, [4]

7 Spiders creeping, [5]

6 MCCers,

5:00 AM runs,

4 full work days, [6]

3 kind Nuns,

2 pairs of pants, [7]

And a SALTer in a convent.

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P.S. If you don’t like my version, feel free to substitute with this version by Straight No Chaser.

P.P.S. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas so this is my new desktop background. You’ve got to be flexible in the ways you fill your needs when you’re in Chad.

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[1] My book count is actually up to 15 after these four months but who asked for more verses in this song? And for all you grammar villains out there, yes, I do realize that this line implies that the books themselves are doing the reading but ya know what? You’re not going to be the Grinch that stole my Christmas this year.

[2] every day on my way to and from work and it’s adorable

[3] sometimes waaay too early in the morning

[4] When it’s dark, I go to bed; when its light, I wake up. My sleep schedule has never been more regulated in my life.

[5] like big ones, like as big as your palm

[6] Fridays are half-days

[7] otherwise, you’ll find me wearing the skirts I brought and to be perfectly honest, I’m starting to miss jeans a little bit?

evolution

After my move to Goré, I promptly got down to settling in for two weeks which is why you might not have heard anything from me for a little while. In the time that I’ve spent in my new abode, I’ve attended the Catholic mass twice, made a few trips to the market, gotten lost among all the winding paths in between houses, and found my way back out again.

The first mass that I attended in Goré was the second mass I’ve ever attended in my life and it was quite similar, from what I can remember. Except that it was all in French and there was a choir to the side that would sing hymns in between and during different parts of the service. One hymn was so lively, that several of the nuns felt the Lord calling them to sashay up to the front of the church clapping and dancing, with their lavender dresses and head scarves swaying behind them. It was a joyful sight and the congregation seemed to radiate with energy after witnessing it. Thankfully, mass is only around 2 hours long which is a welcome relief from the 4+ hour-long evangelical services I was used to in N’Djamena. (Although, I do miss all my friends from Foyer Fraternel and the theatre troupe.)

In moving down to Goré, I’ve changed climate zones from the Sahel to semi-tropical forest area. I’m not sure if those are the technical names, but I think it’s close enough. The weather is a bit humid but cooler and the vegetation is still lush and hangs over walls and roads. The clouds in the sky feel wrapped closer here, like they’re hanging within reach.

Looking out over the back wall of the convent

The people in the south are mostly agriculturalists who keep lots of animals: even in the center of town! My whole life is now a perpetual compilation of cute goat videos. That is further helped by my arrival at the end of the rainy season when there is plenty of food, which translates to the perfect time to have baby goats. The nuns tend to many different fruit trees, including papaya, grapefruit, lemon, orange, and mango and they also keep hens, a few roosters, and two ducks along with a guard dog.

Two weeks after I arrived, a few other nuns from a neighboring community paid us a visit. We sat around in the afternoon drinking espresso and tea and chatting about a variety of topics. The chickens and ducks came up in conversation, and I found out that both of our ducks are female. One of the sisters asked if they still lay eggs without a male duck around, and another replied that yes, they still did. She explained that she herself didn’t understand how that was possible without a male duck until one day, she saw with her own eyes one of the roosters mounting the ducks. The nuns gasped, and I heard several utterances of “Oh Seigneur.”

I am certainly no expert in poultry reproduction, so I guess for the moment, I’ll just have to believe what I hear.

One of my favorite parts of being in Goré after a few months in N’Djamena is that I have been able to make significant progress working with colleagues in the field. It is so enjoyable to be able to sit down and have a conversation instead of having to communicate over email. Don’t get me wrong: the modern age has done wonders for communication but when dealing with a foreign language and navigating cross-cultural differences, it is usually just easier to talk in person. I have been able to visit two of the repatriation camps so far and I’m looking forward to starting more work in the field in a few months.

For now, I’m happy just watching and learning while I adapt to my new surroundings!

Crossing the bridge into Goré

garden

A second reason that I’ve been so busy these last two weeks, is that I moved! I am no longer in N’Djamena. Last Monday, the country rep Jean Claude, another MCC employee Abakar, and I loaded up the MCC truck and drove out of town at 6am.

We stopped halfway through the bumpy, pot-hole filled journey at Bongor for a meal of grilled lamb, bread, and local Chadian green tea (which, again, is actually red and also from Cameroon). We reached Moundou around 2pm and met up with MCC partners for the afternoon and evening. Tuesday morning, we set out even earlier and made the three-hour trek down to Goré, which is less than 20 miles from the border with the Central African Republic. (Unfortunately, it is not pictured on the map to the right.)

And now Goré is my new home! My SECADEV partners here had arranged for me to choose between several different rooms at the local convent (insert “Get thee to a nunnery!” joke).

The main building which houses the nun’s quarters, kitchen, and dining room.

At first, we were shown two rooms: a very large room without adjoining toilet and a teeny tiny hallway-of-a-room with adjoining toilet. We ultimately decided that neither the small nor the big room would suit my needs and thus the sisters showed us a medium sized room that seemed just right (insert “Goldilocks” joke). The front door of my little apartment actually opens into a hallway with four doors: two rooms and two toilets. I have taken the front room, leaving the back room unoccupied except for the occasional Daddy Long Leg spider and perhaps a mosquito or two that have yet to be caught and eaten by said spider. This arrangement allows for my bike to be stored in the hallway overnight instead of outside or in my room with me, which is also a plus.

My door, window, and bike.

Walkway from the back garden toward the main building.

Wednesday morning, Jean Claude and Abakar left for N’Djamena and I took a tour around the grounds of the parish. In addition to the fenced in grounds where the nuns live, there is a cathedral, a primary school, a mechanic’s garage where the priests work, and the bishop’s residence. I also found our guard dog who, I am told, is particularly averse to the presence of men. Despite being male, it seems even the dog has taken vows? The residence of the nuns is built to house at least a dozen sisters, however there are only three and a half if you count me? We have passed several very pleasant meals together. We even had the good fortune to enjoy some lovely cheese brought over from Italy, which was a special delight.

I am happy to report that the parish grounds here are truly peaceful. The extensive fruit trees, flowers, and vegetable gardens have made me feel much more connected to nature than the crowded and dusty streets of N’Djamena. (Even though I found the city to have its own appeal.) Please enjoy the following photo collection which I have titled: Just a Bunch of Close-Up Shots of Flowers and Vegetables.

I have already begun to feel the beginnings of a community here. My two supervisors at SECADEV have both welcomed me into their homes and I have met their wives along with several (though not all) children. I’m sure I will be stopping in to say hello and perhaps ask a favor or two from time to time.

In Goré, there is also a large presence of NGO’s including a few of the UN giants: the World Food Program, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, the Food and Agriculture Organization along with various other international players: Doctor’s without Borders, CARE International, and organizations whose acronyms I don’t understand just yet: OEM, RET, ACRA. The presence of all these groups means that there is always an NGO truck rumbling by the office for some reason or another. I have met a few young American women working for these NGOs, and I am looking forward to becoming more acquainted with them as I settle in.

In conclusion, I’ve been channeling a lot of Fraulein Maria in the last few days, just enjoying life, nature, and living with the nuns.

 

moonlight

I have been unusually busy for the last two weeks, which is why I am just now getting around to chronicling the adventure (from October 21) that was the 42^nd anniversary celebration of the church choir in N’Djamena. Before experiencing this momentous occasion, I had no idea what was in store. Let me try to describe my understandings and small role in all the activity.

The primary reason that I was involved, is because the church theatre group, “La Colombe,” of which I am a part, had been invited to perform a skit for the church service as part of the Sunday morning message. La Colombe had been rehearsing for weeks and the director had even given me a small speaking role in the first scene.

As the day of the performance approached, we hurriedly gathered our coordinated uniforms from the tailor and the women found white scarves to tie up our hair. My pursuit of the white scarf led me on a last-minute trip to the local market with a friend the night before the performance. (Side note: we ended up walking back to her house while I waited for a ride home and found her pregnant dog had just given birth that night!!)

Sunday morning, I arrived at church bright and early at 8am, as usual, and found my place among my fellow thespians. The service was packed with over 1,000 members, friends, family, and even a special guest choir from out of town. The chorists were all dressed in matching green and yellow fabrics which made for an impressive sight, considering that there must have been over 75 members. We sang and danced (and sweated) for the first several hours of church and then it was time for our skit.

We played our parts very well and the congregation laughed heartily when – as part of the skit – one of the actors introduced me as a half-Polish, half-Chadian member of their fictional choir. Still somewhat hard to believe, I think…

Following church, members of both choirs and La Colombe were served lunch before we all piled into the beds of various trucks to drive over to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for another celebration service. At first, I was confused because I didn’t understand what the government had to do with all this celebrating, but I was quickly informed that the Ministry building is home to the only auditorium big enough to fit all the invited guests. Even with all that room, there were many people left standing at the back and in the aisles and soon, the singing and dancing had started up again.

By the time the service ended, it was 7pm and we had all be at it since the morning. I wondered how everybody could keep up that kind of pace! I was exhausted and luckily found an air-conditioned car ride home to a nice meal.

My two young host cousins at home were eager to start up their new favorite game after dinner and even with all the day’s activities, found it in me to play a few rounds of cards with them. The electricity hadn’t come on yet, but luckily it was the right time of the month, and we played Go Fish by moonlight.

hands

I use very few household machines here in Chad. As a result, I have earned a new appreciation for my hands and the hard work they can do.

Laundry Day

The big appliances which are missing, you can probably guess: a dishwasher, a vacuum cleaner, a washing machine and dryer. (Although, the sun helps me out with that last one.) But, there have been a few items that I did not realize I took for granted: water faucet, cutting boards, broom.

Our water comes from a manually operated pump outside my door and supplies several families around the neighborhood with well water. There are constantly women and children coming into the compound to pump three, four, or five gallons into buckets which they then carry out of the compound – more often than not – on their heads. Every morning, I pump my own water for my bucket shower and in the evenings to wash my face. I’ve always had noodle arms, but I think that may finally be starting to change…

Cutting boards were the next thing I sorely missed. Instead of preparing food on the table, both meat and vegetables are cut in your hand. This is only made possible because all the knives here are very dull. (And yes, I do realize that traditional wisdom is that the most dangerous knife is a dull knife.) I volunteered to help prepare porridge and scrambled eggs last Saturday for my church theatre group where this reality took on a renewed sense of immediacy. Try dicing an onion in your hand without cutting yourself. Now try a tomato with the dullest knife you have. Yeah. Instead of nice cubes of tomato, I produced misshapen globs of pulverized tomato skin. Luckily, it all went together into the scrambled eggs and nobody could tell.

I lied a little bit on this last one: brooms. It’s not that there aren’t brooms here – there are. But, everyone still prefers to use hand-held brooms that are essentially a bundle of stalks held together by string or a scrap of fabric. I’ve begun each morning for the last several weeks at sunrise helping my host sisters sweep the dirt yard of the compound. I was sore after the first few days from keeping my balance bent over and sweeping, but I’ve gotten fairly good at it now – even if some days it’s a struggle to get out of bed early in the morning.

Preparing vegetables for dinner with cousins Gracia (in front) and Benedict (in back)

Preparing vegetables for dinner

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Another note on hands:

Unbeknownst to me, I caused quite a scandal a few weekends ago at church. In my defense we were already 3.5 hours into a sweltering service and I had forgotten that everything I do gets noticed by somebody.

We had finally reached the time for offering and everyone filed to the front of the church to where the collection box sits on a table. I had my offering enclosed in my hand and as I passed by, I placed it gently in the box. This Sunday was a special service with all the children present and sitting in the very front of the church. (Usually, the children have Sunday school elsewhere.) I wove my way back to my seat and soon enjoyed the end of the service, gleefully going outside for some fresh air.

Later, when I got home, my host mom told me that she saw me in church when I went up to the offering. I replied that yes, that I had seen her too, standing at the front with all the children. She asked me, did you put the offering in the box with your left hand?

Oh no.

The offering box had been on my left side, so I had placed my offering with my left hand, not giving it a second thought. She then explained that the offering was something you’re giving to God, and you must show respect, so put it in the box with your right hand or both hands and act respectful when you do it. All the children in the church (who I’m sure had been watching me intensely) had seen me place my offering in the box with the wrong (unclean) hand!

My host niece (14 years old) asked me about it later and said that the children whispered to each other about how “the nasara had given offering with the wrong hand!” The children had found it funny and exciting that I had made such a juvenile mistake. I’m sure I’ll be forgiven in the church and now I know to watch a lot more closely everything that I do with my left hand!

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One final story about my hands. One of the most common questions people ask me – after what is your name, where are you from, what are you doing here, and can you teach me English / take me to America – is why do you wear a ring on your thumb? For several years I have worn a slim silver band on my right thumb for no particular reason other than I like it.

Well, apparently here in Chad, a thumb ring indicates that you’re a widow: which I am not. I even had one young woman tell me not to wear it on my thumb because people will be afraid of me. Instead, she said, I should wear it on my middle finger which shows that I am engaged, so people will respect me; even though I am not engaged either.

I have taken to switching between my thumb and middle finger – mostly because my thumb swells in the heat – but I’ll be sure to remember that if I need to intimidate anyone, to wear my ring on my thumb.

 

 

 

home

Well folks, it has been a few more weeks and I figure I’d better give you an update about what my days look like here in N’Djamena. I have gotten into the rhythm of living in the city since moving in with my host family at the beginning of September and I have forgotten to give you all an idea of what my daily routine looks like.

Every morning, it starts to get light around 5:30 am so by 6:00, everybody in the compound is awake. After I wake up, I take my bucket shower and get ready in my room so that by 7:00 am, I am sitting down to breakfast with my host father and brother. Breakfast consists of tea and bread with butter and jam along with some recently added – and much appreciated – dairy milk. Around 7:40 am I hop in the car to get a ride to work with my host brother and sister.

Facing the back wall of our compound. My bedroom door is on the right.

My little SECADEV office.

My bed and desk complete with a lovely mosquito net.

I work in my little office (pictured) from 8:00 am until 2:00 pm, except on Friday – the Muslim day of prayer – when the office closes at noon. Lately, I’ve been working on drafting, revising, and translating from French to English a project proposal that would provide wells, latrines, and training in sanitation practices to several villages along the southern border. I normally take a snack with me to work because I won’t eat lunch until I go home at 2:00 pm. I am an unabashed morning person, so I have appreciated the schedule of the work day; I don’t have to do any work after lunch!

In the afternoon and evening, I might do chores like washing my clothes (by hand), sweeping my room, or I might read, nap, sit around with my host family, or visit the few friends I have made so far in N’Djamena. Monday and Thursday evenings I have rehearsal with a theatre troupe that I joined through my host family’s church and on Wednesday nights, a prayer service is held at my host family’s compound.

Dinner is held between 7:30 and 8:00 pm every evening and the sun has already set by then. If the electricity has not come on (which is most nights) we eat by the light of a battery powered lamp. Usually, by 10 pm, the electricity is on and I can get a good 8 hours of sleep with my fan pointed directly on me. The electricity will last until around 7 am the following morning, although several times it hasn’t come on during the night at all. Some mornings, I will quickly try to iron a garment as soon as I wake up, but I’ve been left with more than one half-ironed shirt when the electricity cuts.

The members of my host family tree are as follows: Papa, Mama, 2 brothers and 1 sister (all between the ages of 28-38), one niece (14 years old), the wife of one of my host brothers and their 2-month old son, and a cousin who helps around the house (7 years old). (Not to mention the two dogs who choose to spend their days terrorizing the numerous chickens and lizards around the yard.) It feels like a chaotic family already compared to my modest family of five, and there are four more siblings who are living elsewhere: some are married, studying at university or working in other countries. In addition to all these people, there is a constant stream of aunts, uncles, various cousins, friends, and neighbors dropping by to visit or share a meal with the family. All in all, it manages to stay pretty busy around the compound.

If none of those people, animals, or activities need my attention, you can find me in the afternoons relaxing in the shade, stretched out on my woven mat reading a book.

Currently reading recommendations from some friends:

Going Bovine by Libba Bray (Thanks, Margaret!)

African Friends and Money Matters by David E. Maranz (Thanks, Maddie!)

Next up: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (Thanks, Caleb!)

city

So there I was: sitting in the dark at Body Café, picking goat meat out of my teeth with five African men.

But wait? How did I get here?

(cue Inigo Montoya) Let me explain…no, there is no time. Let me sum up:

I was met at the airport in the capital of N’Djamena on Thursday, August 23^rd by the MCC country representatives Jean Claude and Francine. The other young person in my program, Jackson, arrived from Nigeria the following day and he and I stayed for the following week at a missionary guest house. Our first weekend in Chad was spent adjusting to our new surroundings and learning about MCC’s work in the country. We traipsed around the city meeting MCC partners (including my partner organization, SECADEV) and talking to friends of MCC about everything from the history, to the people, to the culture of Chad. Getting to know N’Djamena has been an exhilarating, confusing and sometimes awkward. (Let me tell you: moto taxis were not made for people who wear skirts.)

Guesthouse

MCC office courtyard

Apartment at Guesthouse

Streets of N’Djamena

The exciting adventure of our first week was our trip down south to the two towns of Moundou and Goré. Along the way, we enjoyed views of rural villages, corn and sorghum fields, rice paddies, and many cows who refused to get out of the road for us. Moundou is the 2nd largest town in Chad and it was the seat of the French colonial administration and while there we shared a meal** with an MCC partner. The following day was spent in Goré to meet with the SECADEV office there. I will be moving there shortly for work with the water, sanitation and hygiene program in several refugee camps close by.

Once we got to Goré, I realized it was tiny compared to the capital, and absolutely crawling with NGO vehicles. We met with many of the heads of NGOs while we were there including the UN High Commissioner on Refugees, UN World Food Programme, UN Food and Agriculture Organization, and several others. It was a bit surreal being familiar with those names for so long and then meeting the representatives and seeing where they work in the field. The highlight of the trip, though, was seeing the convent and meeting the nuns where I will be renting a room. It is such a peaceful place. I didn’t realize the energy and activity of Goré until we arrived, and I felt truly peaceful.

Fat pigeon hawk?

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Log of Animals Sighted:

dogs, 3-week old puppies, cats, chickens, ducks, so many baby goats, sheep, a giant tortoise, the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life, camels, horses, snake, lizards sunning themselves absolutely everywhere, trees full of nesting herons, and some kind of fat pigeon hawk bird that glared at me from outside my window

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We returned to N’Djamena the following day for additional orientation before I moved in with my host family. I’ll be spending at least the month of September here before I move to the rented room in the convent. I am excited for this time with my host family which will help me acclimate to life in Chad and give me a better understanding of the culture. Then, I’ll relocate to do more field work and program implementation in Goré.

Stop in Kelo. Notice the Mosque next to the gas station in the background.

Cows own the road.

Unclear whether these are sheep or goats, but either way they didn’t even get up as we passed on the left hand side.

** It was this meal that was shared at Body Café. Apparently, some small business owners here like to advertise with English words on their storefronts. This particular restaurant owner chose the words “God is Great” and “Body Café” to be displayed over our heads. I asked an English-speaking Chadian friend about it and he was just as confused as I was considering the meaning of “Body Café.” With regards to the dark, the sun sets early here, so around 7pm, we were left very content but without light at the end of a meal of grilled goat, French fries and a few veggies.

 

welcome

SALT 2018-19 group photo

Hello again and welcome to my first international blog post coming straight from N’Djamena, Chad. There’s a lot to catch you up on, so try to stay with me.

Two weeks ago, I arrived at the MCC US offices in Akron, Pennsylvania along with 84 other young people from around the world. The SALTers from the US and Canada and the IVEPers who are now serving in the US and Canada were all in Akron for a week of orientation before starting our year-long terms with MCC. To be completely honest, it felt a lot like summer camp except with information and discussion sessions in the mornings and afternoons instead of hiking and swimming.

Still there were plenty of breaks to play games like uno, spikeball, and balderdash, to sing, dance, talk, nap, journal, and just take some time to think about all the challenges and blessings to come in the year ahead.

Some highlights during this time include:

1. A trip to the MRC where I was instructed to throw donated clothes into a giant baler which crushed the clothes into very dense cubes for shipping and ultimately resale. We worked for two hours and only managed to fill one bale which was approximately four feet cubed. THE BALER JUST KEPT EATING MORE CLOTHES.
2. Cross-cultural learning sessions where IVEPers from West and Central Africa came together with the SALTers going to countries in that region (i.e. Chad and Rwanda) to discuss various cultural differences. We were together during at least two sessions and laughed so hard over some of the questions and answers about personal space, attitudes at work, and different conceptions of time.
3. The end of the week talent show. At the end of the week, we all came together with different performances to put on a talent show. There were dancers, singers, musicians, magicians, and other acts from all over the world and I’m so grateful for people who continue to post pictures and videos on Facebook. (My amazingly sweet roommate Christen and I put on a skit of our own for the talent show and I also helped a few friends in their acts – I danced in one and played my flute in the other.)

 

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NEW WORD ALERT (I learned this from a friend during orientation):

voluntold: verb \vol-un-TOLD\ being told to do something under the guise of being chosen as a volunteer Example: At the retreat this weekend, Sharon voluntold me to lead singing one morning because of my musical background.

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My orientation small group: (front row, left to right) Ashlee, Natascha, Chau Pi; (back row) Enliang, Safiatou, Rachel, Me, Moses

At the end of the week, we said our goodbyes and I was in the first group to leave. It was truly bittersweet to know that we were each heading out to our assignments that we had anticipated for so long, but still must be separated from so many good friends.

genesis

(en) genesis: noun \ˈdʒɛnɪsɪs\ the origin or coming into being of something

(fr) genèse: nom féminin \ʒənɛz\ origine et développement des êtres

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How did this whole “Chad thing” get started?

There is an easy answer to the question of how it is that I ended up sitting here five days out from embarking on the biggest move of my life. Sure, it would take me thirty seconds to describe how I started studying central Africa my freshman year at IU and became fascinated with countries that many people dismiss as basket cases or dead ends. I studied French, I did a few projects, I read a few books until one day I graduated and… Logically, this story finishes itself.

While all those things are true, there’s a little more to it than that.

February 2017, Marseille

As I mentioned before, I did not travel this week except for a trip to Marseille which lasted only a few hours. A French student at my university invited me and a few other international students to accompany her to a presentation she was giving to refugees and migrants who are learning French. We showed up to the community center where the presentation was to be given and found between 20 and 30 eager young men to meet us.

Over the course of the evening, I spoke with all of them: those who had traveled for two months to arrive in Marseille within the last week from Mali, Sudan, and Chad and those who were refugees from Eritrea and Afghanistan. We were given little pictures of daily activities or topics to talk about in small groups. Some of these included the words mer, boulangerie, and États Unis (USA). We went around the circle explaining what we like and don’t like. Someone said they had worked in a boulangerie as a baker. Another person said they liked to swim in the mer during the summer.

We came around to Ali. He said he wanted to visit Miami in les États Unis. He said he is the youngest in his family. He speaks French and also wanted to practice Spanish with me after he spent the last year in Madrid. I thought he was at least 30 years old, until he informed me that he turned 16 last year.

We continued around the circle. One man said he spoke five languages: English, French, Urdu, Pashto and Punjabi. Another man said he wanted to visit New York someday. As I sat with them listening to their conversation in broken French and my own broken interjections, I thought about what I must look like to them. I hold a U.S. passport in my hand. I board a plane and land on a different continent in a matter of hours. I speak with my parents and brother and sister every week.

As I sit with them, I think about the places I can only imagine that they have been on their journeys to Marseille. A two-month trek through the Sahara followed by a boat crossing at night. A crowded bus or a stuffy train. How far have they walked? Or run?

I don’t know which of them were migrants and which were refugees, but I do know that they all came to France looking for a better life. I hope with every fiber in my body that they find it.

I wrote that when I was studying abroad in the south of France. Following that first evening, I went to visit the center each week or so to hang out and practice French with the guys there. Often, I would speak with a man named Tala and his friend Obama who arrived later in March or April; both sought asylum from Chad. The two of them, their stories and their generosity with me left a nagging thought this unfamiliar country in my mind.

A year later, as I searched for something worthwhile to do with my time after graduation, I found the most perfect placement in the SALT program with MCC. It was work in impact evaluation. It was French-speaking. And it was in – of all places – Chad.

Bingo.

intention

Note: this first blog post is rambling and all over the place but you should have expected that from me.

First, I would like to thank my friend Maddie Ruth for her (indirect) help. She participated in the SALT program in Chad four years ago and wrote a wonderful post about the purpose of her blog. I would like to echo many of her thoughts here. As she did before me, I am sharing this Ted talk and if you plan to read more of my blog posts, I would please ask that you watch the whole thing.

In the talk, the Nigerian author Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie explains the detrimental effect of allowing one story to dominate the narrative for diverse peoples. I hope that those of you reading will keep this message in mind as I launch into my journey through only one country of 54 that make up the African continent.

In truth, even the country-level is too broad a brush with which to paint. This blog is going to provide a fragmented, blurry, and likely contradictory view of Chad that is nowhere near the whole reality. That’s because my story will be exactly that: my story  and moreover, a story about me. My experiences will be undeniably filtered through my own lens as a middle-class, white, American Mennonite in a foreign country. My own ideas, beliefs, and preconceptions will color my view and lead me to represent only my (one) story about Chad.

Furthermore, there are likely to be aspects or experiences that reinforce common stereotypes about Africa and Africans, but I hope to make room for more nuance. Maddie said it best when she laid out her own intention:

“What I want is to make your worlds bigger with this blog, rather than box those people in.”

My purpose working with MCC is to build bridges, maintain partnerships, and serve others. I would be taking one step forward and two steps backward if I blindly perpetuated negative stereotypes about the people I am trying to serve.

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As most of you probably know, I graduated from Indiana University this spring with bachelor’s degrees in International Studies and Economics. After training for four years surrounded by academics, I must admit that I have caught the itch for analytical writing. I am setting out this blog both as a space for me to share my experiences, and also a place where I can process and explore the Chadian context in a more academic sense.

One of the ways I am preparing for my departure in August is by reading several books on Chad’s history and politics. I have already purchased ALL the books Amazon offers on Chad. Now, before you call me crazy, let me explain that there were only two. Not much work has been done to provide English-speaking audiences with a window into the country. Thus far, North Americans have relied on a single story of Chad.

Luckily, both books have extensive bibliographies and my parents were generous enough to give me a kindle for graduation. More reading is in store!

Thanks for reading to the end (don’t forget to watch the Ted Talk!!) and be on the look out for the next blog post!