Emily's Journal

IMC, day 4

2011-06-30T12:47:00.000-05:00

Wednesday started to get crazy. I spent a lot of time running around, and got inducted into a group as one of the campers had to return home. I also rehearsed with my pianist, who only seemed to get fast or slow tempi (a bit annoying but she had all of a day to get the piece down), and then performed in the evening.

The performance went rather well. I did not sing as well as I had in rehearsal (I think I was nervous), but in the recording my running out of breath just sounds like a really, really effective decrescendo/crescendo. So that was nice. I got a lot of compliments from the campers, some of whom were just stunned by my vocal ability, which was really touching. I'm not the best by any means, but open praise from people who admire me is a great boost for me.

I also taught some really simple vocal technique to the kids yesterday - the natural position of the spine, what your diaphragm does, how your head should sit on your shoulders and where your shoulders should hang ... the really, really simple stuff. Apparently I did a good job, because the kids' vocal production got at least three times better in the space of about half an hour. Sometimes it's nice to teach ...

The one-man performance by one of the drama instructors was really interesting. It was an autobiographical story involving himself, NFL quarterback John Elway, and the instructor's alcoholic father. It was profound, funny and touching, and I really enjoyed it.

Ach, I think I have more to write, but I'm forgetting in my haste. I have work to do before the next session starts at one, and I'm leading that session, and then my boyfriend is coming out to visit ... go go go, Emily, and don't melt in the heat!

IMC, day 3

2011-06-28T21:06:00.000-05:00

Today had a bit more movement to it.

I helped out with image theatre and stage combat, fitting in where the groups were odd-numbered, and I kept order during the rehearsal for the musical number. I pressed Play often during the Silent Scene rehearsal, and wrote notes during the poetry rehearsal, and planned my warm-ups for Friday. I went over the warm-ups once, to make sure they were 20 minutes, and I found a pianist for tomorrow night.

I don't count as faculty here, so I can't perform at the faculty recital, and I didn't bother asking if I could perform at the student talent night (I'm not a camper, it's their place). The drama instructors think I ought to perform somewhere, so they've asked me to perform tomorrow night when one of the instructors does a one-man show. So yeah! I'm singing The Girl in 14G - hopefully I'll be awake and warmed-up enough to hit the high notes in quick succession. :) Even if I don't I'm sure they'll think it's good. I'm feeling pretty confident.

I also helped out a bit with the choosing of the groups for the showcase, and I will be doing sectionals for the musical number to help with simple vocal technique. I'm looking forward to that, although I'm a bit nervous about it. I don't want to teach too much, but I don't want to let them go without things that will help them. Fingers crossed ...

I am very, very tired, so I think I am going to go to bed early tonight. Maybe go read for a bit ...

IMC, day 2

2011-06-27T20:26:00.002-05:00

Monday was pretty calm. Woke up a bit later than I meant to, but it worked out okay. It turns out that there are more people here at camp who remember me than I thought there would be - there are at least five or six campers who were at camp when I was, which was pretty cool. A couple of them did a bit of a freak-out when they saw me in the breakfast line, which I found kinda touching. :)

After breakfast, I met up with the instructors one-by-one, and we all touched base, said hello, nice to see you again, etc. This morning, I ended up helping out with the stage combat workshop, and then being a tech for a large group activity (I pressed Play, and Stop, in succession). Good to learn the ropes ... and to find that I haven't forgotten all the stuff I learned when I was here, three/four years ago ... sheesh, I feel kinda old now. That's weird.

I had lunch with my friends, feeling distinctly at-home in the drama-camp atmosphere (about time I came back here, it feels so good), and then had a short break where I untangled all my necklaces. The afternoon consisted of helping out with an image theatre workshop (acting with senses and such, exploring the human mind as it relates to the body) and then observing another large group activity. I then stapled music together, figured out part of the piano accompaniment to said music, and went to dinner. Dinner is served absurdly early here ... the faculty eats at 4.45, the campers at 5. It's so that we have one more hour of class/rehearsal before the evening activities, but still, you end up hungry again ...

I had dinner with the faculty (which is really weird after you've been a camper ... not waiting in line? what?), and then went to the staff lounge (sheesh, it's like I work here or something) to see if I could get some Internet going. My laptop's wireless card is dead as a doornail, so I have to plug a LAN cable in somewhere. Luckily I managed it, and it really only depends on whether or not someone is using the communal desktop, which is easily worked around. So many people here have laptops - there are nine in the room right now, as I type. It's crazy. We're all connected, even out here.

I found out, during my brief stint on the Interwebs, that I may have a job lined up for July and August, living with my grandmother a couple hours north of where I am now. It's probably my best bet for a job right now, as I kind of doubt I will be able to land anything when I go back to Winnipeg at last, but I was given so few details that I don't want to say an unqualified yes.

The final hour of class today was the introduction and learning of the group musical number (the music which I stapled earlier), which went quite well ... not too surprising, as probably 90% of the drama kids already knew it rather well. It's Seasons of Love, from Rent ("Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes ... " etc).

After that final hour of class, I went back to the faculty lounge (where I sit now) and called my grandmother via Skype (long-distance pay-phone fees are exorbitant) to get more details about this potential job ... and of course she was not there, or did not hear the phone. I left a message and said I'd call back. So I will. Soon. I'm not exactly looking forward to the reaction of my younger sisters, if I end up getting this job - they will not be impressed that I may not be coming home this summer ...

VISI, day 24/IMC, day 1

2011-06-27T19:46:00.001-05:00

Sunday was crazy on several levels.

The airport in the morning was terrible. I arrived an hour and a half before my flight - cutting it close, but who's flying early on a Sunday morning? Answer: everyone who takes forever to go through a line. I waited in lines and got rerouted until 9.10 ... which was ten minutes before my plane was supposed to take off. During that time, I had to make a frantic phonecall home, as I was going to be stuck if I couldn't pay the fine for my extra bag (which was more than I had originally been told to pay, which was the number I had planned for). I ran to security, waited another five minutes, and then of course had my bag searched, because it was full of electronics. I bolted to the gate. They'd held it over for me. I boarded the plane a few minutes after it was supposed to take off, and of course I happened to be sitting in a wing seat, so they had to take a minute to explain the emergency exit procedure, and then we finally took off.

The flight was uneventful, apart from the very friendly Japanese man beside me who thought that everything in the movie he was watching was hilarious, and therefore never stopped laughing or sighing or making little noises of approval ... you know. Which is fine. In moderation. He never stopped. I had my headphones on most of the way, but it was still a bit of a sticking point ...

Upon arriving in Winnipeg and greeting my family (and friends who had come), I was informed that my luggage had not made it onto the plane that I had boarded, and was coming on the next flight from Vancouver. Sigh. I decided to wait, rather than have it shipped to me out at the border, so we waited until six ... and then left Winnipeg at seven ... for a three-hour drive. My boyfriend had agreed to take me out to the camp I was working at for this week, so that we'd have time to talk - that way, my parents didn't have to pile the kids into the car for a six-hour drive, nor did they have to use extra vehicles ... it worked out. Also, my boyfriend lives relatively close to the camp (closer than my parents anyway), so there's that, too.

On the drive, he and I had a two-hour conversation about the ethics, philosophy and theory of artificial intelligence - from a purely theoretical, mostly non-scientific standpoint, since neither of us are experts in the actual scientific field. Ethics made up a large part of the conversation - questions about the ethics involved, questions about human-AI interaction, and so on and so forth. Not many answers to the questions, but plenty to think about. Lots of hypotheticals thrown around, and many references to various science-fiction scenarios, ranging from the inimitable Asimov all the way to Mass Effect, Halo and Portal. Fascinating, fascinating stuff.

Upon reaching the camp, I checked in at the main office and found my little room. I unpacked as quickly as possible, as my roommate was rather tired, and went to bed. I'm rooming with the creative writing intern. She's far more qualified than I am. XD Oh well.

VISI, day 23

2011-06-26T02:19:00.000-05:00

The final day of the fun ...

I went for a short shopping excursion this morning, to find two more gifts as well as a baggage scale. My time is very short tomorrow morning, and I do not want to spend unnecessary time repacking bags ... My shopping was successful, and I returned home to pack. The morning was very, very rainy, and so my hopes of going to the beach one last time were dashed ...

... except that when I got home, the sun came out. I rethought my schedule, and decided I had time to go to the beach. Off I went - so quickly that I forgot my sunscreen. Oops. Upon arriving at the beach (the third one I chose, and the nicest), I went and walked in the water a bit. I didn't really want to go swimming, and then try to get the seaweed out of my hair, so I just walked. It was rather cold, and the sky had clouded over again. I went back, leaned against a log, and read for half an hour; at that point, the sun came out, and I just lay in the sun for another half hour. I then bussed back, did a little bit of packing, and hurried off to the music building to run through staging ...

... only to find that they were an hour behind! I decided to go have a shower, which I had meant to do earlier, but when I returned an hour later, I only just got there in time to rehearse my song. Luckily it went quite well and no one seemed particularly annoyed that I hadn't shown up in time. Oops again ...

I stayed in my gown to make dinner, and then eat it, and then do my hair and makeup. It's a bit of a hassle to get into, so I didn't want to have to do so again ... The gala was wonderful. Rather long - three and a half hours - but every minute was packed with interesting interpretation and excellent acting. The first act was the first half of our art songs; the second act was a short staged production by several of the students in a parallel program to my own; and the third act was the second half of the art songs. Almost all of the songs were staged (only three or four were performed in recital fashion), and they were all brilliantly conceived. Some were hilarious, some were heartbreaking, some were somewhat disturbing ... and all were so very artistic. :) We had drunk men, cocktail lounge singers, marionette masters, blind women, amorous pining from both sexes, and then little moments like reminiscing about one's grandmother ... yes, that was me.

Now, after the gala, everyone else has gone off to party, and I, alas, am not old enough ... besides, I still need to finish packing. So here I am. Packing. ... blogging.

VISI, day 22

2011-06-25T14:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was not terribly eventful. I thought about going shopping in the morning, but decided the schedule would be too rushed, so I stayed home and packed a bit.

Concert of French and Quebecois song at one; quite good. Coaching at two; not bad either. Lost my pencil, commented on it, used one of the pianist's pencils, not a problem. A loss of a pencil is not important.

Went home, packed more, made supper. The concert yesterday evening was a presentation of art song theatre: a performance of Songs from Spoon River, where long-dead residents of a small town talk about their lives; and a performance of That Way Goes the Game, a hilarious romp through Shakespeare where a graduate student comes to understand women by having to deal with Katherine, Lady Macbeth and Ophelia over the course of a night. Both performances were very well done, and That Way Goes the Game was absolutely gut-busting, using Shakespearean langauge alongside modern English in ways that were really very funny. (For instance, after Lady Macbeth pours out her soul in a re-enactment of the night of Duncan's murder, and is being comforted in her grief and guilt by Ophelia, the graduate student announces, "That is some messed-up shit." Ba ha ha ha ha ... )

After the concert, I scurried back to the dorms, and spent an hour listening to Portal 2 quotes before falling asleep. Yes, this was a silly idea, but it caught my brain ...

VISI, day 21

2011-06-24T11:58:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was mostly fun. After breakfast, I hopped on a bus and went to Granville Island, where I spent the morning shopping ... or, well, looking. It's a beautiful place - a bit like the Forks in Winnipeg, but several times larger. It's that lovely little oasis of foliage in a metropolis. :)

I wandered around several craft stores, contemplating the best gifts to buy for my family - and having a heck of a time, actually. It would be much easier if I were 19 - I'd just buy some BC-specific brews and bring them home to Mom and Dad. Alas, I am two months short ...

I ended up deciding that I needed to go back home and think about things, and besides there was a student marketplace on-campus that day and I knew there were some things there that I could get for my siblings. I had gotten something for my brother, and wandered around an umbrella shop (I found the perfect umbrella. unfortunately, it costs $65), and had eaten a marvelous crêpe with pears and brown sugar for lunch ... so I declared the morning a relative success, and headed home.

Warning: rant ahead.

I knew there were some shops along the street where I would need to get a bus, so when I saw that the next one wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, I decided to walk a bit and see what I could see. That turned out to be somewhat of a mistake. About two or three blocks in, I was stopped by a perfectly friendly young man, probably in his early or mid-twenties, who asked what I was listening to, and then started a conversation with me about the charity he was working for. I listened politely, as I was indeed interested, and he was friendly - but when it became clear that they were looking for monthly donations, I had to find a way to demur and politely refuse ... not because I wouldn't want to, but because I don't have the means.

Unfortunately, he was rather insistent. He wanted my banking details, and when I said I didn't have them (which was true), he said he could call them on his smartphone, he'd pass the phone to me and I could negotiate the transfer. At this point I was rather turned off. I asked if I could take a form home with me, and he said they didn't want them to get spread around for fear of being copied (which I don't quite understand); I asked if there were a website on which I could sign up, and he said no, it had to be now. At this point I apologized, said I really had to catch a bus, and asked if there were a number I could call. He said no, but he could take my number and call me back.

Really, dude? Sigh. I gave him my name and number. I caught the bus. I went home.

Once home, I Googled the charity, and it turns out that it is indeed quite easy to sign up online for monthly donations, or, if you'd rather, to give a one-time gift. I had already planned not to answer his call, but now I want to answer even less. If he'd given me the option of signing up to a mailing list or even just given me the website, I would have considered it - but his attitude was frustrating and rather rude, so, no thank you.

Rant over.

Upon returning to UBC, I went to the student marketplace and bought souvenirs for my sisters, and then came home to have a nap. I had been out from 9.30 and it was now 2.30. I was quite tired, so I slept a bit, and then went off to my coaching with Erika Switzer at 4.00. This was quite good - she helped me figure out this whole "find meaning in the words" thing, and she worked with us on diction and direction and things like that. We were all very, very tired ...

I went back to the dorms and made dinner, then got a little bit dressed up and went back to the music building, for something called "The Concert of Your Wildest Dreams". This is one of the director's ideas - after three weeks of being nitpicked, nagged, directed, corrected ... you get to perform in a concert where everything you do is absolutely amazing. The audience is allowed and encouraged to comment on bits of the performance that they find amazing - while you are performing. Now this might sound distracting, and on occasion it was, but most of the time it was extraordinarily encouraging. There's nothing quite like hearing, "Schubert would be proud," as you perform one of his Lieder. It's this incredible reassurance of self and of purpose, and it's so very freeing.

We had some hilarious performances, too - once people kinda got into the feel of "anything goes as long as you're having fun", we really opened up. Some of the performances had us just about falling off our chairs laughing - some of the performances had us nearly in tears. And no one was allowed to stop clapping until the performers actually told us to stop - jump to your feet and applaud and applaud and applaud! It's so empowering, both for audience and for performer. You really get to discover the creativity within yourself, and to see everyone else's creativity, as well. It makes you very, very happy.

After the concert, I talked with the director briefly about her travels to Rwanda, and about mine a little bit, and she gave me some leads as to who I could contact to return as a musician, and really use my talents and gifts to help the people I care about so much. That was a nice little conversation.

I walked back with a bunch of VISIers, and even though they were all heading off to party and enjoy themselves (where I, alas, would not be allowed to enter), we had fun walking together. It spiralled, as these things do, into Monty Python quotes and random singing of art song and just being goofy in general, and I felt the closest I have to these people in three weeks. (I'm strange, right?) I broke off from the group and went home, warmed up some food, and relaxed a bit before bed.

Today, I was planning on heading to a Sears outlet and buying a baggage scale (you know, the little thing you clip onto your bag and then lift to find out how heavy the bag is), but it turns out the nearest one is downtown - so I'm going to do that tomorrow, when I have more free time, and when I will go back to Granville Island. I don't have to be anywhere until four tomorrow, and while of course I have to be home earlier than that in order to get ready and warm up and things like that, I have more thought-time to travel downtown, get the baggage scale, bus back a bit to go to Granville Island, pick up the things I want, and head back home. It's just a more relaxed schedule.

If the sky clears, I might walk to the beach - but to a beach with sand this time, so it's a longer walk than Wednesday, so I might do that tomorrow, too. I'd actually like to go in the water (I haven't yet), so I'd have to have a shower when I get back, which is another variable to consider in timing ... I don't know. We'll see! Right now I'm going to do some preliminary planning of packing.

VISI, day 20

2011-06-23T00:37:00.000-05:00

The second half of today was uneventful. I went to the beach - a closer beach than the one I went to the first time - but it had no sand, really, just a bunch of rocks. I moved some rocks around so that I had a relatively smooth place to sit and lean back, and I read for an hour and a half or so. Very, very quiet - next to no one around. Steep incline from the main city, quiet waves. A Wednesday afternoon - the only people at the beach are the ones trying to relax. :)

I then went home, made some dinner, and hung out on the Internet for a bit before bussing to a concert about 20 minutes away - a lovely miscellany of art song, rounded out with a second act consisting of Ralph Vaughan Williams' Songs of Travel, a cycle I had never heard all the way through. I quite like it.

And then we all bussed back to UBC, and hilarity ensued as several of my VISI-mates began reading the program of the night's concert in a sort of tone-imbued English, substituting alternate phonetic pronunciations of consonants, creating diphthongs or taking them out (or, goodness, triphthongs), speaking in a very singsong fashion (hence the choice of the term "tone-imbued"), and just generally mangling the language so that it sounded nothing like English at all. It was incredibly funny, and some of them were really very good at doing it on the spot.

Now I am home, and snacking on cereal while getting ready for bed. G'night world ... tomorrow I shop.

VISI, day 19

2011-06-22T14:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a day full of movement. Performance psychology first thing, then the final lecture (about Paul Verlaine's poetry - interesting, but got a bit dull and repetitive - I left a little bit early), then lunch, then a coaching ...

and then the adventures started! We all bussed downtown to attend a concert in an office building - June 21st is the Fête de la Musique in France, and Vancouver is trying to start its own tradition. There was music everywhere, of all kinds. It was very neat! The concert was all French music, very traditional, very pretty.

A smaller group of us went to dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory, which was very yummy, and then we walked over to the Orpheum Annex theatre, where the VISI faculty was going to give another concert of French music.

It started with very traditional French mélodie and chanson, but then got very funny. Real French humour! It was roll-in-the-aisles hilarious, with spoken-word song, immense amounts of wordplay (I'm so glad I speak French), little pokes at composer styles by setting words from a Raisin Bran box to music ... and then an absolutely hilarious performance of Erik Satie's Je te veux - performed, eventually, by everyone who had sung! The program was written as if one soprano was going to sing it, which is the traditional way of performing the song, but the two very French baritones took over and started singing to her (which is very funny because the song is from the perspective of a mistress talking to her lover) ... and then she replied ... and then it just got insane because everyone started singing.

It was truly the best concert I'd been to in a long time. Finally, a concert proclaiming that the French repertoire is not boring, is not old, is not passé - but that the French themselves are hilarious, love poking fun at themselves and their history, and aren't offended by it! It was glorious - like a return to high school, in a very good way.

Bussed home, talked to my boyfriend for a bit (which was nice), and then went to bed ...

So far today, I have discovered which muscles I am overusing to create a posture that isn't even right, and I have been enlightened as to the interpretation of Duparc's L'invitation au voyage. Now I am eating lunch, and then I will go to a concert, and then the beach, and then shopping, and then another concert!

VISI, day 18

2011-06-20T21:55:00.000-05:00

Also a fairly uneventful day. Woke up feeling absolutely lousy, so I texted my pianist saying I would be late to the first coaching. Had a shower, felt marginally better, headed over. The coaching was quite good actually.

I brought my dress and some lunch along, so I ate quickly then changed and brushed my teeth, as I was singing in a concert at one o'clock. I sang Die Mainacht and Les chemins de l'amour. It went quite well, I thought: not a perfect performance by any means, but I managed to stay in the moment, focused, got over mistakes and went on, and was overall happy with my performance. Yay!

I had one more coaching at four, so I went home and ... watched more My Little Pony. A good pick-me-up after a somewhat-depressing missive received from a good friend.

My second coaching was a staging session, so it was alright. I like to work with this sort of thing.

After that coaching I headed back to dorm, made some food and had a chat with my mother, which was good. Tomorrow looks vaguely complicated but I'm sure it'll all get figured out.

Oh! Bird story! While I'm thinking about it! So this is Friday morning, and I'm asleep, and I'm dreaming, and suddenly I think I hear one of the cats making a strange sort of coo/meow noise. It sounds a bit like a bird, but I associate it with a cat, since I've grown up with cats. Except then I start to wake up, and the sound's not going away, and I remember that I'm in Vancouver, and there is no cat in my room.

oh my gosh. It's a bird. It has to be a bird. There is no screen on the window of my room, and I have been keeping it open. It's a bird. There is a bird in my room.

It's not flapping around. I open my eyes, and look around a bit. I don't see it. I sit up. Still don't see it. Look at the window. Oh, the curtain is flapping a bit, maybe it's just standing on the ledge. Maybe if I twitch the curtain it'll fly out the window. I slide forward in bed a bit, toward the window, and suddenly there's this great flapping and a coo, and I scream out of surprise as the bird flies up from where it was standing beside my bed (on the floor) to my desk.

We both stop. I take a look at it. It's a decently big bird - maybe two and a half times the size of a robin? Not the size of a seagull, though. A medium-sized bird. It's a steely, muted greyish-blue, and looks like it has some speckles on its tail. But I don't have my glasses on, so it's a bit hard to tell.

I'm nervous - if it gets mad at me, it's a lot faster than I am, and I don't have anything to defend myself in easy reach (I suppose a pillow might have worked). I can't really get to the door. The curtain is still closed. I have no idea (duh) what this bird is thinking. Maybe it just doesn't know how to get out. I inch over, reach and grab the curtain, then pull it open. I wait. It flies to the ledge, then hops out the window. I lean over, carefully, and wait for it to hop a bit along the ledge before pulling the window mostly shut.

Luckily, I did not wake anyone, and luckily, the bird did not decide to be mad at me.

So that is the bird story!

VISI, day 17

2011-06-20T00:44:00.000-05:00

Very little happened today of note.

I went to church. I missed the bus to church and so I walked. It was not far. I walked in just as the service had started.

I bussed back and made lunch. I played games most of the afternoon. It was gray and rainy, and I did not really want to go out.

I considered not going to the concert tonight, but reasoned that since I had been inside almost all day, it would be good for me to get out a bit.

Except that I thought I had to leave at 7.15, when the bus left at 7.06. I booked it out the door at 7.00 after bolting down food and pulling on a dress and hose ... and missed the bus anyway. I decided knew that the next one would get there only slightly late, so I elected to stay. Something was nagging at me that I shouldn't bother, but I put that up to just wanting to not do anything ... so I stayed aboard.

I got where I needed to go, only to find that the theatre I was aiming for was, in fact, locked. I don't know why. It was ten after eight; the concert started at eight. I decided that the area looked a bit sketchy and the last thing I wanted was to look lost and helpless while wearing a dress in a sketchy area, so I decided to head off and find a bus stop. When I left, I'd been in a hurry, so I didn't know the nearest bus stop back. I ended up walking in the wrong direction, getting help from an outside source, and walking back. All in all it took forty minutes to find a bus stop. I may as well have been at the concert.

I want caffeine. I'm stressed. I'm tired.

But at least there's no bird in my room. I keep forgetting to tell that story.

VISI, day 16

2011-06-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

Another late night means another morning post.

Yesterday was mainly uneventful, though I sent an email or two that needed sending. After posting about Friday (in which I forgot a story, which I shall have to tell in a minute or two), I hung out for a bit on the Internet, then did laundry. I also made lunch. After lunch, I scurried off to participate in the art and conflict resolution workshop, which was interesting if perhaps a bit esoteric. We examined art and conflict resolution through the lens of the four ancient alchemic elements (fire, air, water, earth). This actually wasn't that weird as it might sound - it was really just categorical names for passion, mind, emotion and the world, all of which come into play in conflicts (and therefore their resolution). There was not a lot talked about that I didn't already know, instinctively or not, but there were interesting bits and bobs tossed around.

I have been thinking about typing out all my notes and posting them here, as attachments. I don't know if that would interest people. I would scan them when I got home, but I worry a bit that they would be illegible to other eyes. I write well, but ... not that well. Anyway. If you read my blog, and you'd be interested in reading notes from lectures, or coachings, or performance psychology/Alexander Technique sessions ... give me a shout in the comments (here or Facebook or Twitter or whatever).

After the workshop, I went back to dorm to get ready for the Schubertiade - an evening of music and song and fun, in fancy dresses, with alcohol. Except I couldn't have any alcohol. sigh. I wore my bright-red grad dress, which was a serious hit - I was told by a complete stranger that I looked exquisite, and several students of the VISI program thought I looked really good, too. As I mentioned on my Twitter, though, strangers telling you that you look exquisite are only ever time travellers ... I wonder why someone came to the Schubertiade simply to tell me I looked wonderful? Hm ... :P

The VISI singers sang at the beginning and the end of the three-hour concert (Im Abendroth and An die Musik), which was a good way to open and close the evening. The first hour was a sort of Schubert 'séance', where the artistic director was purportedly from another planet (not the only time traveller, it would seem), and they had technology enough to bring people who had passed from this dimension back for brief periods of time ... except there wasn't good enough reception in the hall, so we had to settle for someone in the audience channeling Schubert. This resulted in hilarity as no fewer than ten people claimed to be Schubert, but they were winnowed out (all plants, of course, from the Songfire Theatre program) by means of a Schuberti-off (yeah they went there) with Schubert-testing questions. The remaining Schubert gave some small tidbits of information in between performances of Schubert Lieder, and it was an amusing time, if a bit boring by the end of it. It could have been much more interesting, somehow ...

The second hour was the Canadian-content portion, and I was not certain whether or not it would prove interesting ... but I needn't have worried. Many of the composers and poets of the repertoire were actually there that night, which was an experience I had never really had before - not just applauding the performer, but actually applauding the composer and the poet, sitting right there in the audience. Very neat. Plus there was some hilarious repertoire, including a pair of love songs written by a composer-poet couple who had gotten married the day before, and the songs had been performed by the same duo performing them that night as a wedding gift. The first song was called Something Like That, and was this wonderful little musing on "you're beautiful ... or something like that, anyway". It was just so sweet. The second song was called Hanky Panky, and was an ... well, I'm not sure how to describe it, but you can only get away with that sort of a song if you're over 60, which Stephen Chatman is. It had the house rolling on the floor laughing, it was so funny and risqué. Not even trying to hide it, either. There was also a performance by Chincilia Bartoli and Sumi Jaw ... yes, yes, I know, it's Cecilia and Jo, but not in this case - this was a pair of singers who laid on a table with their heads to the audience and had dresses on the top half of their heads and sunglasses on their chins. Take a minute to imagine that. Yeah.

The third hour was a performance of Brahms' Liebeslieder, a set of 18 songs about love and all sorts of little tangents, all performed by the same quartet. It was a lovely way to end the evening. I walked home after (the theatre was on-campus), and basically went to bed.

Today is gray and rainy, so I will not be going to the beach after church - instead, I will play games and read, and perhaps write, and maybe even have a nap. There is a premiere performance this evening of art songs written this week, so I will find my way over to that for eight o'clock, but from 11.30 till then, I shall relax. What a concept!

VISI, day 15

2011-06-18T13:03:00.000-05:00

Yesterday (for it is yesterday now) was fun. After breakfast in the morning, I went to my performance psychology class, and we rounded off the two weeks of classes with talk of exercise, nutrition, medication, and more quasi-meditative techniques. It was very relaxing, and I'm glad I went.

We only had one lecture yesterday morning: an overview of 19th-century French poetry. After my French classes in high school being alternately very dull and very interesting, I was sceptical as to whether I wanted to go, but I got up and made myself go because I knew it would have information I would find useful, whether or not I found it interesting. Sure enough, it was both dull and interesting in places, and there was indeed useful information. It was truly an overview, as an hour and a half is not enough time to delve into 19th-century French poetry, but we were able to look at the major movements and their figureheads, which was enlightening. We also looked closely at a poem of which I am performing a setting, Baudelaire's L'invitation au voyage, and so that was very useful.

I then hopped over to the student union building to get some lunch, and in so doing, get change for the bus. I finally had a matcha frappe ... oh man those things are good. :D

I scurried off to the first of the VISI participants' concerts, which was a good concert - varied repertoire, plenty of expression, a sense of being in a community that understood where each interpretation was coming from and where the technique might still need work.

After the concert was an hour-and-a-half session on French diction with Mme Landry, which did not teach me very much that I did not already know, but the things that I did not know turned out to be rather important - such as the fact that harmonizing the vowels in a certain word can turn it into an entirely different word ... sometimes with grave consequences. It's a matter of slang, and it's a good thing we find these things out!

I then went to my only coaching, which went well - a well-rounded coaching dealing with marrying consonants and legato, richness of tone with phrasing, etc. After that, I hurried out to catch a bus, to go meet a very good friend of mine ... an hour and a half away.

The bus/train/bus ride passed fairly quickly, but she was caught in traffic so I was about half an hour early. When she got there, we went for dinner at a Japanese restaurant, wandered a bit, went to her boyfriend's (parents') apartment, said hello, went to the taekwondo school at which her boyfriend teaches ... and then, when he was finished, we all chatted and hung out. I was finally introduced to My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, which was just as hilarious as it had promised to be, and ... yeah! We talked and laughed. The neat thing about it is that we all know each other from way back, and though I didn't know her boyfriend as well, he remembered me (we all met on the same forum), and so we did have that in common. It was a pretty sweet time actually, and I ended up staying two hours past when I was originally going to leave.

I hopped on a bus at 11.30 and got home at 1.30, safe and sound - if a little bit unnerved. Some people were kinda sketchy on each of the legs of the trip, but no one was inappropriate or anything. So it was fine.

And then I went to bed, and slept in till ten. Now I have to go to laundry, and then I should go to a workshop on art in conflict resolution, and then I should get ready for the Schubertiade tonight ... bright red grad dress, here I come. :D

VISI, day 14

2011-06-16T23:26:00.000-05:00

I had breakfast in the dorms this morning. It was a nice break from the warmth and people of the cafeteria. I can only take so many people in the morning ... I much prefer breakfast on my own.

I went to performance psych, which wasn't as scary as I expected it to be - we did a lot of concert visualization, figuring out what makes us feel comfortable on stage and distilling that into phrases we can use as process cues, sentences that bring us back to a place in our mind and body that feels as we want it to.

The ten o'clock lecture was a two-hour forum on translation, which passed in a flash. It was truly interesting to hear and talk about the art of translation from so many viewpoints: there were people on the panel concerned with poetry, creative writing, French, German, musicology, translation in itself, distribution, and audience/singer/reader understanding. It was fascinating. We talked about a Goethe poem (the basis for Schubert's Wanderers Nachtlied) and a Paul Verlaine poem (Clair de lune).

We talked about the inconsistencies of language, how poetry uses language, the purpose of metaphors, how to be faithful to a poem (rhyme scheme? ideas? metre? words? meaning? intent?), word choice, purpose, audience ... like I said, truly fascinating. It could have gone on for hours, and the thing is there really aren't solid answers to many of the questions that translation poses - just stances, and sometimes your stance can change depending on why you need a translation, or why you translate a piece.

My first coaching this afternoon was with Mme Rosemarie Landry, a true top banana (that expression cracks me up) in the world of French song. I was nervous about working with her, but she was absolutely adorable and so much fun. She was very kind, if very insistent. She pointed out errors in my French that were caused by my speaking Canadian French (I have very sibilant fricatives, for instance), and helped me find a way to interpret the Poulenc piece I am working on so that it is not old-fashioned, nor is it unduly sad. She was very encouraging, and said only time will fix some of the issues - time and practice, of course.

The second coaching was with Dr Cameron Stowe, a pianist and interpreter. We worked on a Brahms piece, one that I'd coached several times before in the past week and a half, with varying degrees of success (but always something learned). There were several long phrases on which I was holding back for fear of a lack of breath, and as such were suffering in tone quality and vowel depth; he said to make it spin, I did, it used more air but ... I didn't run out. We also fixed some problems of register changes by adding depth to the vowel, which was caused by relaxing the muscles on the bottom of my head (I think it's the geniohyoid muscle, but I'm not sure). I think those were being kept closed (and still are - I keep catching myself at it) while I had my braces in. I may have to spend some time with my mouth open at all times to break the habit.

After coachings, I went grocery shopping, and found out how to manage getting to Surrey tomorrow. Tomorrow is adventure day! I get to go meet a good friend of mine for the first time. It'll be sweet, even if it does mean a bus ride of an hour and a half either way. Oh well. Worth it. Also time to relax and read.

Now it is time to have a shower, and then go to bed.

VISI, day 13

2011-06-15T23:35:00.000-05:00

Today went pretty well, considering last night went quite horribly.

I decided not to go to performance psychology class, so instead my day started at 10 with presentations from Emily Ezust, webmistress of the Lied, Art Song and Choral Texts website, and Robert Crawford, the owner of the site and a musical artist in his own right. I had been very interested in hearing Ms. Ezust speak, as I've used her website for a long time; I would have enjoyed more details on the computer-science side of things, but then, I have the background in it ... most of the people in the room wouldn't have cared much. Mr. Crawford's presentation was not, I thought, as interesting: he works on software that is basically enhanced supertitles, pushing the notion that the audience needs to see the text in order to fully appreciate the music. I don't disagree, but he was a bit aggressive and repetitive. Oh well. I would have also liked to hear more about why Ms. Ezust does what she does - what her philosophy is. Why does she care enough to put this database out there and work on it full-time?

After that lecture was an hour about Peace it Together, a summer program uniting teenagers from Israel, Palestine and Canada in a month of filmmaking about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I was all teary in about ... five minutes. I don't know very much about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict beyond the very, very basic sides, but still. The work this program causes is inspiring and impressive. What I found most striking was that no one, either staff or participants, is under the impression that peace may be reached in the near future (much less be caused directly by this program): they are concerned with initiating dialogue and connecting with the other side of the conflict, finding common ground and hoping for peace in the further future. I don't quite know if that makes sense, but I'm not sure how else to say it right now. Maybe I'll come back to it.

I then made lunch, and since I didn't have a coaching until 4, I relaxed and then took a nap. The coaching today was the polar opposite of yesterday's: we worked with Tyler Duncan, a Canadian singer. He was very encouraging (sometimes I thought he was perhaps too much so, but that could be a combination of personal self-deprecation, a tendency to put my talent above other people's, and the aftereffects of both yesterday's really tough coaching and the horrid evening), and yet still, somehow, we managed to work through a couple things that I hadn't been able to fix for a long time. In some ways, the no-holds-barred encouragement and steady praise worked wonders. Hard to believe, sometimes, but little bits of it got lodged in there somewhere.

After coaching, I checked on the score of the hockey game, figured there was time for it to turn around in our favour, and decided to head to downtown Vancouver. I took the SkyTrain. :D It kind of made me sad to see how many people were drunk even just on the bus - and this was about one period into the game. Once I got to downtown, I managed to walk seven blocks in the wrong direction, threading my way along Granville among all the people smoking (I have never seen so many people smoking at once in my life) ... and then realized I was going the wrong way, turned around and walked back. I ate dinner in a food court, watched a very little bit of the game, decided we were definitely not going to win and I didn't want to be there when it was official, and went to catch a bus. The bus pulled away at 7.53, just after the game ended and just before the fairly small-scale riots started.

I got ice cream on the way home. And now here I am! It is time to turn off the computer and relax ...

VISI, day 12

2011-06-14T21:39:00.001-05:00

Today was overall pretty good. It started off, after breakfast, with a session on the Alexander Technique, which was enlightening, if a bit frustrating - how do you know when you've found a good poise? It's all about trust ...

After the Alexander Technique session, which took an hour longer than it was meant to so I missed the poetry lecture (which I think is okay ... I mean, it would have been good, but I needed to hear the Alexander Technique stuff). After that was a shorter lecture on how artists can engage with their communities and why we should; this was somewhat empowering, and certainly a bit challenging. Our art is not for our sake ...

I then scurried off to make a quick lunch, and then to an hour-long concert which, honestly, I could have skipped. It was a lecture-concert, so it was nice to have explanations of the songs, but I didn't feel particularly engaged ... just informed.

Then we had a workshop on world harmonies and rhythms, which was pretty cool. We did some Afro-Cuban, some Afro-Brazilian, some Sacred Harp (where the notes are shown by shapes on the staff, and sun using modified solfege - I was skeptical at first, but it somehow made singing in parts right off the bat much easier, which has always been difficult for me ... ), and some Serbian music. Fun to hear all the different harmonies, and to try to get all the rhythms together. It's difficult, even as a decent musician, to get three rhythms going at once - feet, hands and voice!

The only coaching we had today was one I was really looking forward to - an acting coaching with Dean Paul Gibson, a Canadian actor. He was not what I was expecting - very abrasive, very honest - but also extraordinarily true to his art and ... he really does care about you, I think, but he's not afraid to ask the really tough questions or to tell you flat out that you're not connecting, you're not performing, you're inside yourself. The audience doesn't care about what you're feeling - they will only care when you draw them in, make them care, make them feel. Two of the people in my group (one had to miss today's session) seemed very turned off by his manner, and so it was really tough for them to open up to his admittedly abrasive methods of teaching, but I thought I'd be a bit better since I really want to learn to act better, and, well, I thought I was pretty good at it already.

Ha ha ha. we're all so deluded aren't we.

Dean didn't work on the same things with me as he did with the others. With the others, he was driving them out of themselves, getting them to connect. With me ... he made me see that I was Acting. I was pushing the song to the audience, driving it into them. I'm not afraid to meet his eyes, to battle away my discomfort and nervousness. But he saw them, saw what I was trying to do (which was, in essence, prove that I could do this and wanted to make it better), and said, basically, that I wasn't doing it right. Except he didn't say that.

He almost immediately got me to sing the song (which is about lost love and seeking it again but not finding it) where I couldn't stop doing things. He got me to pretend to sew a jacket. Smell the jacket. Give up on it. Check dinner. Check the souffle. Check the potatoes. Make bread. Go to the door. Look for him. Is he there? Go to the window. Go back to the chair. Go back to sewing. Check the clock. Never-ending.

It was exhausting. It connected me more with the actual situation. I felt like I had a connection to the song already (feeling like love isn't quite what it used to be, and wanting it back), but this was very visceral. We talked about it for a bit, and then he told me to just sing the words. Nothing else. Just sing the words.

That was incredibly difficult. I wanted to focus on the words, on singing them the way they should be sung, paying attention to the diction, to the sounds, to the colours. But every time I tried, he said to stop, no, just sing the words. Just the words. So I tried. Just thinking about the words. What's next. What's next. What am I saying. Not in any deep way - just the words.

I felt entirely disconnected. I felt like it was a dead performance. Like there was nothing there. My vocal technique worked, and that felt pretty good, but I wasn't focusing on it, so that's not a big surprise. (It's kinda funny how well your body works when you just leave it alone.)

And then the comments started. Best performance of the song yet. Words had nuances and colour. Feelings were obvious. I was absolutely stunned. How on earth could that be? It was contrary to everything I'd ever done onstage, in a performance. I didn't feel anything. I had no inner indication of any of those things but apparently they worked.

I expressed as much, and he said it was because I'd already done everything. I had nothing left to do - I was vulnerable. At that point, what I needed most was to tell the audience just how badly this was hurting me. It was the only thing left that I needed. And it came through. That whole body thing again, I guess.

So this left me in a bit of a tough spot, and I'm still there now. That experience ran contrary to everything I've ever done, but it worked magic on the audience. The entire experience of it was not difficult except in turning my training off. It was less abstract and more concrete. I felt grounded.

But how can I know that it will work every time? That is a very, very hard thing to trust. Dean said that performing is not 'acting'. It is being. Acting is reality. You have to be in that place.

How do you choose to be in a place?

This is very difficult.

VISI, day 11

2011-06-13T23:25:00.000-05:00

Today was not terribly eventful, but good nonetheless.

No performance psych class this morning, so lectures started at ten. I did a brief warmup at nine and felt like crap, so I decided to leave it. Tired plus vocal fatigue plus just ate breakfast. Felt much better in the afternoon, as I expected.

The lecture this morning was about Schubertiades; very interesting, rather enlightening. Schubert was not well-known enough, nor were Lieder a popular enough art form to be played at big public concerts (plus there was the fact that if a concert was organized to showcase one specific composer, the composer had to pay for it ALL himself, and while Schubert wasn't destitute, he certainly couldn't handle that), so his music was mainly played, during his lifetime anyway, in middle-class salons and, surprise surprise, at Schubertiades. (that was a long sentence.) The aristocratic salons were not, for the most part, interested in Schubert's music, though a few songs would have been played through his meager connections with the aristocracy; the middle class was far more interested in his style of music, since they were very serious about the Biedermeier concept of Bildung, or the self-culturing through art. And, of course, there were the Schubertiades; parties organized (or not) solely for listening to Schubert's music ... and having a heck of a good time. (Apparently they even engaged in tossing people in blankets. Y'know, like that movie. I can't remember it now. But really. Also they drank a lot.)

So yeah, interesting lecture ... The masterclass was not as interesting. The girl performing didn't emote very well and so much of the masterclass was devoted to that.

I headed back to the dorms and made both lunch and supper, then went to coachings. The first coaching was work on staging one of our art songs; I picked a particularly difficult one to understand, and so didn't get to work on it as much this time - but I will later in the week, so that's okay. The second coaching was led by VISI's director, and so we spent some time staging and some time really digging into the songs. I worked on a song I've done several times in coachings now, but it was only really today that I managed to connect with it and sing it like I never had before (it has some wickedly long lines for someone of my early stage of training). It was pretty cool.

I then headed off to catch a bus, and proceeded to go to downtown Vancouver. I ate supper looking out over the harbour, and then watched the last 15 minutes of game six (Stanley Cup finals, in case you're A) living under a rock or B) don't follow hockey) at Canada Place. That was pretty cool. The series is now tied 3-3, so I'll head back on Wednesday to see the last period or so of game seven, which is at home in Vancouver, and so should be entirely mad. that'll be fun. :D

And then I found a way home, and here I am. Kinda sleepy. Tomorrow is a new day - or something like that.

VISI, day 10

2011-06-12T22:55:00.000-05:00

As promised:

I went to church.

I bought laundry detergent, and sunscreen. (and cheese and meat. I`m going to have to buy more vegetables soon, too.)

I went home, made lunch, and put sunscreen on. (I think this is the first time in my life I've actually applied sunscreen 30 minutes before sun exposure.)

I walked to the beach. The route I took was not as direct as I expected it to be, and so it took me 45 minutes instead of 30, and my feet hurt. I am not used to doing quite this much walking. Anyway. I plunked down on a grassy bit for an hour, reading a book (Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson; Dad, I hope you haven't been wondering where it is). I then picked my way along the rocks to the actual beach, where I spent the next hour.

I then walked back, and elected to take a scenic route through Vancouver's forest preserve - a gorgeous ten/fifteen-minute walk through nothing but trees. I couldn't hear the city for most of the time. It was beautiful. (It was accented by the fact that I was playing Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess music on my Zune, and I totally felt like I was on a heroic quest all the way across some fantasy land. super cool. yes I am a nerd. but most of the time it was gentle town/forest music and so it felt really peaceful and not so heroic.) When I came out of the preserve, I wasn't quite sure where I was - neither of my first contacts could help me out, so I just went in the direction of the university, and was delighted to realize that I was far closer to it than I thought I was. As such, it was only another twenty minutes to home - and that was walking slowly.

(I now have blisters on my feet, and again, they hurt. Sheesh. I feel like such a spoiled ... I dunno. city kid. The next few days will be interesting.)

On returning home, I made supper. One of the downsides of A) not having much money, B) not having a lot of room to bring things home, and C) only being here for three weeks means that I have bought no spices, and so my meals are somewhat bland. But! At least I have food, and it is not cafeteria food. That is nice.

I then went on an extended Wiki wander through the unsolved ancient and modern mysteries of the world, started by an article on the Hum (which I swear I've heard at home ... but only a few times in a very short period ... and Mom has too. it was really weird. We chalked it up to the transformer, but, you never know), which then proceeded to the Julia unidentified sound, and ended up (after a large ballooning) at The Starving of the Saqqara. Normally when I do Wiki wanders of this type I feel rather small and frightened of the world, feeling like something's watching my back, but this time I'm a bit better.

Oh! I also did laundry. They have multiple washers and dryers here - I got all my laundry done in an hour. Granted it was only two loads, but even two loads at BU takes me three hours.

Now I am going to relax, eat some cheese (I like cheese, it's yummy) and play a video game. and then sleep! ... and back to the lectures tomorrow, sigh. They're so interesting ... but it feels like this day just started. I'd like some more days like this one, where I don't worry about anything at all. I may not have necessarily done much during May, but the frustration of not having a job kinda took over. (I realized several times today that I don't have a job to come home to. I need to start applying ... but that's a little bit hard to do from Vancouver. Notably because I hate calling people. But that's another story.)

Anyway. Cheese.

VISI, day 9

2011-06-12T10:31:00.000-05:00

No, I didn't blog yesterday. By the time I got home from the concert/play I was just too tired ...

Yesterday started more calmly, with no performance psychology class to delve deep into my soul first thing in the morning. I went to one of the two lectures on collaborative relationships between singers and pianists, and picked up a few things I hadn't known before (but not that many).

I then packed up a small lunch and a book and went for a walk to a nearby park, where I ate and then relaxed on the grass and read. It was quiet, and though the park itself wasn't much to look at, the houses on the way there and back were. I'm pretty sure this is a fairly rich part of Vancouver, so everything is impeccably groomed and the houses themselves are wonderful. A lovely place to go walking.

The masterclass yesterday afternoon was what I was really looking forward to, and it certainly didn't disappoint: two hours with the Very British coach that I'd worked with the other day, focused on English art song. Actually, the focus was on Ralph Vaughan Williams' The House of Life, or selections thereof. He prefaced it by talking about a bit of the history of the cycle and of Vaughan Williams, but didn't go into the poetry much, because we'd already had a lecture on it earlier in the week. However, once we got into the songs, the insight he gave was fascinating. I believe I have three or four pages of notes.

After the masterclass, I practiced with my accompanist a bit, identified places that I needed to work on personally, and then went to make dinner. I actually made dinner last night - ground beef with a Cajun rice mix that was really good, if a little spicier than I usually eat. Oh well. Very yummy.

The last event of the week was a Shakespeare-infused concert/play that I had been looking forward to all week: the first act was an original story (very simple: boy meets girl, girl goes head over heels, boy backs out, girl's heart breaks) set to various songs with either texts by Shakespeare or from the same period; the second act was Try Me, Good King, a telling of Henry VIII's last night, where he is visited by the Fool (as in jester) to introduce him over again to the spirits of his dead wives (five, in case you forgot). The spirits of his wives sing, but I didn't think much of the songs ... they didn't sound much like songs, really. Maybe glorified recitative. However, the text was quite good, and the actors were top-notch. It was both hilarious and painful to watch as poor Henry struggled through this last night.

After the concert/play, I went for a walk in the gardens near the theatre, and contemplated life and such. Beautiful, beautiful gardens. I would love to have gardens like those at my own house. Terraced, stone arches with vines, hemmed in by trees, you know ... oh and these gardens had a gorgeous view of the mountains and the sunset. :D

Anyway, got home, basically went to bed. The bed is getting better by the day as I tweak it to be ever-so-slightly thicker each evening. Today my plan is breakfast (check), Callanetics (35% check), church, and then the beach! It's kind of cool today, but I'm hoping it either warms up a bit or that it's not windy. After the beach, I'll head home, shower off the sand, and then head to a choral concert. Relaxing day. No practicing. Not even thinking about art song. la la la.

(in tagging this post, I realized that I have already tagged Shakespeare in another post ... now I have to go find that post.)

VISI, day 8

2011-06-10T22:12:00.000-05:00

Today flipped over about midway through.

I did not get up at six, as I had wanted to, but at seven-thirty. Sleeping better with a blanket on top and more towels added to the pile underneath ...

I went to the performance psychology class, and after that intimate and gentle cajoling of intentions, past experiences, goals, motivations, etc ... I was kaput. I was depressed. I was so down. I could not possibly face two hours of lecture and masterclass. It just wasn't going to work - not unless I shut down entirely, sat at the back and spent the rest of the day closed to everything ... which was the whole point of the psychology class to get away from, now that I think about, so in the end this was a good thing that ... I didn't go. I escaped back to my room, spent a while just breathing and reminding myself that it was okay to be hurting, and then wrote a bit. Not a lot, just a bit. I'm easing back into the whole writing thing - it bothers me that I don't write as much fiction as I'd like, and instead I do a lot of journaling and written-daydreaming (though mostly journaling nowadays). Maybe the fiction will come. Right now my life is tough enough in my head (which on its own makes me sound incredibly egotistical ... one of the things I journal about).

I forced myself out to the concert at one, which wasn't worth it, in my opinion. I didn't particularly like the voice of the mezzo who was performing - couldn't understand all her words, some of her emotions felt a bit contrived - but I think my lack of connection was mostly due to my mental state, which was still right down in the dumps. The first lecture afterwards was nice - an hour and a half on why diction is important and how it's actually interesting (which had never really been articulated to me - diction was just a tool before this afternoon, and now, having been contextualized into language, which I adore, it is much more interesting), but the second session ... the coaching ...

The man coaching, a pianist named Dr Harley who teaches out of Washington DC, was absolutely fantastic. I ended up going first, and we worked through Die Mainacht (a song I must have coached four times now). He made it come alive like no other coach had managed to do, and he did more talking than I did singing but it was so fascinating that I really didn't mind. Each other singer's session was just as fascinating, and I felt my spirits lifting even as he was saying hello and introducing himself at the beginning. He's very British, and very funny, and managed to hit the right combination of suggestion, encouragement, and a very little bit of correction. It didn't feel like correction at all, though - just, "well, why don't we try it this way, because xyz?" reaction: holy crap that is precisely what this means. It was glorious. I would definitely want to work with him again.

Right after lectures, I popped away to do a bit of grocery shopping, and then came home. Eating some dinner now - just veggies and dip (bought an amazing masala salad dressing, love it), will have rice tomorrow sometime. Yay for buying interesting things, not just staples!

I am feeling better about life right now, but I feel as it the balance is very fragile. I still feel very tired, and my body is not the way it was before - I am stiff and sore still, and it is very painful to stretch in the morning. Stupid bed. Ow. On the other hand, fresh fruit and vegetables, and the hope for more coachings like this afternoon's ... and maybe, just maybe, more writing.

VISI, day 7

2011-06-09T22:02:00.000-05:00

Today has been less tiring than the last few. I put my blankets underneath me, adding to the mattress, and only slept under a sheet - it's a good thing Vancouver is warm even at night, otherwise I would have frozen. Even as it was I kept waking up because I was cold, but I got a better sleep and was able to cajole myself out of bed.

I went to the performance psychology seminar at nine, during which we looked at our motivation and ignition tactics, as well as whether the focus was external or internal. I found that much of my motivation was internal, but I feel very much dependent on the outer attention and approbation I receive, which I found interesting ... The things which ignite me were simpler, but harder to focus on - I thought about rewards, and then thought about the things I receive after a performance ... more concrete than my motivators. It was an interesting exercise, but difficult. I walked out feeling tired and beaten down - not through any fault of the instructor, no, she was wonderful and understanding and encouraging - simply because it is difficult to look at what motivates me without thinking about how difficult this all is, and how tiring life seems to be these days ...

Sitting through two lectures was hard, but not impossible - very interesting topics, as always. The first was about how Schubert conceived of his Lieder, covering topics including original keys, transposition, published vs. manuscript copies, etc. Fascinating. Probably more so if I'd been more awake. The second lecture was about the sonnet Silent Noon (Dante Rossetti). Very much an English class - a bit more advanced than IB, but more or less the same thing. I connected very closely to it ... makes me wonder again about writing as a career ...

(no, I still think I have to do more than one thing. I need variety.)

After the lectures, I showered and had lunch, then went for the two coachings of the day. Both were somewhat piano-centric, which was nice for a change - I could work on the things that the coach told me, but I had a little bit less to remember. The second one was particularly good: I worked on Die Mainacht, and the focus of the coaching was really dramatic - what is the story I am telling, how can I make the phrases work for me in this way, and so on. It made singing the song a lot easier with just a few small adjustments!

My pianist and I practiced briefly afterwards, and then I headed back to the dorms to make supper. Since then I've been checking up on the world and talking to people. I'm going to try to head to bed around ten tonight, and wake up at six - another Manitoban said that it worked really well for her, with the schedule we're keeping, to be up earlier than classes started rather than later after they finished, with the added bonus of still more-or-less being on Manitoba time.

'Post-script': when I first arrived on campus I saw a truck that said "UBC Plant Operations". I thought, oh, wouldn't it be funny if it actually had to do with plants, since there's so many around? But I had seen similar trucks on my home campus, and it's just the physical plant operations - maintenance and such. The next day (or later that day, I don't remember), I saw another truck like that ... except it had a trailer, and it was full of gardening implements. It turns out it really does mean plant operations! The trucks show up all over the place, tending to the flowerbeds and trees and such. One flowerbed went from prairie wildflowers to bedding plants in about two days. It was a bit surreal.

VISI, day 6

2011-06-08T22:06:00.000-05:00

So the rest of the day ...

Was fine. The concert was really good (definitely a couple pieces I'd like to try myself, such as Hommage à T. S. Eliot, by Sofia Gubaidulina, and Ursula Antiphons by Hildegard of Bingen), though I thought some of it was a bit too modern for my taste. I could appreciate it, but didn't necessarily like it.

After the concert, I had a theatre coaching, where my work group got to focus on the text of one of our songs and really bring it to life. We created a scenario with the help of the other group members (or, really, the teacher ... I would have appreciated more group work in this context to defuse some of the tension), and then acted it out before going into the song. It worked really well, and helped me pin down exactly what I need to do before I learn a song.

We then had a traditional coaching, where we worked on vocal technique. I'm definitely one of the younger ones here at VISI, so I have a lot to learn, but every coaching I pick up one or two new things that really help - something that explains why a certain note or word doesn't work, a way to make my breath work better for me, etc etc.

After that coaching, I went out for a relatively inexpensive dinner and watched some of the Canucks game. ugh. Brutal. Food was good though! Had a burger and fries. Yummy.

I took a bit of a scenic route back to the dorms, and am now back on my computer. I think I'll do some reading tonight - of the Douglas Adams variety, not the Cracked.com variety. Heh. I'm going to try to go to bed earlier tonight and see if I can't get a better sleep.

VISI, day 5

2011-06-08T12:47:00.000-05:00

As I woke up this morning, I realized I hadn't blogged the night before. Blame Cracked.com ...

Yesterday was very tiring. Not much more to it. Got up with my alarm, more or less, stretched, got dressed, went to breakfast. Went to a performance psychology class where we talked about how difficult performing really is and how we cope with that - and how we ought to. Listened to a lecture about rubato in Lieder and how even composers played with their songs more than we do today. Listened to a masterclass with a couple of great Strauss pieces - I definitely want to do his Ophelia set.

Made some lunch - couscous. Too much water; was not as appetizing as I had hoped. Did not make a phonecall I meant to make - annoyed me. Went off to coaching a little early to finally warm up. Sat through four hours of coaching and just about fell asleep ... though I suppose I did learn a fair amount.

I considered going out for supper; decided not to. Made supper in my little kitchenette, then started perusing the Internet. Didn't finish until eleven-thirty. Decided it was a good time to go to bed; seven hours' sleep was standard for me and was generally enough.

Wake at seven-twenty. No. Not enough sleep. Sigh. I decided to take this morning off and get things done, take a couple of hours away from the Internet (*cough*) and focus in on things. Do some mental exercises, really warm up, really practice. My first contact with VISI today will be a concert for solo soprano voice; I am hoping that it will be inspirational and will wake me up.

In the meantime, I am eating an apple (I must buy a different variety next time, these are not crunchy enough) and sipping rooibos tea, and just generally being off-kilter and tired ...

VISI, day 4

2011-06-06T22:53:00.000-05:00

Today has, again, been interesting.

Decided to have breakfast in res this morning, so I only got up at nine ish. Sent some emails. Didn't feel very happy still - a point against a night's sleep making things better (I suppose I didn't sleep very well).

I then booted it to the chapel for the first lecture of the day - Schubert's songs in Biedermaier culture. Fascinating and informative. I shall look at Schubert's Lieder in an entirely different light now. The prof talked a lot about the Austrian and European politics of the time and how they influenced the split between public and private life in such a way that art and culture were seen as the ultimate reprieve (apart from death) from the deathly boring public life that people had to endure because of government censorship and repression (well-intentioned repression, perhaps, but repression nonetheless). It was a shift from Romanticism in that Romanticism sought the unattainable optimistically, believing that it could potentially be attained (contradiction, I know) in the mortal life. Biedermaier culture, thanks in large part to the repression of the state, considered it to be truly unattainable "this side the tomb".

Then we had a masterclass on a couple of Schubert pieces, where the information we just received was put into practice. Fascinating to watch in play. :)

I made a quick lunch then hurried over to the concert hall for a concert consisting mainly of Lee Hoiby's work, an American composer only recently departed with a true talent for lyricism in his works. The concert started a bit slowly, but really picked up with some playful pieces - including one about a horror film. Quite entertaining.

After the concert was coaching - I had a half an hour with a diction and opera coach on my Schubert piece (Auf dem Wasser zu singen) where we worked on dramatic enunciation and making the text really come alive. This is something that I've known I needed work on for months now, and never really knew how to go about it. Now I have a better idea!

I then worked with a professional soprano (one who was part of the noon hour's concert, actually) on one of my Brahms pieces, Die Mainacht. We focused in on a particularly troubling fourth, as well as bringing colour and character from my lower voice (I speak a lot lower and, possibly, more gently, than I am most comfortable singing) into my mid- and upper ranges. Frustrating at times, but ultimately satisfying.

I then made supper, and have spent the last hour or two talking with old friends online, as well as fangirling over the Halo 4 trailer. I am excited!

VISI, day 3

2011-06-05T22:50:00.000-05:00

I am having a particularly difficult evening, in spite of the fact that the day was quite good, so I don't know how this is going to go ...

This morning was fine. Breakfast, then I bussed to a church I picked that was nearby and enjoyed a wonderful service. I will definitely be going back next week; very welcoming atmosphere and an intellectual, challenging and profound sermon.

I then went back to the university and met with my pianist for the first time: we practiced for half an hour and I think we will work well together. I am definitely less experienced than she is, but that is alright ... we are all learning.

After practicing, I attended the VISI opening session. After a brief presentation from the performance psychologist attending the conference, the artistic director talked about the philosophy behind art song theatre, which is, in short, turning the very cerebral performance form of art song into ... theatre. Basically, you take away the old traditions of standing very primly and singing from the piano, and turn it into the real story that it was likely meant to be in the first place.

The second lecture of the day was on collaboration and the fact that it is really an art. Some interesting insights on technique and artistic interpretation, but not much to detail here. After this, we did half an hour of icebreaker games, highlighting the difference between competition and collaboration. This was a lot of fun.

The final lecture of the day was very thought-provoking. It was delivered by Max Wyman, author of The Defiant Imagination: Why Culture Matters. You should definitely go read this book. Just Google it. He discussed how the imagination is really the centre of the whole human experience, and as a result of this, so too should our societies be. Alas, this is not the case. It was slightly odd to have one's soul explained so concisely and clearly - a bit off-putting, to tell the truth. I was not unhappy when I left the lecture hall, but I was slightly off-kilter. I still have not managed to get back into kilter, if that's even a valid term.

I went back to my room and ate some supper, and pondered. My ponderings have led me, for the moment, into a very dark place of not knowing what path is best to take right now, and who can join me on it, and why some may and some may not, and what kind of person I need as a companion, and whether to not it is a good idea for others to be such, for me, in the first place. In so pondering, I have hurt someone very close to me ... and so now, I am very dark.

I hope the morning sun will bring more happiness.

In related news, I am feeling like I cannot limit myself to one art form. Perhaps that will make me happy. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I will never, ever feel complete. And that bothers me to no end.

VISI, day 2

2011-06-05T00:51:00.000-05:00

I met my flatmates late last night - a girl from Virginia and a girl from Toronto. Both singers, both just finished the second year of their Bachelor's. Very nice. We chatted.

This morning I went over to the student union building to get a decent breakfast. Not bad. Scrambled eggs, pancakes/French toast, bacon (I have never seen so much bacon in my life.), ham, oatmeal, coffee, orange juice, cereal, hash browns ... I had oatmeal, bacon, hash browns and orange juice.

After breakfast I bought a notebook, and then headed back to my dorm to make my schedule. Schedule duly made, I finished the workout I had started before breakfast, then went to find the music building. It was a bit of a walk, but the campus is lovely, so it was fine. Having found it, I went looking for a practice room. While searching, I heard someone singing - it was a bit intimidating. Whoever it was was particularly good. When I found a practice room, I felt much better about it - my voice is in good shape.

Once I had finished practicing, I went down to the lobby and registered officially. Got my nametag and everything. :) I then decided to go on a walk to find the chapel where many of the lectures will be held. It was a nice fifteen- to twenty-minute walk, as I took my time; I walked along a drive that must not be more than a kilometre from the coast. It was gorgeous.

Having found the chapel, I then headed back to my dorm, where I hung out for a few hours before orientation. Orientation itself was semi-interesting, and answered a few questions for me, so that was good. I got the chance to meet a few people and re-realize that I am likely one of the youngest here ... which is still kind of odd and makes me feel a bit nervous. Anyway, there are a lot of people here from the States (New York, North Carolina, Florida, Georgia ... ) as well as quite a few from across Canada. I believe a couple of the girls were from France but study in Montreal. That was neat.

After orientation I caught a bus to go grocery shopping. I returned an hour and a half later with $90 of groceries ... including a POT to COOK WITH! There is no microwave in this apartment - instead, there are two fridges! I made myself some rice and had a lovely long chat with a couple of women, both doing their PhDs - one in sociology of education and one in city planning. The sociologist-researcher is a Palestinian Arab originally from Israel, who is working on the peace efforts in her own roundabout, education-oriented way, and the city planner is an academic based in California. Very interesting conversation was had.

Now I am eating oatmeal cookies (I love these things) while typing up my blog. I am very tired again and must sleep soon ... the bed is quite comfortable, and I am warm. That is nice.

Other interesting things I noted today:

On the street, parking spots are often painted in. This is especially true when there are meters around. I thought this was very interesting, but perhaps not the most efficient way of doing things. What if you have a monster of a station wagon, or a teeny little SmartCar?

The UBC cafeteria not only has garbage and recycling bins, but compost bins. Clever! And environmentally sound. Also, they have signs clearly stating what goes where. Even better.

This campus is absolutely gorgeous. All the flora makes me think I am back in Rwanda (side note: the artistic director of VISI has also been to Rwanda; I would like to have a conversation about it with her at some point), which is vaguely surreal. I am not used to seeing so many flowers and such green trees anywhere but Rwanda, and I am even further from Rwanda than I normally am. I miss it so much. I want to go back ...

Also: mountains. holy crap. that is all. (I'm such a prairie girl.)

It is interesting to me how integrated the university is with the city. The university itself is much like its own mini-city, though mini is, of course, quite relative. It is strange for me to go from a university campus that is all of two city blocks (more or less) to one that you could not walk from one end to the other without it taking forever!

The transit system is very efficient and very prompt (even with the Canucks game). Also: electric buses! I think.

Tomorrow I hope to wake up in time to find a church to which I can bus. (I bought a monthly pass. Considerably more expensive than one in Winnipeg, but then, it's a far better system.) If not, I will spend my morning in contemplation. Lectures start at one tomorrow afternoon, and I am looking forward to exploring what exactly the philosophy behind the "theatre of art song" really is.

VISI, day 1

2011-06-03T22:16:00.000-05:00

I am in Vancouver for the next three weeks, participating in the Vancouver International Song Institute summer program.

... aah.

I am one of approximately 30 singers chosen to participate in the three weeks of masterclasses, lectures and performances designed to be a seriously intensive experience for 'emerging artists'. I am living with three other VISI students; I have not met them yet, but I hope I will soon.

I flew from Winnipeg to Vancouver earlier today; the flight and the waiting were both uneventful, though the nerves hit me about an hour before boarding that this was actually happening. (eek.)

Once I got to Vancouver, I was then faced with the challenge of getting all my things (two large suitcases and two carry-ons) to my place of residence. One suitcase and two carry-ons is not a challenge. Two suitcases is. Thank goodness for luggage trolleys ... and straps on duffel bags that allow them to be carried as backpacks. (on a related note, my shoulders hurt a bit.)

My room is quite small, but cozy and comfortable. I have a gorgeous view (which, alas, includes the top floor of a parkade) full of architecture and trees and sky. Also there is a clock tower outside my window! That is cool. It rings on the hour, which is neat. (It might drive me nuts by the end of the month, though.)

It is a bit surreal to be on my own with no friends around. I know I will get to know people, but right now I feel rather isolated. Thank goodness for the Internet.

After unpacking and updating the interwebz, I went on a search for food. I was intending on grabbing a bite to eat at a cafe or something, but I ended up at a Shoppers Drug Mart so I just bought a few groceries. Haven't found any Lucerne milk yet, so no milk, but I got rice and pasta and tea (and really that's all you need isn't it). Oh and crackers, and juice, and a thing of soup. I must remember not to buy any cans that need a can opener, because I do not have one and do not wish to buy another one.

When I returned to the dorm, I put my groceries away only to find ... that there was no microwave! Now, I expected there to be a microwave, as that seems to me a very basic university appliance. But, apparently not. Now I must rethink my entire food plan ... but basically, all I need is a pot, and that will fix everything, so I will find a pot tomorrow.

I also found out today that my reservation includes breakfast at the student union building, so that's nice. I had forgotten that. Now I don't need to buy breakfast food apart from tea. Unfortunately this means I will not be eating my breakfast out on the balcony of my sixth-floor apartment in the sun. Perhaps it will be a bedtime snack place instead.

I have now eaten my soup and crackers, and duly updated the Web with photos from today. I will attempt to keep a daily blog of this particular escapade of mine, as it seems relatively interesting, and I might want to keep it in order enough to remember it better along the road.

I am tired ... it is ten o'clock at home, and I need to stay up a bit longer. Oh well.

Tomorrow is registration, hopefully some clarification as to the schedule, grocery shopping, and finding a practice room ...

xkcd never fails to fascinate me

2011-05-24T23:33:00.001-05:00

I long ago subscribed to Randall Munroe's xkcd. I get new comics in my Google Reader and it's wondrous. :) Today's alt-text hooked me: 'Wikipedia trivia: if you take any article, click on the first link in the article text not in parentheses or italics, and then repeat, you will eventually end up at "Philosophy".'

Of course I had to try. I started by hitting "random article" on the sidebar, to make it fair.

Five times so far. I give you my results ...

Cheraw State Park - United States - federalism - politics - group decision making - individual - person - human - taxonomy - science - knowledge - fact - information - sequence - mathematics - quantity - property (philosophy) - modern philosophy - philosophy

United Nations Security Council Resolution 210 - United Nations - international organization - organization - corporations - state - social sciences - umbrella term - superset - mathematics - quantity - property (philosophy) - modern philosophy - philosophy

Glyceraldehyde-3-phosphate dehydrogenase (NADP+) (phosphorylating) - enzymology - proteins - compounds - chemical substance - chemistry - science - knowledge - fact - information - sequence - mathematics - quantity - property (philosophy) - modern philosophy - philosophy

Charlotte Parish, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines - parish - Saint Vincent and the Grenadines - Lesser Antilles - Antilles - West Indies - Caribbean Sea - sea - body of water - water - chemical substance chemistry - science - knowledge - fact - information - sequence - mathematics - quantity - property (philosophy) - modern philosophy - philosophy

The Two-Character Play - Out Cry - Tennessee Williams - playwright - drama - mode (literature) - literature - fiction - narrative - Latin - Italic language - Indo-European - (language) family - languages - communication - meaning (philosophy of language) - Aristotle - Greek - nation - sovereign state - state - social sciences - umbrella term - superset - mathematics - quantity - property (philosophy) - modern philosophy - philosophy

Note that some of the entries are the words I clicked, and some of them are the title of the article - just depended on where I looked first ...

Slightly unnerving, but also somewhat enlightening. Everything leads back to the love of wisdom.

(Philosophy itself leads back to philosophy with only two in between ... "reason" and "rationality".)

moments when you realize you're an artist

2011-02-17T11:14:00.001-06:00

And in my case, a musician, more often than not.

I had a very strange and surreal moment yesterday morning. I realized that I was off the beat - as in not playing on the beat. In time. It wasn't a regular beat.

I then abruptly came to a halt in my thinking as I realized that, in fact, I was not living my life in any specific time signature at all, and furthermore, never had. And this was truly a terrible thing.

And then I pondered where the heck that came from.

Christmas wishlist

2010-12-01T22:25:00.000-06:00

So maybe you're my friend. That's cool. I like friends.

And y'know, maybe it's December now. (Pretty sure it's December everywhere on the planet now. Can't be bothered to check. But I'm pretty darn sure, because it's nine PM here and the date line's only ... uh ... 10 hours away? less I think. guessing high. In any case it's still December 1 there.) December's cool.

And maybe this month happens to have a general gift-giving holiday within it. It does? Really? Christmas, you say? Ahh ... I knew I wasn't going crazy ...

And maybe if all those three happen together, you might maybe like to get me a present! That would be cool. It's not like you have to or anything; I'm good with that too. Friendship and hugs are just as nice. In fact, quite often they are very very nice! And they are even sometimes (often) preferable to presents. So don't feel pressured or anything.

But if you really want to give me a present, that's fine! I will not deny presents. I like giving people presents, myself. It's fun. And far be it from me to deny anyone fun. So if that's why you give presents, sweet! Give away. I'm down with that. And if you just like me that much, that's cool too. I appreciate it.

"But wait!" you may say. "That's all well and good, but I have no idea what you might like!"

Oh ho ho ho. Wait no longer, my dear friend who enjoys gift-giving and would like to give me a present. For here is my current wishlist! I would like the following things to show up in my life at some point in the future:

the Who Killed Amanda Palmer songbook
the Who Killed Amanda Palmer book
the On The Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer book

... yeah you're sensing a pattern, it's okay, I'm fine, no need to worry, they're just different permutations of a concept that is fascinating and beautiful and artful

The Dresden Dolls Companion, and The Virginia Companion
Erutan's CD, Raindancer
bootlaces!

seriously, you have no idea how much I want a new pair of bootlaces. one of mine is fraying and dying and I have to wrap it three times around the little hooky things so that I'm not tripping on the bow. But I honestly think the things are two feet long and I haven't found them anywhere (save taking them off a pair of boots in the store). I have no idea how long bootlaces are. Longer than normal shoelaces, I think. I don't really want to take my one remaining intact bootlace out of the boot and measure it, because I don't really want to thread it back in again.

the Hitchhiker's trilogy

mind you, it's a trilogy of six. yes, it's six now.

the Lord of the Rings series

I've read them, of course, but I don't have my own set, and my mother would fight me for the ones at home (and she'd win because I couldn't harm the books)

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (book or video)

love, love, love, so much love ...

The Elegance of the Hedgehog (French and/or English)

In French it is called L'élégance de l'hérisson. It is a book. It is by Muriel Barbery.

possibly one or more of the WKAP perfumes ...

Conservatory Tableaux would be nice
or Daylilies at the Bottom of the Stairs
or even Manus Dei (The Typewriter Incident)

Cabaret poster
an Amanda Palmer tee ... either this one or this one, methinks (babydoll medium)
or perhaps a ThinkGeek tee!

a Luminglass in white

And that is all! Unless of course you find something brilliantly interesting that you think I would like (and there are a large amount of things that fit into there), in which case, go nuts.

a strange relationship (1)

2010-09-14T19:20:00.000-05:00

I just moved into the same city as my boyfriend of almost three years. Before this, we lived about two and a half hours away from each other, and saw each other about once a month, maybe twice. I am now going to university in the city where he lives and works, and we see each other every day if we can manage it. To walk to his place is a nice twenty-minute walk, and so I do it when I can ... and, being his girlfriend and a bit of a clean freak ... I’ve started to clean his house. (Which is actually his sister’s house, but she’s not living in it at the moment and he’s renting it from her. Anyway.)

So last Friday night, I ended up at his workplace about halfway through his shift. I tried to get some studying done, but it was too noisy even with my headphones in, and so I took his car and headed to his place where I knew it would be pretty well silent (res isn’t bad, but it doesn’t have an open enough study surface where I can both spread my books out and be alone at the same time). I had music history and psychology to do, as well as a diction assignment.

As soon as I got there, I decided I was going to do his laundry. Because it needed doing, and I knew quite well that he wouldn’t do it for a while yet. And why not? I was there, I knew how to work the washer and dryer just fine, and that way it’d all get done and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Also, it’s just a nice thing to do ... and it would give me breaks from my studying.

So I sort out the laundry and start a load ... put that one in the dryer and the next one in the wash ... took the dry stuff out of the dryer, but it wasn’t all dry, so left some stuff in ... put the second load in the dryer and cranked the temperature up to high ... next load in the wash.

Second dryer load is dry. Take it out, put it on the couch to fold. Take the third washed load and put it in the dryer. Start the dryer, on medium this time, not high, since there’s less.

As I’m folding the laundry, I hear a boom over the music in my headphones (which is classical, just by the way). I jerk my head over in the direction of the dryer and see an orange flash behind it. There's no one else in the house, John doesn't have his phone on him, what if the house catches on fire, oh crap crap crap.

Stuff my headphones into my collar, drop the shirt, run over, no fire, dryer has stopped but is still on. Turn it off. Peer around the back. I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to go pick him up from work. I need to finish folding and go get him, but I kinda don't want to leave the dryer in case the house catches on fire. You know how it is.

By the time I finish folding, as I keep my eye on the dryer, I’m two minutes late to go get him. Lock the house, jump in the car, drive to get him – praying all the while that the house wouldn’t burn down.

He gets in, and I tell him on the way home that I’ve broken his dryer. I expected the following:

“Oh no, we will have to pay for repairs ... “ General frustration and annoyance.

What happened:

“Huh. Really? Interesting.”

My reaction: ... ... ...

So when we get back to his place, he takes a look at the dryer. I had wondered on my way to get him if I might have just blown a fuse ... and that’s what he suggests has happened, and he says that his father can likely fix it. (His father’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and is a pretty cool guy.) I’m relieved that the house hasn’t burned down. [Update: a weld broke in the dryer, letting the drum (the part that spins) drop back against the heating element (which was the flash I saw). It is fixable. Phew!]

Now, of course, when we get back, we (mostly I (mostly by my own choice (mostly because it might not have happened otherwise (mostly because he doesn’t have the clean-it-all-it-must-be-cleaned – or Bohrok – gene)))) had to spend twenty minutes hanging up every single item of dark clothing (the load that did not get dried) that this man owns. And he is tall. And the drying rack he has is short. So his pants just about touch the floor.

I twitch at this. He laughs.

I hang a whole schwack of clothes onto this rack, then have no more room for the shirts. I get him to run upstairs and grab some hangers, with which I hang the shirts on the curtain rod ... and on the shower curtain rod in the bathroom ... He had another drying rack that we could have used, but it needed assembly, and neither of us particularly wanted to figure it out (there were screws involved; it was eleven at night; we were both tired) ... so we tried an aluminum stepladder but that didn't work ... sigh. No outdoor clothesline – the one he has needs cleaning, plus there has been so much wind these past few days that I have almost been blown away, so if we hung the laundry out to dry he wouldn’t have much laundry left.

I went back this morning briefly, and the stuff that was hanging was almost dry. I expect it will be dry tomorrow. [It still wasn't. I don't even know if it's dry now.]

Ah, the adventures of one of the strangest dating relationships on the planet.

Rwanda, final post (April 4-7)

2010-09-13T09:55:00.000-05:00

April 4, 2010; 1.49 CST

Didn’t win against the Zune. Oh well.

It is Easter almost all over the world! That is nice to think about.

I have finished packing and am only waiting for the mini-scale in order to double-check that I am below the weight limit. I’m pretty sure I am, even though it was difficult because of the size of a couple things – my duffel bag was really light because it was mostly filled by one big light thing, so almost everything else was in my suitcase. I think it would have been a little bit over the weight limit if I had not managed to work more back into the duffel bag.

Writing down flights and customs stuff. Just waiting. It’s nine o’clock here now; we leave in a couple hours.

April 5, 2010; 7.16 CST

Sitting on the plane heading to Toronto – I believe we’re more than halfway there. Filling out my Customs declaration card. Wish I knew the exchange rates from USD to CAD and from pounds to CAD. Since I don’t I can only estimate ...

Saying goodbye was not difficult in some ways, but was difficult in others. It was somewhat difficult to say goodbye to Justine (she came to say goodbye to us! It was nice of her – and I could give her my extra 5000 Rwf!), but it is good to be going home.

I am somewhat sad because I am not in a window seat but an aisle seat, and so cannot see the Atlantic. Also it is cloudy so it would be hard to see anyway. Oh well, that just means I have to come back.

I got to talk to John very briefly in Nairobi airport – I only realized after supper (so around nine o’clock PM Nairobi time) that the lounge we were in had Wifi too, and then people wanted to send emails. I let them do that but managed maybe five minutes of chat. I get to see him in seven hours, hooray! I am looking forward to that.

I just finished watching Sherlock Holmes. Not bad. Not quite my Holmes, but an interesting Holmes. Now I want to reread the stories. Unfortunately do not have them with me. Think I will watch another film. Maybe The Young Victoria or The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. Depends on how much time I have. If neither, I may play games.

April 7, 2010; 18.25 CST

I have been home for two days now, but it doesn’t feel like it. I am feeling very confused and very lost and don’t know what to do with myself. I have not been back to school apart from for my English test on Tuesday. I am very jet-lagged but I have not been sleeping ... John was here until today, and I very much appreciated him being here, but I did not notice how clingy I was getting and eventually I hurt him ... I am so screwed up and not thinking straight. Nothing seems to have a point. John makes sense and I almost feel ashamed that he is the one point that seems to make sense right now.

And that's all she wrote. It took me a couple weeks to get readjusted to Western life, and I'm still not quite the same (which is to be expected, I suppose). I am now attending university, and I stay in touch with and others that I met in Rwanda. I want to go back someday, both to work more, and to simply enjoy the beauty of the country. Sooner than later, I will finally post an album of all my Rwanda photos, and I will post the link here when that happens.

Thank you for reading this very-late account (that seems to be how I do a lot of things, actually) of my trip to Rwanda. I hope you enjoyed it, or were touched by it, or were changed by it. (I am breaking every public-speaking rule with this conclusion.) May God be with you as He is with the Rwandans. :)

Rwanda, post number 12 (April 3rd)

2010-09-12T09:40:00.001-05:00

April 3, 2010; 2.17 CST

I am waiting to go play soccer and fighting with my Zune ... I do not want to play soccer: I am tired, and feel ill, and do not wish to run around. Maybe I can bow out. In any case I need to change.

Yesterday was very much a downtime day. I was fine to work in the afternoon, but they had already finished all the shelves. So I read and stuff.

In the evening, the teachers went out for dinner and the Visionaries came around again. We ate fairly late (8-ish), and then I started talking with one of the girls, Uwamahoro Justine. We talked about easy stuff for a while, then she started telling me her story.

[I have excised my recounting of her story in the interests of privacy on the Internet. All I shall say here is that] I am honoured to be able to help such an amazingly brave and strong woman.

I need to change. I am feeling slightly better, and will perhaps be able to run. If not I can cheer. I am not the only one who is not super-down with playing soccer, but hey.

April 3, 2010; 14.34 CST

Soccer went okay – we only lost 4-1 instead of 14-0 and we played pretty well. I played defence for a good fifteen minutes and did a fair job. Lots of fun was had. Some of us taught the kids that were hanging around how to throw Frisbees, though we didn’t get to play Ultimate. We did a quick baseball lesson after the soccer game, which had to be quick because the soccer game had started an hour later than it should have and we were already late for lunch.

Excella High is at the bottom of the hill that the Centre César is on. Meaning that we had to climb all the way up the hill to the inn after the soccer game in the scorching heat. And it was scorching. And none of us had water, really, since so many of us had drunk all the water we had during the game and there were no more bottles. I got through the long walk by my tried-and-true method of mind over matter: I pretended, quite simply, that I was a Spartan-II. And it worked – I got to the inn very warm, but otherwise totally fine. I rested a bit and downed about three-quarters of a litre of water, and was good to go.

We ate, Caroline and I started a chess game, and then we all went straight back to the Centre for the farewell ceremony. Luc and Sandrine spoke for us briefly, thanking everyone involved; M Raval spoke briefly and got a little teary when he thanked Maman Nicole; Maman Nicole spoke; Dodou and the Visionaries gave our group a wood carving of Rwanda being held in several hands and a banana-leaf plate as thanks and a souvenir; Raymond gave Maman Nicole a book called No Limits; Maman Nicole spoke again thanking Raymond; the widows did several traditional dances of thanks and farewell; then we sang Histoire d’Antan again; then we all made a line and said goodbye to all the widows and the Centre staff and the Visionaries that were there (murabeho, tuzongera – goodbye for now, see you next time), and they wished us a safe journey. Lots of pictures were taken.

I will be sad Monday. I will not be sad tomorrow. I am always sad the day after everything – it might not be until Tuesday.

We headed back to the inn and had dinner, and Caro and I continued our chess game. She plays very conservatively whereas I am used to John’s aggressive style, so it was a very interesting game and I only won because I distracted her for long enough so that she could not make a move that would have totally messed me up. Very interesting game on the whole.

Now fighting with my Zune again. Have showered so am clean for the plane. Nearly packed – just my pyjamas to put in from tonight, and my pillow, and my foam mat and my towel which is hanging to dry – oh and my sandals. And then to quickly pack my carryon and all will be well. I have wrapped all the fragile souvenirs in several layers of cloth and clothing but will be praying all the way home for them to reach Winnipeg safely.

Home soon. Family soon. I’ve determined my order of hugs: my sisters first, then Ben if he wants a hug, then Mom, then John. And then I suppose anyone else who has come to say welcome back.

Rwanda, post number 11 (April 2nd)

2010-09-12T00:04:00.001-05:00

April 2, 2010; 2.26 CST

I did not end up writing about the 1^st yesterday evening because I ended up having a rather long conversation. I decided I would just sleep afterwards and catch up later. However, I did not sleep well at all – my stomach decided to start seriously acting up, instead of just the little spasms that had been happening all day, and I tossed and turned all night, very much in pain. Also I am sick of smelling smoke, cigarette or garbage or whatever wood they burn here. It makes me even sicker and it is always around. As long as I lay on my right side it is better, since that makes everything move where it is supposed to. It gets tiring though, and to use my laptop I lay on my back, which hurts but which is much more efficient.

As a result of all this I am staying at the inn today, at least for the morning. We’ll see how I feel after lunch, if I can go and work or not. It is sort-of nice to not have to do anything, but also frustrating that I can’t go out and work ... although I’m sick of working, so I suppose it kind of works out. Also I’d rather get better now and miss some stuff than be sick on the plane and when I get home.

We spent yesterday morning working with the daycare kids, this time out in their playground (which is just a triangle of green space a little ways down the road from the daycare). We played circle games with them for a while, a sort of version of Duck Duck Goose and a sort of version of Red Rover, and then we just played with them in general – soccer balls and small footballs, skip ropes and cat’s-cradle cords, the like.

We then brought them back to the Centre where they did some dancing upstairs and we fed them a rice and spinach concoction (which sometimes had fish in it, or carrots), which they gobbled up for the most part (even the fish heads in some cases). The girl I helped, Nicole, was happy to eat, and found me very funny when I suggested the food go in her nose or her ear or her knee or such. She played along after a while and we laughed together. I told her ura sekeza (you’re funny) and she said I was too; eventually she started saying na haze, which I figured meant “I’m full”, and when I asked Rodrigue, I was right. After food, they danced some more, and then we left.

We also got to give Eric (the employee of the Centre who just lost his brother-in-law) our gift yesterday morning. He was very quiet but I think grateful – I have noticed that Rwandans seem to be very calm when one gives them gifts, or thanks them for a gift they have given. When I gave Rodrigue the $50 USD Dad gave me to give to something that was worth it (I thought The Visionaries would do just fine), he was not vocally grateful about it and seemed kind of aloof actually; when I thanked him for buying me the gift he did, he was again rather aloof. Eric was fairly reserved too, though I guess for different reasons. The only exception I have seen to this is Igor, who stood up at the dinner table the other night and thanked Janelle profusely for singing La Vie En Rose on the boat the other day, and explained the whole affair of how to thank someone for a gift in Rwandan culture; perhaps I am not thanking properly.

In the afternoon we were supposed to go play soccer, baseball and Ultimate at the nearby high school (Excella High), but as we couldn’t get the field until 16.30, we came back to the inn for a bit of downtime. Unfortunately for the downtime plan, we all got called to come share our experiences, mostly about Gisouzi. Many of us did not feel up for it or did not feel like we had anything to say, but as we went around the circle we started getting more and more emotional.

About a quarter of the way through the circle it started raining (I have to find another shirt now that I left on the line and that has been taken in somewhere; I got the other two back), and by a third of the way around it was pouring rain, so much so that when it got to me (I was maybe two-thirds around), no one could hear me over the rain, even if I fairly yelled. At that point we stopped and went to our rooms for real downtime, and as it didn’t stop raining all afternoon we did not go to play sports. I am not terribly down about that since I would not have played much anyway. I ended up listening to music with Roxanne for a while (and driving Caroline and Andrée nuts since we sang along), and then on my own and packing. I am fairly impressed: everything will fit just fine and I will probably have room for some pens if needed. Everything will be well-padded and quite under the weight limit, I think, since there are two large items I have put in that are very light, even if they take up a lot of space, and the clothing is distributed between the two suitcases.

We had supper fairly late (19.30-ish I think), and then we had a circle with the Visionaries, a sort of spiritual reflection on what we’ve been thinking the past couple weeks. Raymond read a few passages from a book he has been reading, not based on any religion in particular, and we commented on them. I disagreed from a Christian standpoint with a few things that were said, but agreed in principle with much of it, and spoke my thoughts on agape in the Rwandan community. The atmosphere was kind of awkward, since I think many in the CL-R community are of no particular faith or are atheist, and the Rwandans traditionally are very religious, mostly Christian and partially Muslim. Our cultures’ attitudes towards spirituality are very different.

After the circle, music started playing and we were supposed to dance – I started talking with one of the Visionaries, Samrey, instead, and found out where he was living (here in Kigali), where he was going to school and what for (Masaka, at St. Emmanuel School, to become an engineer A1 (just below A0, the highest rank)), and that he had a sort of girlfriend (Christine, going to the same school and living in Kimironko, and yes he wants to marry her so he’s going through the whole process, but unfortunately he is rather poor and is kind of stuck). We also talked about seasons (there are two seasons that repeat in Rwanda every three months – rainy and dry) and other such things, and then he brought me over to the dance floor and explained a little bit about the band that was playing at the moment.

I danced a little bit, but felt kind of awkward, so I slipped out and went to talk to the teachers for a bit about nothing in particular (mostly Customs stuff and how the next couple days would go), then went to my room. It was at that point that Myriam started asking me questions and the conversation started; it went fairly late and I just went to sleep after that.

Rwanda, post number 10 (April 1st)

2010-07-15T14:30:00.003-05:00

April 1, 2010; 6.54 CST

I am still not feeling well today. I have a suspicion it was the yogurt I had in Butare, but there are others not feeling well and we didn’t all have yogurt ...

To continue from yesterday: the second part of the first museum we visited was the traditional royal court of King Mutara, the second-last king of Rwanda. The traditional Rwandan house (only distinguished from the king’s by the fact that the king’s house has two extra wooden points on the roof) is made of ficus wood, straw and other wood. It looks a little bit like an igloo, except made of layers of straw. The thresholds are made of different kinds of clay, the threshold of the principal royal house being a large circular red platform with a white barrier that almost touches the house at both ends. This created an entrance and an exit for those who came to kneel before the king on the days of court, where the king would grant an audience to those who would come to him with problems. Right at the entrance to the main house was the pillar of pardon, a wooden pillar which, if a guilty person could get to it (there were guards all over the place) and touch it, meant that the king would pardon them.

Inside the house, there were partitions made of woven straw which were see-through from the inside, functioning both as doors and windows since they could be moved. Decorated partitions marked the bedchamber, which was basically just a huge (very hard) bed surrounded by said partitions and with several different-sized pointed baskets, which served as suitcases when the king went places. There were two entrances to the bedchamber: one for the king and male visitors, and one for the women. The king and his friends would enter directly from the main foyer of the house, which was itself separated from the entrance with more partitioning (a sort of entrance hall, which was also separated between men and women), and the women would go around behind another partition into a separate room that linked to the king’s bedchamber. The main foyer had a hearth in it, a sort of raised-clay affair that was decorated as a star. The smoke from the fire would impregnate the walls and render them hostile to insects. People would dance and sing in the main foyer, and drink beer and such, and chat, and so on and so forth.

The other two traditional houses they had built/rebuilt were the milk house and the beer house, each successively smaller than the one previous, and each built along the same basic layout. Milk was considered very, very important in traditional Rwandan culture, and a female servant (single for life) lived in the milk house to make sure that the king’s milk and milk products were not poisoned. This was also the hangout for the queen and her friends, so the secrets of the kingdom were safe with the servant because she never left.

The beer house was much the same, except a male servant would stay and brew the different kinds of beer (banana, sorghum and honey – the honey beer had more alcohol in it than today’s whisky). There were different sorts of jugs and containers for the milk and the beer: small milk jugs with thin necks for babies and progressively larger for older people (each child drank 1L of milk a day – and you wonder why Rwandans were so tall; the last king was over 7 feet); great big gourds for churning butter; different shapes of gourds for the different beers; calabashes and half-calabashes with various uses, etc.

After the old-Rwanda museum, we went up to another hill to visit the National Art Museum. The trip there was interesting since we got lost a couple times, but we made it there. The tree was very large width-wise, spreading out over a large amount of land and providing lots of shade. We ate pre-packed sandwiches (tomato, cheese and sausage) and fruit (I ate three marakujas) and took lots of pictures.

The art museum was a lovely building, having been built with the intention of it being the last king’s palace, but as he died two months before he could start living in it, it was converted (eventually) into a museum. The building has only been a museum for 4 years or so; I’m not sure what it was before that. They have an overarching theme of peace, and have had sub-themes each year tying into that: youth, ubuntu, etc.

The art comes from all over the world, not just from Rwanda or even from Africa: there were pieces from Serbia and elsewhere, but most of them were from Rwanda or from the DRC. Lots of fairly abstract art: I made the observation to myself that it seems as if abstract and absurd arts really boom after tragedies or large incidents. I think this is perhaps because we feel as if we cannot properly express what we feel with the language and the art we currently understand: we need a new way of saying things that is unlike what has come before. We are showing what we feel instead of what we see.

There were quite a few carved-wood statues, almost all graceful and smooth or in bas-relief – I particularly liked these, along with a few mixed-technique pieces, as I felt they really showed the emotions behind the pieces. There was one that was a metal sheet with a lock on it and a frame with chains ... I forget what it was called, but I won’t forget the piece. There were several pieces with mirrors, and many pieces showing women and children or traditional life.

We next drove to the national museum of Rwanda, which was more of the prehistory and culture of Rwanda than anything else. There exhibits including the geography of Rwanda, the climate, the topography and the geology, the evolution of the language and its construction, ancient and near-modern tools, Rwanda’s prehistory, methods of sustenance (agriculture and raising cattle in general) and the various arts of the culture: basket-weaving, pottery, weaponry, music, hunting and clothing. The detail here was amazing: they had pictures of people making baskets and pots and pictures of pretty much everything else, and the museum has an intense collection of artifacts, all meticulously preserved and labelled and explained in all three official languages (although sometimes English was missing). At the end of the tour, we took pictures outside and then went to the town of Butare.

In the town, we could go to two restaurants and/or go to a small market for snacks since we would not be home until late. I bought a package of chocolate biscuits, a drinking yogurt (ikivuguto) and a roll with ground beef in the middle. I sat in the second restaurant where most of us were, but did not order anything as I was running out of money (I believe I only have 4550 Rwf left, unless I don’t have to pay for my dress now, in which case I have 9550 Rwf. I might keep the 5000 Rwf and bring it home so I can pay for my dress when it comes, meaning I really only have 4550.

Oh, we poked a hole in the bus. Claude came around the back of the first restaurant to pick us all up, then had to back out all the way to the street. As good a driver as he is, he managed to get the bus out – but hit a pole and poked a hole in the ventilator at the back. Oh well. He didn’t seem too miffed.

The ride home was long and not very interesting, since it was dark soon into the trip. I listened to my Zune on shuffle for a while, then listened to Noriyuki Iwadare, then U2 on shuffle. I practiced conducting for a while. When we finally got back to the inn, we had some spinach soup and then went pretty much straight to bed.

I am still feeling off so I am going to rest now. I will write about today this evening.

Rwanda, post number 9 (March 31st)

2010-06-11T01:11:00.001-05:00

March 31, 2010; 14.56 CST

Another very long day, with its ups and downs … and more downs than ups, I think. I am not coming away from this day at this point with a good feeling. It is so easy to complain about so many things – certain people getting on my nerves (either more than usual or the same as usual), the language barrier between us and the Rwandans, the fatigue enveloping us all, the planning that seems badly done, the miscommunications … I could probably write pages and pages, but in the interests of keeping things proportionate, I will only touch on each briefly. It would not do to have all positive in this journal.

People. The more tired I get, the more they get on my nerves. People leaving doors half-open or only locking once (the doors lock twice here). People focusing on their appearance much more than I think is necessary. People being rude or crude. People yelling or trying to exert authority which they do not have. It’s very tiring, but if everyone in the world was perfect, we’d be in Kingdom Come.

The language barrier. This is a super-frustrating one. Service at restaurants is awfully slow here (not sure why – Rwandan time?), and often restaurants will not have exactly what they list on their menus (or for the same price as they list on their menus). When we try to order or to clarify or just to ask questions, it is often difficult to get the question across and more difficult to understand the answer. I thought we’d be able to get along fine here with French and English – apparently in many cases that is not so at all.

The fatigue. We’re all exhausted, and as a result not feeling well and often very irritable. Changes in plans become huge issues when we’re all so tired. The adults are far more irritable as well, and the conciliatory manners some of them try to adopt sound condescending and patronizing and just get on our nerves even more. We were supposed to be back from Butare around 8 tonight and have a small, late supper. We got back at 9 and didn’t want to eat at all, but we had to because otherwise the food would be wasted. No one is very happy.

The planning. It seems like everything is done half by-ear on this trip. Things change quickly and word is not always passed along.

The communication. Oi. I brought money to buy souvenirs and a couple lunches, but we have gone to far more places where we have been obligated to spend money that we were not aware we would need to spend. This hasn’t been a problem for most people, but I brought less and feel a little left-out on occasion. If I had known about all these stops, I would have planned even better! I did not waste money, and yet here I am. Also to do with the communication issues is who is going where and when and for how long, and what to bring, and whether or not pictures can be taken, and the customs, and whether or not we will be outside, and how much time we have, and so on and so forth. I would have loved a schedule with markings like “shopping here” or “break here for food, pay on your own”, or “stop at grocery shop”, etc.

I am exhausted and want to sleep very badly, but I suppose I should say what actually happened today. We left for Butare a little later than planned, but the ride there was rather pleasant. I listened to music and read the fourth part (of five) of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, which was an interesting chapter on the whole – he discovers part of his destiny at the end, which is done in a very neat passage. To go to Gisenyi one goes west and north; to go to Butare one goes south. The landscape changed from very high, peaked mountains to softer hills (still high, but with plateaus instead of peaks).

The first museum we visited was atop a hill, and was both the last king’s palace (a modern building) and the second-last king’s palace (traditional Rwandan royal housing). The modern house was somewhat boring, but very nicely furnished (the wood was very intricately carved as decoration, and I particularly liked the rugs – very colourful and plush) and somewhat informative. The plaques on the walls told specifically of the monarchical history of Rwanda, talking of the formation of the kingdom in the 10^th century AD and the conquests that led to its apogee in the 18^th century and then its slow decline under colonialism in the 19^th and 20^th century leading to today. It was interesting to see how an African empire had survived so long, but being in the middle of the continent I would imagine it was one of the last places to be reached by European influence. For example, when King Baudouin of Belgium visited Rwanda in the 20^th century, he was given 120 different spears by the Rwandan king (whose name escapes me), a traditional Rwandan royal-to-royal gift. It was under the last king that the European influence really expanded, as he was very cooperative with the Belgians. At one point, the Rwandan kingdom expanded far into what are its neighbouring countries today, which is why there are still Rwandaphones in those areas. Rwanda is notable for the fact that its people only speak one language, unlike many neighbouring countries which may speak seven to twelve. This is due to the conquest nature of the Rwandan monarchy.

I am really not feeling well. I am going to sleep and I will finish this entry in the morning or later in the evening.

Rwanda, post number 8 (March 30th)

2010-05-26T18:37:00.002-05:00

March 30, 2010; 15.15 CST

Today has been a very long and very exhausting day. We began the day, as always, with breakfast: at breakfast, we did a small collection for the newly-widowed sister of one of the Centre César employees, who just lost her husband to (I think) sickness. We collected just under 100 000 Rwf for her, or approximately $160 USD. That was nice to do and felt good.

We headed off to the Centre César not entirely certain of what was going to happen that morning. Our group ended up getting chosen to go to the nursery, and we waited at the Centre until 9.30 until we could finally head over there. The nursery is a refurbished chicken coop, and is definitely too small for the Centre’s needs. A new nursery on the Centre property (the current nursery is a couple streets away) is one of the priorities, but the list is long enough ...

Anyway, when we got there we helped out with colouring and a bit of English phonics. Both were incredibly difficult, what with about 30 kids between the ages of 3 and 5 all talking loudly at the same time in Kinyarwanda and not particularly wishing to pay attention or to attempt to understand what the abazungu were trying to help them with. Very cute and very eager, but as most preschoolers, not terribly focused on the task at hand. Oh well.

After that mini-lesson was snack: whatever water or juice or milk they had brought from home, whatever snack they had from home, and two cookies from the nursery’s stock. They sat and ate that quietly enough, washing their hands before and after. Several of them left without asking (I think) to go to the washroom – it seemed rather an informal practice as they seemed to just up and leave to the building directly adjacent, using a little room as a sort of in-outhouse (inside a building, but outside their own). After their snack we gave them all a lollipop, then we all went down to a patch of grass kitty-corner to our own building site, where we said goodbye and headed back to the Centre. The other group that would go help with the nursery kids was to go at 10.30 and we were to work.

We didn’t get very much work done today, even though there was lots of wood to be used. Roxanne has been getting sicker (a cold) over the past couple of days, and today she was exhausted. Most of us were, really. I continue to be very irritable, though I try to calm myself down as much as possible. It is often difficult not to swear at the boards that don’t quite work, or to resent the fact that the wood is not cut straight or has been badly chosen or is just very bad wood. None of these are things we can do much about, and we just have to work with what we have. I believe we got three shelves done in the half-hour we worked, as opposed to five or six which would have been at least 75% done in that normal amount of time if we had not all been exhausted.

Upon our return to the inn for lunch, M Raval told us that Maman Nicole had been almost in tears when he had given her the money we had donated for the employee’s sister, which made us all feel very happy that we had been able to do something good.

After lunch, we headed to the downtown area for an afternoon of shopping. We first stopped at a small market of artisanal goods: I bought gifts for everyone and filled my list, but in the process spent 41500 Rwf (approximately $72.55 USD). Far less than what I would have spent on the same items in Canada, but probably about a third more than I would have spent had I had Manu or someone bartering for me. I did some bartering on my own, but you can only go so far when you are an umuzungu. I don’t particularly like markets like these – they give you a rush of adrenaline, especially if you are good at bartering, but I always feel sort of let down afterwards. If you’re not happy with what you spent, you have only yourself to blame really, and you can’t return things ... not that I want to. I am happy with what I have, and it is silly to think that I should have spent less: the extra money I may have spent as an umuzungu may have put food on the table for a couple more days for those vendors. That’s a good thing. Also, it’s no use trying to save the francs. I need to spend them here, just like Dad said when Mom and I went to Washington – the money is to spend; it is better to bring back useful/good things than just money. Or something like that. Still, I don’t like spending large amounts of money, especially when I have a limit. I suppose most people are the same. I suppose that’s a good thing in some ways and to a certain extent, too. One shouldn’t be a spendthrift, but one shouldn’t be a miser either.

After that small market, we went to the Hotel des Mille Collines and had drinks by the pool (and some of us had ice cream, which was apparently very good – I miss ice cream (and I miss Nucci’s more), and could go for a pizza ... no, a clubhouse sandwich, that’d be really good). It was really, really neat to be at the Hotel des Mille Collines, especially by the pool, since it’s the center of fictionalized accounts of the genocide (Hotel Rwanda, A Sunday in Kigali, etc). You feel a bit like you’re on a movie set, like you do at the White House or the Smithsonian and all. It started pouring while we were there: the rainy season has definitely begun, and the interesting thing about that is that while there is intense rain at least once a day, there is also intense heat and sun – extremes, like in Canada, but far faster. The rain is very welcome after the boiling sun.

We spent more time at Mille Collines than we should have, and only had 25 minutes at the Kigali market (and didn’t go to the new mall, but Igor said it was basically like a mall at home, so no big deal). I only had 9850 Rwf left (and still only have that much), so I didn’t bring any money in with me: I went in to help Roxanne find what she needed and to look around. While there, I saw an absolutely wonderful game that I really wanted, but of course I had no money so I had to leave sad – this sadness was only worsened when the vendor told me 19000 Rwf for it, and the others I had seen and asked about were between 25k to 70k Rwf.

Roxanne and I made it around the square and met up with Rodrigue, who asked me whether I was finding anything and how it was going. I told him that I had found all the gifts I needed and had brought no money in, but had seen this wonderful set and unfortunately couldn’t buy it. I expected a small amount of consolation and a sort of, “eh, that’s life” response, but he told me to show him the set. A little surprised, I found it again and showed him. He asked how much the vendor had asked for it and I told him nineteen grand. He looked at it, then said to me that he would come back tomorrow and buy it for ten grand, and it would be his present to me. I was shocked, and still am. That’s $17.50 USD – less by far than what I would pay in Canada, again, but a sizable amount. I thanked him profusely, and he was pretty blasé about it. If I have enough francs left by Sunday, I will give him back everything I can; that or split it between him and Manu as thanks for both their services.

I have set aside 5000 Rwf to pay for my dress, which will hopefully be done by the end of the week, because I would like to bring it home now and know whether or not it will be my grad dress and not find out in May that I didn’t need to buy a $300 dress (if it’s not done by the end of the week, Maman Nicole will bring it, along with any others, when she next comes to Canada in May). If I pay that 5000 Rwf to the widows making my dress, then I have 9850 Rwf that I can split between Rodrigue and Manu. Although it is possible that Rodrigue may refuse it, since he said it would be a gift. It might be considered rather rude to repay that, even if it is in thanks. I don’t know. I will see.

After the Kigali market, we drove through the most densely-populated neighbourhood of Kigali, the name of which escaped me at the moment but which starts with Nyaruba, I think … this neighbourhood is notable for being the only predominantly Muslim neighbourhood in Kigali, the rest being predominantly Christian. Igor didn’t say why that happened to be the case, only that it was: and that during the genocide, this was the only neighbourhood and the only religion that refused to separate its people into Hutu and Tutsi. Igor didn’t say, but I think the implication was that the Interahamwe just killed anybody here. Nonetheless, the neighbourhood holds over 500 000 people, and as one person (Will? Danika? Sandrine?) put it, “They have houses in their backyards!” which is basically how it was. Igor had once told us that in one neighbourhood of Kigali, the houses were so close together on the hillside that people would fall off of their roof onto their neighbour’s roof, and it was a common occurrence. I have no trouble believing the stories now.

We came back and had supper, which included a distinctly Rwandan dish made of manioc: the root was made into a sort of gooey dough that you were supposed to shape with your hands into a sort of spoon, with which you would scoop up some of the cooked manioc leaves. The cooked manioc leaves tasted strongly of seaweed, and the manioc root had a very different texture, so while I made myself each all that I had taken, I don’t think I could back for seconds, nor do I think I will eat it again. Definitely an acquired taste, perhaps better acquired in youth.

Igor told a short story at the table about how Janelle had sung an Édith Piaf song on the island tour the other day, and how it had told him that he could see La Vie en Rose just as how his father had seen that Je ne regrette rien at the end of his days. It was a rather touching story, and Igor said that in Rwandan tradition, if someone gives you a gift that you cannot repay, you are supposed to talk about the person to everyone you meet and even to swear in their name to show that you are very grateful. He spoke of hoping that his descendants might have the chance to thank Janelle’s descendants properly for the gift she had given him.

The Visionaries came around tonight again, and we brought out the drums we had bought and started playing them with them. I learned how to drum semi-properly, and was the first to be taught. I love it! It’s so much fun! It’s right-arm dominant so far, so my right arm is pretty sore, but I learned a lot and had a lot of fun. I’m glad I had the chance. Several of the Visionaries told me that I was very good at drumming – a very high compliment, it seems to me, to give an umuzungu! I drummed for what must have been over an hour, and am even more exhausted now.

It is time to sleep. We go to Butare in the morning, where the king’s palace used to be/is, and where the National Art Museum is. I’m pretty excited, but I’m also falling asleep on my keyboard, so good night.

Rwanda, post number 7 (March 29th)

2010-05-10T21:41:00.005-05:00

Another long one, but only one day.

March 29, 2010; 14.48 CST

Today was a rather long and frustrating day. I felt like I was often losing my patience and being irritable with and/or without reason. Not sure what day I’m on – but I think it’s more likely to be just fatigue and heat (it was incredibly hot today) plus a bit of cabin-fever style stress due to being with the same people 24/7 for over a week. I miss my alone time – and I still miss John. I wonder how many times I will say that in the course of this journal. I am used to speaking to him every night; perhaps this is my version of speaking to him every night now that I cannot do so ...

Anyway. Woke up this morning to an ant crisis. And I do mean crisis. Now, I don’t like ants. I really don’t. I don’t know why, but I don’t like them at all. They creep me out. And last night, when we got back to Bel Air, I didn’t think twice about the honey and marakuja nectar in the paper bags from the market. I’m not used to thinking about insects getting into houses.

Yeah, revise that. Woke up and got up to get dressed and saw ants all over the floor. I’m immediately disgusted and creeped out, and then I realize they’re on my stuff – specifically the paper bags with the honey and the marakuja nectar. I instantly feel like a total idiot for not having thought of this before, and then I’m thinking about how the heck I’m going to fix this in twenty minutes and still have time to get dressed and ready for the day, since it’s 7.10. Oh dear.

So I pull the marakuja nectar out of the big paper bag and clean off the top, which was sticky. I put it in the plastic bag which had my mosquito netting in it. I gingerly pull the pot of honey out of its little bag and wipe it off too, and put it in the same plastic bag. I take the two boxes of tea out of their little bags (which the ants are crawling on too) and roll them in some of the fabric. They have no honey on them so I thought it should be okay. I throw away the big paper bag, which has two marakujas and two parts of a baguette in it (sob, what a waste, but they would have been no good after all the ants). I get dressed and take the honey with me to breakfast, leaving the marakuja nectar in my backpack, which I closed.

Ate a good amount of the honey at breakfast, slathering it on my bread (so good after just butter) and putting it in my tea (I miss the creamer: they keep giving us milk now, but that’s okay ... the milk is better for me). Come back to the room, wrap the honey and the nectar in the plastic bag again, seal them both in my backpack and pack my bag (the hotel staff was going to change our sheets this morning, so I just put everything away). I wrap my backpack in my mosquito net to deter any more ants, and leave it on my suitcase. On the way to the construction site, it occurred to me that I could have sprayed the netting with Off – it’s not meant for ants, but maybe it would help mask the smell of the honey.

Work this morning was more efficient than it was at the end of last week, mostly because of Danika’s genius with kids: she stopped working, more or less, and distracted them all with games (the Hokey Pokey, a simplified version of Simon Says, plus bracelets, necklaces and bouncy balls) and trying to learn Kinyarwanda. I have a few pictures plus a video of this: it was rather touching, not to mention it was an absolute lifesaver. The kids, helpful as they want to be, are very difficult to communicate with and after a certain point just start getting on your nerves. More proof for me to not work with kids. The ones who didn’t go to play with Danika were easier to communicate and more willing to cooperate, so that was much nicer – we could actually tell them to wait, or not to hammer (oh, and we had the genius idea of only having one hammer per group, so there were no extra hammers and so they couldn’t get them! It worked for a while, but then they found the rest), or where to hammer. One of them, Steven, spoke fairly good English (if pretty rudimentary), and he was really helpful. It’s great to see them wanting to help to help themselves.

I think we are at eighty-ish sets of shelves now, since there was a power outage in the late morning and there was no wood for a while (nor was there much in the afternoon, which made for a semi-unproductive afternoon – all the wood started getting cut just as we were supposed to close up for dinner). But I want to write down the experience of delivering one of the sets of shelves to one of the widows. This was a couple days ago, I think Friday. Roxanne, Myriam and I hopped into Rodrigue’s van to help deliver shelves. The little kids were faster than we were and delivered the first two sets, but Rodrigue told them to let us do the third one. We brought it down into the widow’s house, and started talking with her and her friend (who taught the widow’s daughter, killed in the genocide, in school). The friend could speak French, so she translated for us. It was very touching and somewhat difficult – the widow said that she had a granddaughter in school of whom we reminded her, and she said that Roxanne smiled like her late daughter (which made Roxanne rather teary later). She blessed us and thanked us and we got pictures with her; I was glad that I could remember the first two words of “God bless you” in Kinyarwanda, and that her friend understood what I was trying to say and provided me with the last word – it’s Imana aguhe umugisha, I think, or close to that anyway. The message got through. It was an amazing experience. The house was little; painted teal on the inside in the front room – a couple chairs, a small TV, a bedroom and a kitchen – but that was all I could see. Rudimentary and very clean, but definitely a home. A picture of her late daughter on the wall. And still she smiled.

This afternoon we were supposed to work more, which only kind of worked as planned – the remaining people who had not gone to the Kimironko market went, leaving two of the three groups missing people, so they (our group and another group) joined up to work together. Yeah. That didn’t work so well, since each group has its own production-line style of building the shelves, and it’s rather difficult to integrate ... even more so when you have a new set of kids to work with. The ones at the site we went to were incommunicado, speaking neither French nor English to speak of, and the mother apparently invited some of the group in to eat but they didn’t understand what she was saying (and tried to tell her so, but apparently that didn’t get through) and so she was potentially offended, and the kids were trying to walk off with things ... the whole atmosphere was sort of tense and awkward, more so than the morning. Ah well. Also we had to bring all the shelves from those two sites to the Centre at four, which was another whole step. I’m very grateful for the way our site works now, and how efficient we are.

I read for about two hours this afternoon, which was nice – I’ve read sixty percent of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man now, and I’m really getting into it. Joyce has a funny way of making you think you’re in Ireland, creating a strange sense of displacement every time I look up from the book, because I am not in Ireland but neither am I at home, and so it takes a moment to re-realize that I am in Rwanda.

I have been so tired these past few days that food almost makes me feel sick – I keep coming back to the room after meals and feeling kind of out of it, a little queasy, rather weak. I want to just sleep; it is so hot here during the day, and the food is heavy most of the time and carb-loaded, so I keep becoming more and more fatigued. It is nice to have the honey in the morning (along with fruit) and the marakuja nectar to mix with my water (along with some stevia) to make for some sugar during the day.

Oh, more ant crisis in the afternoon. The marakuja nectar had leaked onto a few pieces of clothing, so I had washed them quickly last night and hung them to dry on my window. When I came back that afternoon, I saw a trail of ants going up the wall to my window, and just about freaked out. That was pretty nasty and not cool at all – and I had thought I had gotten all the nectar! I pulled the window out and saw that there was like a whole colony of ants on one spot on my capris ... evidently I had not gotten all the nectar off. Ugh. With Roxanne’s help I managed to toss the three articles of clothing into a garbage bag, and then I brought them to the outdoor sink and washed them as thoroughly as I could, then hung them on the hedges to dry. (Two of them – my shorts and my capris – are still there, drying: the t-shirt, being very thin, dried quickly. No sign of ants. Win.) I came back in and sprayed the wall with Off, trying to get rid of everything. Oh, and I sprayed the mosquito netting and even my backpack to mask the smell of the honey. The inn staff had cleaned the room a bit, including the sheets and the floor, so the ants were pretty much gone. I still feel like they’re all over the place, though, and keep jumping whenever something touches me gently, like my hair or my headphone cord. Ach.

After supper the Visionaries came along for a debate evening, which I thought was going to be difficult to hear/understand/focus on because I was so tired and not in the mood for a debate, but it was actually pretty good. We started again on Romeo Dallaire, which we had discussed a bit during one of our discussion periods last week, the question being what do Rwandans think of Romeo Dallaire? The Canadians think he’s a hero, the Belgians think he’s a traitor: where do Rwandans stand? The answers varied, from answers seemingly closed-minded (he is not a hero because he failed, regardless of whether he could have done more) to forward-thinking (he is a hero because he is spreading the word of the genocide and has been since 1994) to two-sided (he is not a hero because he did not succeed, but we cannot condemn him because it was not his fault). A lot seemed to depend on one’s personal or cultural definition of hero: I explained the Canadian point of view of a hero being someone who gives their all in spite of personal danger and does their absolute best to save lives; the traditional Rwandan point of view was given as someone who fights valiantly and (generally) wins in battle. The viewpoints were evidently, therefore, very different to start with. The conversation was, in general, a good one.

One of the things I have noticed during conversations like these is that often the Rwandans will make the same point at least three times, almost starting over their idea again at the end two or three times. It can get kind of frustrating for those of us who prefer conversations and discussion points to be precise and concise (oh dear, the IB is controlling my brain): you make your point and you support it, and you don’t repeat yourself. I am one of these people, so some of the people who spoke several times (often pretty much the same thing as they had said before) got on my nerves a bit.

After the debate, though, Andrée said something which I had (I admit to my own shame) not thought of: these people need to talk these things through. Apparently one of the guys who talked the most (and was the most polarized of the speakers) had seen the rest of his four-member family die. Hm. Perspective much, us Canadians? This whole trip has been an exercise in seeing other people through the right eyeglasses: we have to keep in mind what they have gone through, while not letting that be the only light in which we see them: we must see them also through the lens of future development and the new push for humanity. The genocide is not where it ended and is not where it ends now – life goes on and they must somehow move on as well. Debates like this are part of that.

Rwanda, post number 6 (March 27th-28th)

2010-05-09T22:35:00.004-05:00

Sorry this is a couple weeks late ... would take too long to go into the various reasons ...

This entry is a double entry: I did not bring my laptop to Gisenyi, so I wrote the whole thing in one go when we got back.

March 28, 2010; 14.45 CST

I have been and gone to Gisenyi, and it is an absolutely beautiful place. I feel as if I can relax there, among the palm trees and the innumerable flowers, on the coast of huge Lake Kivu in the middle of the mountains, on the border of several African states, with active volcanoes among the mountains … it is beautiful.

We left early in the morning, as planned, minus one – Anatol was very sick and so he stayed here. The drive to Gisenyi took about five hours, although we only covered about 120 km, since it was very up and down and roundabout. The road was built by Juvénal Habyarimana, the last dictator of Rwanda (and one of the instigators of the genocide), to go home, because Gisenyi was his home. Because of this, the road from Kigali to Gisenyi was the last to be rebuilt after the destruction of the genocide. All along the way, from Kigali on, we saw people working in the ditches or in the fields, doing the muganda just as Igor had said they would – the community work on the last Saturday of each month. We were indeed stopped a couple times, but everything checked out and we kept going.

We made three stops total, if I remember correctly: one where there were a bunch of eucalyptus trees; one at the very top of the mountains, on a sort of plain where there were lots of trucks (a parking lot, basically); and one in a small village next to the marakuja-juice factory, where we could buy food for lunch.

The eucalyptus trees were everywhere, Igor said, and they helped a bit with the rising altitude: since there was less oxygen, the eucalyptus would help us breathe. I didn’t notice much of a difference, but that’s okay. Cool anyway. At this stop, we met a couple kids (also everywhere), to whom I sort-of taught the heart-hand sign. I believe Roxanne has a picture with me and one girl doing the little hand heart. It was very cute.

At the next stop, at the top of the mountains, you could see the river flowing through the valley. I don’t remember off the top of my head what it’s called, but it was very orangey-brown and looked a little bit like the Red River (more orange, less brown). Igor said that since it connects to Lake Victoria, from which the Nile flows, and since part of the anti-Tutsi propaganda was that they originally came from Egypt and not from the actual region of Rwanda, extremist Hutus would speak of “showing the Tutsi the [name of river] road” – meaning they meant to kill them and throw them in the river (or kill them by throwing them in the river). Up here, we met a whole bunch of kids. A couple of the older girls (and a couple of the younger ones) were carrying babies on their back: one of them handed the baby off to a slightly older woman, but I couldn’t help but wonder how many of those young girls were the heads of their families for some reason or other. It was very sad for me.

It was about this time that I started noticing the kids asking for things, or rather demanding. I hadn’t noticed so much in the village – there was only one little boy who asked for chocolate – but the more rural kids were flat-out (but that may have been because their English and their French was very rudimentary): “give me money.” Now that I know by sound the Kinyarwanda word for money – “amafaranga” – I hear it more … umuzungu, amafaranga! White person, money! It is sort of upside-down for me that I as a white person am equated via fictionalization (as Igor said) to wealth: by the standards of my country, I am not terribly rich at all. I am very middle class, lower middle class once I leave home. But here I am rich.

The last stop was in the little village: I bought a baguette (300 Rwf), a pot of honey (1200 Rwf), two samosas (200 Rwf each) and a bottle of marakuja nectar (3000 Rwf) – for $8.57 USD, I bought what would have cost me roughly $30 CAD. They also had cheese, which I kind of wanted, but I didn’t want a whole quarter of a wheel, so I had some of someone else’s … wow. So very good. Tangy, sort of like a raw cheese, but soft like a cheddar and sweet like a mozzarella. Yum yum yum. Also, the honey tastes like raisins, and is liquid (and so kept leaking, ugh) –and even though I don’t like raisins, I like this honey.

When we got to Gisenyi, we stopped at an upper-class hotel (I believe Igor said $50 USD a night … and the place was amazing) for a drink. Driving into the city, we weren’t entirely sure where to look when Igor told us to look at the lake – and then Mikey exclaimed, “That’s not the sky. That’s the lake!” and we all figured out that indeed what we were looking at was not the sky, but the huge expanse of Lake Kivu. The view from this hotel (Le Belvedere) was astonishing. Words don’t do it justice – I will put pictures in.

After our drinks at Le Belvedere, we went to the guest house we were staying the night in and settled in. We all slept in the same room on the floor on mattresses, and had brought our pillows and comforters from Bel Air Inn. After quickly settling in, we got into our bathing suits and went (after a rather long wait) to Kivu Beach, just by the Serena Hotel. The water was almost warm – we could go in and not freeze! Such a novel idea … It wasn’t very sunny, being as it’s the rainy season now (or almost), but it was warm and calm and a little breezy even. It would have been nice to have been there for longer than forty-five minutes, or with the sun, or both, but it was lovely anyway. You can get out of the water there and not be cold – all of us Winnipeggers were totally unused to this concept. And the view, as is any view of Lake Kivu, is amazing.

We went back to the guest house after the beach and got changed to go to the restaurant, La Corniche, where we had a buffet of pretty much all the same food as we’d been having at Bel Air (difference: the spinach and the meat was better at La Corniche, but the rice, the beans and the fries are better at Bel Air) and played a lot of games of Would You Rather while eating and after. I took lots of photos, including trying to get one of the glowing volcano in the distance, and plenty of plant life. It started pouring while we were eating, and I have photos of me in the rain, trying to look ecstatic in the wonderful, wonderful, not freezing cold rain – but it was kind of hard, as it was raining pretty heavily and making me squint. But it’s beautiful rain: it’s not cold! You can walk in it! You just get wet, and then a little cold, but it’s so wonderful here …

We came back to the guest house, dried off and changed into pyjamas, and organized the room with all the mattresses. I got to use Rodrigue’s laptop briefly to check my email (30 messages, as I had predicted; all but 7 were useless), and I sent off an email to John and one to Dad. Rodrigue explained the process of Rwandan courtship to Mme Fréchette while I was writing, and the whole thing is incredibly complicated: for the guy and girl to get to know each other alone, it must all be done silently and entirely in secret; then when the guy decides he wants to marry the girl, he has to send a representative to the girl’s family to present himself; if the family likes what they hear, they will ask to meet him and that comes next; if all goes well, there is a huge party where all of both families meet (paid by the guy’s family, and the guy must pay a price for the bride – generally a certain amount of cows, Rodrigue said, and no joke); then there is a public ceremony and the guy and girl get married. Rodrigue said that if you don’t follow that, you can end up being threatened with machetes … and he wasn’t kidding, apparently. I’m glad I live where I live and in my culture and that it isn’t nearly that complicated or expensive … oh, and if the wife leaves and goes back to her parents, if the guy wants her back he pretty much has to do the same thing over again. Yikes.

I fell asleep listening to the songs that John and I recorded, and thinking about how beautiful it is in Gisenyi – the yard of our guesthouse was ringed and covered in flowers and greenery: I took lots of pictures the next morning.

I woke up a little before six this morning, and listened to Sting for two hours – mostly the Fields of Gold album because I woke up with that stuck in my head. I ended up wandering around the yard for a while taking pictures and still listening to Sting; I put on sunscreen because I wasn’t sure whether we were going swimming again or not, and it was a good thing I did because lots of other people got very burnt. We took the bus along the presidential route (open to us through Igor’s connections) to a peninsula where we had breakfast (omelettes, toast and fruit – good food and amazing plants again) at a hotel called Paradise Malahide.

After breakfast and all the photos, we took a tour to what Igor called Spice Island: there were cloves growing there (I had always wondered how cloves grew – they grow on trees, turns out), along with rosemary and lemon trees, and lots of spiders. Honestly, the amount of spiders even creeped me out a bit, but they never crawled on us and were little grey-brown things. Igor didn’t even mention them, so we weren’t worried. After Spice Island, the boat continued to another peninsula where there are natural hot springs, coming out of the ground heated by the volcano and sulphuric to the point where it makes yellow algae; the water is honestly boiling hot: you can barely touch it. The guardian of the hot springs has been guarding said hot springs for over sixty years, Igor said. Also on this peninsula were coffee trees (had I time and would it not have deprived someone of a job, I would have picked a few handfuls and roasted them myself). We could also see the fishing industry and the gas industry: the boats are really cool, and Lake Kivu is the only lake in the world, I think, where the water is mixed with methane gas because of the mountains and the volcanoes and stuff – so they extract the methane, and in extracting the methane you create electricity. There is one platform already that churns out 20 MW, and Igor said another was starting tomorrow that would churn out 5.

A little ways along the coast from the restaurant at which we had breakfast was a church, or more like a gathering of people in a square. It was Palm Sunday today, which Roxanne reminded me of, and while we were having breakfast, the people in the church never stopped singing loud and clear. It made me very happy, but a little sad since I would have loved to join in the singing and grab some fresh palm branches. We actually drove past a baptism going on in the lake, and that was really cool too.

I went on the second boat tour (each boat only held 15 and we were twice that), and while Roxanne and I waited we sat in the shade and talked with Manu and Claude (our driver). They asked what I wanted to do, since they knew I sang, and I told them my plans. I said to Roxanne later that maybe I would come back to Rwanda and start the Kigali Symphony Orchestra, combining Rwandan music with classical to form a new genre. Roxanne laughed a bit but said it was a really cool idea.

We went back to Le Belvedere for lunch, and I had chicken curry and marakuja juice. It took over two hours for any of our orders to get to the tables – they don’t serve one at a time; they wait until everyone’s is cooked and then hand it all out. The fries were insanely good, as was the curry sauce, but I keep forgetting that I am spoiled in Canada and that the meat is too good to be true – here the meat is a little tougher, but still good. Should stick to fish, lamb, and goat, I think: those have been really good. It rained while we were here too (and in fact all the way home, and it might still be raining now – the fog we had for a while on the ride home was kind of creepy, in fact), and I contemplated the fact that it’s crazy safe here (there are video cameras, the bus got stopped on the way back for no visible reason, everyone knows everyone, the border to the DRC is a metal gate (then a string, then a wall)) ... If you come in April it rains a lot, it’s warm, I can eat as many fresh fruits and vegetables as I want ... I am relaxed here. I have never felt so relaxed in my life. Someday. Someday I will come back here.

This country is full of agape, as I said to Roxanne earlier today at Le Belvedere. There is so much love. To touch another person is not to hit on them or flirt with them or be intrusive of their personal space. Everyone is friendly; everyone is loving. I have already started to see this change work in me: I will give people hugs, or take their hands, or hold their hands, or touch their shoulders – I even look people in the eye more now when I speak to them. It is not wrong to smile here; it is not wrong to say hello and to ask how you are doing. This place is full of love for one another and understanding for one another. This place is full of God’s love and acceptance and beauty: His creation, lived in by His creatures, showered in His love and blessings.

The ride home was shorter than the ride there by half an hour, but it seemed to pass even faster because I listened to music and because it was dark. During the course of U-Catastrophe //, Turn it On Again and almost all of The Best of 1990-2000 (U2), there was a rather large game of Risk-like style going on: Mikey and Danika, because of the fog that enveloped the bus, created a zombie apocalypse scenario, and then it degenerated into a power struggle that enveloped PJFM techniques and became absolutely hilarious as everyone got dragged into it. Mikey, Luc, Danika and Sandrine were all president or prime minister or both at some point, Myriam and Dan were heads of the army (then Dan got demoted because he supported Sandrine’s driving skills over Mikey’s), Juliane was Minister of Superheroes and Defense, Quentin was Minister of Jokes and Funny Things and Would You Rather, Renee was the oracle, Luc and Janique were bodyguards respectively of Mikey and Danika (also Janique was going to teach us all tae kwon do), Roxanne was chief of police, I was the Leader of the House (timekeeper/order guy that stands beside the Speaker), Élodie and Justin were on the Supreme Court, Janelle was … Minister of Domestic Affairs maybe? Anyway, the whole thing got rather insane rather quickly and I believe Mikey ended up getting executed for abuses of power or something like that by the end of the trip. The whole conversation/debate lasted about an hour and I didn’t hear all of it because A) sometimes I had my headphones in and B) I couldn’t hear anything anyway (which led to A again and so on and so forth).

We got to Bel Air around 9.30, and ate a little bit – now it is time for getting my pictures off my camera, which is proving to be a pain, and then beautiful sleep.

Rwanda, post number 5 (March 25th-26th)

2010-04-21T19:19:00.003-05:00

March 25, 2010; 15.10 CST

We built more shelves today: we have finished approximately nine sets, with one left to sand and two left to nail backing onto. We had to sand and nail the backing onto the three we did yesterday, but that didn’t take long. We did six today, and after sanding all the boards for two sets we decided to nail it all together and then sand (which is more sensible logistics-wise, if not the best for sanding quality) – the rhythm therefore goes pick boards, build, sand, backing. We’re pretty darn efficient if I do say so myself.

We were working in the sun this morning, and even though I slathered sunscreen onto my shoulders I ended up burning them slightly. Not a bad burn – not terribly painful in any case – and it should be gone in a few days if I keep treating it with moisturizer and sunscreen. Hopefully it will only be tan lines when I get back.

This afternoon was the grand opening of the Centre Cesar, and the whole ceremony took a good four hours … and we were there an hour and a half early. We got to the Centre at 14.30 (as the ceremonies were supposed to start at 14.00), but we didn’t get started until 15.30, and then we went until 19.30. Not the most fun of times, nor the most interesting – lots of people talked, including Maman Nicole, Igor, M. Raval, Léonie (the president of the Centre, a widow herself along with all the women on the board of directors), two local politicians (one very high up in the government) and one representative of a company that has supported the Centre since its inception in 2005. Most of the speeches were very similar, and all of them were translated either out of Kinyarwanda or into Kinyarwanda (for some reason the second language of choice was English – there must have been someone there who only spoke English, but I didn’t mind, as it meant I could zone out a little more and still listen), which meant they took twice as long … and no one spoke quickly or for a short amount of time.

The one person, the ombudsman (fourth in the chain of command, M. Raval said), Tito, had the best speech of them all – engaging, simple, clear, and he often translated for himself as he spoke very good English. He was far more personal in his speech than any of the others, going into open and earnest encouragement for Nicole, Marcelle, the widows, and even us. What really struck me about his speech, the other politician’s, and the businessman’s speeches was that all of them promised help (whether financial or through networking), and from the examples given or the timelines and history stated, it looks like those promises will be carried through. Maman Nicole and Léonie went on and on about the involvement of the government and the one company, mentioning how it was due much to them (and Marcelle) that the Centre was still going and could do as much as it could. It was interesting and a bit mind-bending for me to hear promises made that seemed like they would be kept, and were not just empty words – another thing I would like to bring back to Canada.

After supper (which was late, since the evening went so late), Roxanne and I had a good conversation for at least an hour about all and sundry, and that was good. I am very comfortable now, so I am going to do my devotions and then sleep early (wow). 435 pictures so far and my camera’s still going.

March 26, 2010; 15.21 CST

Today was more shelves. Apparently we are at a total of around sixty so far – that’s forty percent in three mornings’ work. Not bad at all. Each group is churning out 10 to 15 per day. I think we did either 11 or 13 today – and it would have been closer to 20, probably, if we had not had the help of the local kids. They’re wonderful help when it comes to sanding (one less thing we have to do, and they’re pretty good at it), but they very soon want to move to helping to build, and then a lot of our time is eaten up by telling them as nicely as we can not to nail here, or not to nail now … they’re very cute, but it’s difficult to get through to them, and they very much want to help (which is very nice of them), but we would be able to get our job done much better if they weren’t trying to help in that way. It’s hard not to feel sort of guilty when I say that, since it’s great that they want to help and that they’re so hardworking and willing to jump to a task – but as much as it’s great to make connections and show them as much love and patience as we can, we do need to get the work done. It’s a balance. We can’t take time off and just play with them, but we can’t exactly work.

This afternoon, I got to go to the market. Holy crap. It’s one heck of an adventure. I didn’t take my camera, as Janelle had said a few days ago that if you have a camera, the vendors will be all over you times two, since you obviously have money if you have a camera. That means, unfortunately, no pictures – but I will describe it: a huge warehouse-style building, filled half with open stalls for fruit, vegetables, grains, flours and other foods (sort of like the produce counters in a Safeway, but each vendor has a section and the aisles are very narrow), and the other half is filled halfway to the ceiling with wooden stalls with shelves stocked high with goods (shoes, cloth, souvenirs, drums, clothing, jewelry, scarves, you name it). The aisles are incredibly narrow – you can’t walk side by side because you’d knock the vendors over. It’s a clever strategy in a way because it forces you to be alone, in a sense.

Manu came with us to be our negotiator, and Igor was along too for some of it. And a good thing too, because I tried to haggle for a scarf and didn’t do too well – I ended up paying 1500 Rwf for it (which is insanely good, really, approximately $2.50 USD for something that would cost $20 at home), when I imagine Manu or Igor could have had it for 1000 or less. It was an interesting experience, with the woman going back on her offer of 1000 (if I remember correctly – she swore up and down that she never said less than 1500) and us haggling back and forth … I eventually got her to leave it at 1400, but I gave her the 1500 because in reality, it didn’t matter – what was 100 Rwf to me, compared to 100 Rwf for her?

She was a nice woman, if a bit annoying by the end, and her brother … or well, he said he was her brother, he was the vendor next to her, started eventually hitting on me (not creepy-like or anything, just putting his hand on my shoulder the way the Rwandans do, trying to convince me to buy the scarf) – I had to pull my sindi ingaragu card, which means “I’m not single,” after the woman translated for me and said that the guy was saying I was pretty and that he liked me. After saying sindi ingaragu and proclaiming that I was quite taken, she said, “Oh, you are married?” and I said, “no, but I’m very taken” and she said, “oh, you have a … boyfriend?” and I said yes. There isn’t really such thing in Rwandan culture: you don’t go out with a woman until you’re married. You’re single, or you’re married; there is no in-between. After I said that yes, I had a boyfriend, she laughed and said, “well, he [the other vendor] likes you too!” I laughed, paid for the scarf, and left.

In total from the market today, I bought 4 pagnes (not sure of the translation) of fabric (two for my dress that I’m having made, one just because I loved it, and one as a gift), one scarf (a gift), and two boxes of Rwandan tea (glee!!) – all for 12700 Rwf, or roughly $22.20 USD. In Canada, I probably would have paid almost a hundred dollars for all that - $15 for the tea, $20 for the scarf, and a good $50 or more for the fabric. I talked about this a little later with Jacqueline, saying that I felt a bit like I was ripping them off, and she said no, that really isn’t the case – you have to think about the relative price of living, and also about inflation, and so on and so forth. I felt a bit better after that – I’m not paying $2.10 USD for two boxes of tea, I’m paying 1200 Frw, and therein lies the difference. It’s a different mindset, a different need set, and I am not accustomed to either.

Supper was good tonight, although I had eyes bigger than my stomach – pasta with a light tomato and meat sauce, really good soup, a spinach dish similar to the soup, the everpresent (and ever-yummy) potatoes, and chickpeas, followed by a fruit salad for dessert (containing marakuja (passionfruit), bananas (which taste different here), and possibly tree tomatoes).

After supper, the Visionaries came by and we watched a documentary that they had helped produce in minor roles (Rodrigue did a little more, but most of the work was done by another group), talking about the role of the Rwandan youth in the genocide and in the rebuilding. One of the major messages that we took away was that it was Rwandan youth who were mobilized against their own people in large numbers due to the propaganda, and therefore they (the youth) feel that it is their duty to rebuild the country and to spread the message of the genocide, its consequences and Rwanda’s needs and new strength to the world. They have taken this responsibility upon themselves not as a burden but as a duty and as a joy. They take pride in their work and they want their country to succeed. It is inspiring, and a little shaming, to hear of their exploits.

We are leaving at 7 in the morning to go to Gisenyi tomorrow. We cannot leave later because the community work (last Saturday of every month) starts at eight, and if we are on the roads we will have to stop, get out, and help work – and not go to Gisenyi. And I want to go to Gisenyi, so devotions and bed for me.

Rwanda, post number 4 (March 24th)

2010-04-19T23:16:00.005-05:00

Missed another day, but this one is long so I won't do two days in one.

March 24, 2010; 16.06 CST

Today we finally started working. This morning we learned how to make the shelves that we are building for the mothers, and we were separated into three groups in which we will build said shelves. They’re like an Ikea-style bookshelf, three shelves and a top. Very simple – six boards, 12 nails, one piece of backing and approximately 24 finishing nails … and an amazing amount of planning.

Because it is so humid here, wood warps very easily and a lot. At least half of the time we spend making the shelves is making sure that the back is flush, that the shelves are straight (and we are working on surfaces that are not level, so a level is useless), that we don’t nail into a knot, etc. We are eight to ten in each group, and the first one we made took all of us an hour and a half and was so crooked that we had to do it again.

After you build the basic shelves, you sand it down (three levels of sanding), attach the backing and then we will stain it. We are building them at a sort of home-base, one of the mother’s houses near the other houses where we will deliver the shelves. When we deliver them is when we will stain them: just outside the house where they will stay.

My group is comprised of Mme Doche, M Rondeau, Myriam, Carol-Anne, Roxanne, Renée, Will and Dan, and when we headed back to the inn after our first hour and a half of work we found out that one of the other groups, the one working closest to the Centre César (and therefore closest to the wood), had finished three in the same time. Mme Doche, being incredibly competitive, was not pleased – so after lunch, we snuck back to do a couple more in the time we had before we were supposed to go help clean the Centre for the grand opening tomorrow. We had 26 minutes and had left under the pretence of going to clean up since we hadn’t had time. We split into two groups of four (I had forgotten Roxanne was in our group and had not told her we were sneaking off, so we were only eight of nine) and managed to complete two sets of shelves in 26 minutes, with a couple mistakes to fix each. That’s only banging them together, though – no sanding and no backing and no stain as those were not available yet.

We presume that it will take approximately 40 minutes for one group of four to finish one set of shelves, and if we have 90 minutes to work in the morning, that means four sets of shelves with ten minutes’ leeway. Not bad at all. We only have 150 to make. (Oh, and apparently at least one of the sets of shelves that the other group had finished was no good so they will have to do it over. :D) If our group does four every hour and a half, and say the other groups do three every hour and a half, then it will only take twenty-two and a half hours of work total. If we all do four sets every 90 minutes, then it will take eighteen hours and forty-five minutes. If we can make it to three people per group (doable), then we get six every 90, meaning twelve and a half hours total. That’s doable.

... Anyway. After that blitz of building, we went back to the Centre and cleaned chairs and tables for the grand opening the next night. After the cleaning, a few of us finished off the first set of shelves that we had started that morning as a demonstration, putting the backing on and sanding it (the piece of backing was not cut that morning). It looks really nice. There were groups working on decorations for the grand opening tomorrow night, and working on something at the Centre’s food bank as well.

Around five, I think (time is nearly nonexistent here), we headed back to the inn for dinner and practice for the evening’s activities. Wherever we walk in Kigali, we are constantly being greeted, mostly by the younger children (maybe 13 and under, definitely 10 and under). They cry out “abazungu!” or “umuzungu!”, meaning “white people!” or “white person!” in a non-derogatory fashion. The littlest ones are absolutely overjoyed when we, such strange ghost-like people who can barely speak their language but who smile lots, give them hugs or hold their hands or say hello in Kinyarwanda (“muaramutse” in the morning, “muiriwe” in the afternoon, “muraho” in the evening), ask them how they are (“amakuru”, the reply being “ni meza”), or ask them their names (“witwa nde”).

Many of them will call out in French or in English to us, and then run up to us and grin. Sometimes they ask for things, but not very often. They are mostly just happy to see us, and feel special that such weird people would come around and be nice. They think we’re novelties, in a way. We’re very much the minority, and the kids seem to be fascinated by us and love it when we pay attention to them. On the way to the Centre this morning, we started playing soccer in the road with the kids, and they were just over the moon.

Some of them have tried to speak to me in Kinyarwanda, since I have a pretty good grasp of the pronunciation and a bit more vocabulary than most of us, so I speak quickly and easily and they seem to get the impression that I speak their language – so then I have to pull out “simbyumva”, meaning “I don’t understand”, and they laugh. The mothers of the children laugh so hard when their kids come up to us and leave bouncing with joy. They’re so incredibly cute, the kids …

At dinner, as at other meals, I noticed the lack of preservatives in the food. We had lamb tonight, and it looked sort of burnt, but when I bit into it, it was not burnt at all but rather encrusted in pepper. Very spicy (but very good as always), and kind of tough as most of the meat here is. I wondered about this, and realized that it might be because there are no preservatives – so they use natural preservatives, i.e. spices. That made a lot of sense, and made me slightly uncomfortable as I was unsure of the quality of the food, but it is all very good and I am not sick (unlike a good dozen of us over the past couple days), so I am not worried.

Before dinner we practiced the songs and dances that we were going to do this evening for the Visionaries at our joint-hosted evening. I sang my song, or rather sang it halfway since I totally blanked on the words (and felt like a total idiot and spent the next half hour making sure I knew it by heart, which I did before); Janique, Janelle and Roxanne sang a Madrigaia song; we all sang a French-Canadian song, L’histoire d’Antan; we did the Boot Scoot ‘N’ Boogie; and a French-Canadian folk line dance. The Visionaries loved it all this evening, and learned the Boot Scoot ’N’ Boogie so well that they danced it once themselves … and then the second part of the evening was Rwandan dancing, just a sort of social dancing where we learned what we could and they just danced and danced and danced. They never seem to run out of energy, the people here! I was tired after the Boot Scoot ’N’ Boogie, but they did it again and then kept going!

Breakfast is at 7.15 and I still need to do my devotions, so off this goes.

Rwanda, post number 3 (March 23rd)

2010-04-17T11:22:00.002-05:00

WARNING: This post contains a recap of the Rwandan genocide and I make no attempt, nor do I want to make any attempt, to soften this. It was brutal when it occurred and it is no less brutal in the retelling. It is not the entire post, but only the middle couple paragraphs. If you do not want to read that section, that is fine, but I would encourage you to read it so that you may reflect upon the history of Rwanda as a whole as well as its present accomplishments and future developments.

The genocide happened. You can't gloss over it, though people have tried. It is a part of Rwanda's history, just like the parts of our own history (or your own history, if you are not Canadian) that we (you) are ashamed of. We cannot deny those. And we cannot deny our role as the international community in having failed Rwanda to the extent that we did.

March 23, 2010; 15.24 CST

This morning we went to Gisouzi Memorial Centre, or what you might call the genocide museum.

…

Where to start.

The tour starts in the gardens, where you move through 12 sections each representing a part of the whole experience. The first garden after the fountain is the Children’s Garden, representing not only the children killed in the genocide, but those who are still Rwanda’s future.

The second garden is the Flower of Life garden, modelled on an ancient symbol for life and ringed by protective trees, representing the strength of the women of Rwanda.

The third garden represents the provinces of Rwanda, using a hexagon to enclose all 10 provinces (in 1994) and traditional symbols for each province as well as plants and trees that are only native to Rwanda.

The fourth garden represents the concept of self-protection, made up entirely of different species of cacti, which not only represent the self-protection that the Rwandese had to fall back on, but also the healing properties of these specific cacti.

The fifth garden is the Rose Garden, a three-tiered garden full of many different types of roses which represent the victims of the genocide, each rose beautiful on its own and along with the others.

The sixth garden is the Garden of Unity, with a circular fountain which shows the unity of Rwanda before the genocide.

From the Garden of Unity, the water flows down a waterfall symbolizing brokenness into the seventh garden, where the water flows in a star-shaped pattern and elephants are placed around the sides to symbolize memory.

The second-last garden is the Garden of Reconciliation, where the water returns to a circle with a large stone structure in the centre, each rock representing a different part of Rwandese culture which together form a whole. There is an elephant statue in this garden which is holding a mobile phone, telling the world of what occurred.

From the Garden of Reconciliation, you move into the section of the mass graves which give the genocide victims, many unnamed and unknown, a dignified resting place. There are approximately 250 000 victims there at the moment and more continue to be unearthed and reburied at Gisouzi. There is one wall which is the Wall of Names, where every known victim of the genocide is inscribed on the plaques. The list is by no means complete, and yet you see entire families … two dozen people with the same last name, all killed. Surrounding the centre is the Forest of Memory, trees planted which will grow around the centre and remind those who visit of its meaning.

Once you have finished the tour of the gardens, you move inside the building and down the stairs into a subterranean area. The tour starts with the history of Rwanda before colonization, where the people living in the area were divided into 18 different somewhat-tribal groups, and the socio-economic divisions of Hutu (farmers), Tutsi (livestock farmers) and Twa (hunters) were loosely there and could change depending on a Rwandan’s circumstances.

Continuing on, you move into the colonization period, beginning with the Germans and moving to the Belgians. The Germans and the Belgians reinforced the ideology of Hutu and Tutsi and codified it, making anyone who had more than 10 cows a Tutsi and anyone who had 10 or less a Hutu. This meant that about 85% of the population were Hutu and 15% were Tutsi (with about 1% Twa in there too). They also brought in racial ideology, where the Tutsi were considered superior because they resembled Caucasians more than the Hutu did.

In the beginning, the Tutsi minority was given power over the Hutus through the Belgians so that the Belgians could rule indirectly, and this evidently caused dissent and malcontent through the population. Eventually, the Belgians would reverse this ideology and give the Hutu majority power over the Tutsi minority, claiming to be righting past wrongs. With the Hutu majority, already disliking the Tutsi minority, now in power, it was very easy to spread racial-based propaganda that the Tutsi were inferior to the Hutu. The Tutsi were called inyenzi – cockroaches – and it was considered the duty of the Hutu to not marry a Tutsi, not employ a Tutsi, not be friends with a Tutsi, not do business with a Tutsi, and so on and so forth.

Hutu extremism developed through the 1900s and when the country gained independence in 1962, the laws were officially equal between the two groups, but in reality all the power, all the positions, all of anything went to the Hutu. By 1962, Rwanda had already experienced organized pogroms against the Tutsi, massacres on a relatively small scale that were put up mostly to racial tension. Over the thirty years following independence, Hutu extremism was overt, public and extremely cruel, and it was no secret that eventually something would be done.

The genocide was planned. The death lists were written. The propaganda had turned friends against friends, colleagues against colleagues, families against themselves. In Rwanda, touch is incredibly important. When you meet someone, you hug them, or you hold their hand, and you give them three kisses on the cheek. Physical connection is extraordinarily important because everyone is family. In Rwanda, before the genocide, there were very few orphans in the literal sense of the term, because if a child lost their parents, they had an aunt or an uncle, or a grandparent, or a cousin, or a brother or a sister – and they would be their parents. The genocide broke that link, that ubuntu, that humanity. The genocide killed entire families: out of one family of 60, five were left, for example. People were entirely lost. Bodies were strewn in the street. Churches were burned or bulldozed with people inside trying to seek refuge. Children were killed mercilessly – sometimes made to watch their parents die first, or the other way around. Women were raped, often by men known to be HIV-positive, because if they possibly stayed alive, Tutsi women and children were seen as a threat to the Hutu ‘race’. Death was not seen as something to be dealt quickly: torture was the point, and death was meant to be slow and painful. People were thrown into septic tanks or latrines and pelted with rocks; people were chained together and buried alive; people were shot, left for several days, then shot again to kill them; people were starved … the list of atrocities is endless.

But the important thing to remember in all of this horror is that it did not end there. The Rwandan Patriotic Front liberated the country 100 days later, before any international aid came at all (but very little would have come anyway: only the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders stayed in the country during the genocide, and Romeo Dallaire’s difficulties with the UN are well-documented), and installed a government. As I have already mentioned, from 1994 until 2001 the country was unstable, still trying to get back on its feet as it lost so much of its infrastructure along with almost two-thirds of its population (nearly a million killed, and about the same number had fled the country). But from 2001 on, the country is booming. Rwanda is growing and Rwanda is advancing. The population, more than half under 21 as I have already stated, is taking the initiative and growing their country.

Tonight, to illustrate that joie de vivre that the youth of Rwanda have, we visited with Rodrigue Pageau’s group, the Visionaries. This is a rather large group of Rwandan youth which take different initiatives to advance their country. We talked with them, debated a bit about Romeo Dallaire, and we showed them a video about life in Winnipeg. These are youths who went through the genocide – most of them are 16 years old or more. They have so much joy and love for life. I am glad to have met them.

In walking the halls of the memorial centre, I wanted so badly to be with John, with my sisters, my brother, my parents … the people I love the most are 12 000 kilometres away and I miss them so terribly. It is impossible to describe the pain you feel when you look at three full 2-square-meter displays of human skulls, many of them cracked or missing pieces. I went to bed last night feeling desperately worried about my loved ones at home, and left the inn here feeling vaguely worried still. The genocide museum hit me so hard and made me want to hold my family close to me. I am so, so very blessed to have them, and I wish I could be with them. I felt so, so very alone, facing all the horror and the pain. And then something my mother said just before I left Winnipeg came back and made me weep all the more:

You are never alone.

Rwanda, post number 2 (March 21st-22nd)

2010-04-16T17:46:00.007-05:00

Um, I forgot a day. Sorry. I am definitely not used to a blog being an everyday thing. >>

March 21, 2010; 2.37 CST

Nope. I am sitting in Nairobi airport sipping a cappuccino and waiting to board the plane to Kigali. Sigh. At least I am in the premier lounge, which means I get free food, free drinks and free Wifi. Which is lovely. I enjoy the free Wifi especially.

March 21, 2010; 11.50 CST

I’ve been in Kigali for several hours now, after a long and tortuous plane ride through Bujumbura and to Kigali. Hot and stifling and humid except when we were actually flying (which was less time than we were on the ground, pretty sure) … honestly, I was fainting. Not fun. Also, it was just as hard to say goodbye to John and Mom after we got to talk.

Rwanda is beautiful; Kigali is beautiful. There are so many hills – I am going to get a major workout walking all these hills. It is so green … so much greenery, so lush. But right beside the beautiful greenery, you see dead crops of corn and small wilted vegetables … right beside the newly-built homes are shacks made of mud and wood. The contrast is stark and I’m not sure what to think of it yet.

There are so many people here, all over the roads. No one seems afraid, and many people have waved at our bus as we go by, but I have seen some with bitterness in their eyes. Perhaps I am reading too much, but I see something other than happiness.

I am exhausted. I have been awake more than I have slept since 7.00 on March 19^th … I’ve had about 7 hours of sleep over the past 53-ish. Ouch. I didn’t realize it was that bad, but it is. I am not a happy camper at the moment – I miss my family, I miss John … I am tired and I don’t want to be happy – I’d like to eat and I’d like to wash and I’d like to sleep (but it is too hot and humid for me to be comfortable; I hope I get used to this and can sleep). I am kind of sad. I think I may eat a square of chocolate and go hunting for water, because I am incredibly thirsty. I might write again before I sleep.

March 21, 2010; 14.39 CST

It has cooled off – possibly due in part to my having had a shower (which is interesting in and of itself, since the water temperature changes rapidly and by a large margin). I think I will be able to sleep.

It is hard to be in the midst of a lot of people who A) talk a lot and B) I should be able to understand … the Rwandese are very friendly and they talk a lot, and since they speak French I should be able to understand them. But since it’s hard for me to hear/distinguish single voices in a din (and French is my second language and I am slightly slower to focus in that), it is sometimes hard to understand people who speak to me. This frustrates me, because I feel humiliated and out-of-place – and I can’t just stay quiet, because then it would seem like I was being unkind or disrespectful. Sigh. Don’t know what to do. I am very tired though, after my shower and the wonderful meal which came before it (roast beef, a little tough but first-class pulled; a mix of beans and peas and carrots, potatoes in herbs and a spinach/onion/potato soup).

We also had these mini-bananas which didn’t taste like bananas at all but more like squash. Undecided on that front still, but as I’m exhausted I will do my devotions and crash. Good afternoon, home.

March 22, 2010; 1.37 CST

The tea is the best here. So good. Black tea but it tastes different – Rwandan tea. Also they have raw sugar, so no headaches! I am so happy!

March 22, 2010, 10.05 CST

We took out all the supplies for the widows and orphans and organized them at the Centre César this morning. There was over 1500 pounds of supplies … the piles! So much. It’s a wonderful gift for them; Maman Nicole and Marcelle were over the moon.

After that, we came back to the inn to have lunch. Goat kabobs, coleslaw, cucumbers, potatoes, avocadoes and pineapple. Oh, the fruits and vegetables here are so good – so fresh! The avocadoes were probably picked yesterday or even today; the pineapple isn’t acidic at all, just fresh and sweet. The goat meat tasted different, but very good – and the potatoes, oh the potatoes. They are chewy and crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, taste of healthy oils and you eat them with mayonnaise that is actual mayonnaise, not processed stuff. It actually tastes like eggs and isn’t white, it’s yellow. The food is so good here, so fresh, unlike almost everything at home which is imported or stored.

After lunch, we went to Green Hills Academy, the IB school in Kigali. Their program goes from first to twelfth grade, and they have a far larger choice of courses than we do. Many, many students, all living in Kigali but some coming from other places – one student I talked to, Kenneth, was from Tanzania, and there was a girl (naturalized Rwandese) who was originally from Russia. They were all very friendly and talkative; most of them spoke French, but there were quite a few who only spoke English along with Kinyarwanda, as well. Their seventh-grade girls’ drumming group did a traditional dance for us which was really neat: a dozen girls all drumming in rhythm. Like, at the same time. Without fail. It was really, really cool. They did some singing and dancing too, which was also cool, but more drumming than anything else.

We then went out to the basketball courts where some of us played basketball with the others, and the rest of us talked. Anatol and Quentin were very much the apples of many of the students’ eyes and lots of the girls wanted pictures with them at the end of the afternoon. We only got a couple hours there, but it was worth it.

On the way to Green Hills and back, Igor played tour guide for us in the bus, pointing out certain buildings and talking about the rebuilding of Rwanda. He said that almost all of the rebuilding is individually-oriented, initiatives taken by members of the Rwandese diaspora working in collaboration with the Rwanda Development Group. The development, he said, has really taken off in the past seven or eight years, and there was quite a lot that we saw that had not even been there the last time CL-R came to Rwanda in 2008.

Something I found interesting was that many of the ministries in the government went by nicknames such as Minafet (ministry of foreign affairs) and Minisanté (ministry of health) … something that seemed extraordinarily Orwellian to me, along with the cameras on towers along the road. Perhaps Orwell took the idea from government of his time, but the reference was there in my head and I wasn’t sure I liked it – I have heard tell of the Rwandan government being very strict. Igor said this emphasis on strictness and security sprang from the instability in the country which existed until 2009, and from 2001 on the emphasis has been on development – and not going up the ladder, but jumping. Igor referred to the strategy as leapfrogging: not starting with telephones but direct to Internet, for instance. Rwanda is waiting for their lines to be plugged into a fiber-optic line; they vote electronically; they can buy electricity by phone; medical dossiers are transferred by phone. You see many cell phones around.

I wondered briefly why it didn’t seem like the widows had any of this, when Igor was talking about equalizing salaries and universalizing healthcare. Igor then explained that the Centre Cesar and Ubuntu Edmonton was trying to make it so that the widows could share in the developing wealth of Rwanda (described by Igor as aiming for South African standards, then somewhere else that I don’t remember, and now he says that “Rwanda is the Singapore of Africa”) by making sure that they have salaries that allow them to partake of these services. This is why it is so important that they be able to work, that their things are sold at a good price: they need the money to share in the wealth of their country.

I’ve heard it said that Rwanda is “Africa Lite”, in the sense that you do not see the problems that occur elsewhere in Africa, such as corruption, bribery and general danger. I am reading a book my grandmother gave me, called The Betrayal of Africa (Gerard Caplan) and it suggests (which I already knew) that it is the Westerners to whom Africa owes their underdevelopment and much of the corruption and the simply bad systems. It is not to be undervalued that there are many Africans who gain power who keep it through unethical means – we cannot blame everything on the Westerners, but nor can we blame everything on the Africans. It seems to me that Rwanda may be leading the way to an Africa that is strong and self-sufficient. As an example, Igor said that the Rwanda Development Board does actually refuse money, if the initiative presented does not fit within the plan that has been put forward for the country by the government – one of the biggest questions they ask is “will it finance itself?” The Rwandese have a plan for their country; they recognize that their future is very much in the women and children of their country as they represent a very large portion of the population (51% of the Rwandan population is 21 years old or less) and they work towards empowering those who do not have enough in order to equalize their population and to make the country richer. The government started the rebuilding efforts in helping to finance housing for the diaspora on a 30-70 basis: the individual finances 30%, the government 70%. You build according to your pocket, and the difference in what Igor called “old Rwanda” and the “new Rwanda” is marked. This is not Africa Lite – it is the Africa of the future. This is Africa where the Africans are doing it themselves and making their country what they want it to be because it is their country and they want it to be so, not for personal gain. The police and the army are the least-paid citizens here; Igor said that the idea is that since they cannot be doing it for the money, they are doing it for their country, and therefore they will do a better job. If a Rwandese wants to study abroad, they must do 6 months of military service where they learn the history of Rwanda and the strength of Rwanda, so that they will know, when they are abroad, just what they are representing as ambassadors of Rwanda.

This is a proud country; a country that wants to do things right and that wants to move forward. I like this country. It has energy. If only Canadians had this energy – or maybe we just need to inject some of it into the governmental system. I see energy at home; not like here, not quite as much, but I see it in the people. Most of us love our country. If that love would translate to reality, that would be lovely.

Rwanda, post number 1 (March 20th)

2010-04-14T21:17:00.004-05:00

Hello all. Over the next couple of weeks I will be posting my journal of my trip to Rwanda, along with pictures. The entire thing is 34 pages long in MSWord, so instead of posting the whole entire thing at once, I will split it up by day in CST time (since that's how I kept track) and will post one day's worth of journal ... per day. Wow. Amazing.

Without further ado ...

March 20, 2010; 4.57 CST

I will soon land in London. I left North American soil over five hours ago and it was a slightly surreal experience. This is my first transatlantic flight – it’s my first time off-continent in any direction, actually, but the transatlantic thing seems to have something important about it. I am landing in John’s home country, if not home city, and I wonder if I will at all feel like I belong. (Although I’m not sure I want to belong in Heathrow, but you get the point.)

I have a window seat on this flight, and if I look out my window I can see water. I don’t think it’s the Atlantic, but the strait between Ireland and England/Scotland. Alas, it was dark when we crossed the Atlantic, or else too early for me to open my window and not drive everyone else mad: I would have liked to see it – but I think our flight home is a day flight so I will see it then if it is not cloudy. Oh! It is supposed to be cloudy when we land. I am excited if only because the London stereotype is holding true. There is also the fact that I love rain and clouds.

I don’t remember exactly how long we stay in London before boarding to go to Nairobi (ach, another 8-hour flight – although this one was supposed to be seven hours and looks like it will only take six: the wind is in our favour), but I am really excited to be in London at all. I would like to come back just to go to London, whether on my own, or with John, or with my family or with friends, it doesn’t matter. (There will be a side trip to Cardiff, but I think that one may have to be with John. Or Jess.)

Must remember to take my first malaria pill in half an hour (exactly: it’s five o’clock now). That might be interesting, because we might be landing before then … I can’t exactly tell what the pilot is saying over the intercom, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with landing and soon. Which I knew already, but I’d like to know more specifically … I wish my little screen was working properly: I put it on auto-map when I got on the plane and it got stuck on that, and now it’s not updating and says I’m still out in the middle of the Atlantic (about halfway north-south between Porcupine Coast and Porcupine Plain (sub-oceanic features – I wonder who names these. Why porcupine?)), which I’m fairly certain isn’t true because I haven’t moved in quite some time according to the map, and also I know we went over some land and the only land in the path before England was Ireland, so by reason it must be Ireland we passed over. Hooray for logic. Also it feels like we are not over the Atlantic anymore, if that makes any sense (hint: no).

It is interesting to see the horizon made out of clouds instead of land. I think I notice that every time I fly places … the cloudscape looks like a landscape, all hilly and ridged and fluffy. If clouds were really fluffy and would support one’s weight, like in cartoons, I’d love to play around in them. They look fun. Of course I would have to be rather careful not to fall.

There is a thin line of clouds just above the horizon that looks a bit like a jet’s tail. Perhaps it is, but I don’t see a jet. I will take a picture.
There is some frost on my window, but there is no ice nor gremlins nor US presidents on the wings, which I also took a picture of.

This is a very big plane, and I am only in the first little bit of it. Flying to Nairobi I will be on an even bigger plane, and the thought of very big planes is a sort of odd thought for me. I’m not quite sure why yet. I have been in or on very big machines/vehicles before, I believe. And it isn’t like I haven’t flown in planes. But the farthest I’ve been by plane is Vancouver, I think, and the plane was not this big. Not even to Washington was it this big.

The stewardess, for fear of sounding critical, doesn’t seem to be having a very good flight. She has been falsely happy and has seemed faintly judgmental every single time she has passed by. I’d wonder if maybe it were just me, but she seems to be that way with everyone. It’s too bad, really. I wonder if anything is wrong or if she is just having a bad day, or what.

Ah, now there is no line on the horizon. It is all blurred. I suppose I will take a picture of that, too.
It is nice to have my laptop to unload pictures onto, with which I can illustrate this later. My seatmate must think I’m mad, picking up my camera every few minutes and taking a picture out the window. Ooooh, clouds. Heh. I like clouds. Carol-Anne is sitting behind me, but I think she knows me well enough to know that I do strange things and that’s okay with her, which is nice.

The air pressure is changing; my ears are starting to pop. They do that a little bit the whole time during any flight, but once we’re at cruising altitude it isn’t as bad. Takeoff and landing are, predictably and sensibly, not fun. It doesn’t help that I can’t hear brilliantly to begin with. I wonder how that will affect me in Rwanda. I may be constantly yawning or swallowing to equalize the pressure in my middle ear. It is, after all, the Land of a Thousand Hills.

If the air pressure is changing, does that mean we’re landing? Seems like an obvious question. Yes, I think we are descending, because there it goes again and this time it felt like we went down, too. Perhaps I shall down my pill now since I just had breakfast. That should do. I’m supposed to have it with food, and 5.15 is close enough to 5.30, is it not? If we’re landing at 5.30 I don’t exactly want to be eating at the same time … that would be rather awkward. Well, I will do that then, and then my half-sandwich can be lunch later. Hooray!

I wonder if I shall write this much for every day. That would end up being a rather large journal. Also I suppose I’ll translate each of these entries into French. Alright, time for medicine and then I suppose I’ll translate this. I imagine I will alternate rather randomly between writing in English first versus French first, but that’s okay. Perhaps some entries may even have some Kinyarwanda in them.

March 20, 2010; 20.20 CST

It feels like it’s been a lot longer than 15 hours since I last wrote in here. I will land in Kenya sooner than later, and from there take a plane to Kigali via Bujumbura. Since I last wrote … London.

Yeah. London. We didn’t get to leave Heathrow, unfortunately – at noon, the line for Customs would have taken us an hour, then it was an hour on the train to downtown, and we had to be back for three. So, evidently, there was no point. Instead we stayed in the airport and shopped a bit. I bought a not-bad sandwich and a really good smoothie, and a few souvenirs: I promised the girls I’d bring them something from London, and I got something for John as well.

Being in London, even if we weren’t technically in London, was something else. I had forgotten how much of a Brit fangirl I am (why am I? I was before I met John, that wasn’t it). I definitely want to come back just to visit London. And try to contain my fangirling – Roxanne and I squeed over lots of things. ^^;; We couldn’t take any pictures in Heathrow, which was sad because there was a phone box, and I would have loved to have had a picture of myself with the (red) TARDIS in London. I mean come on. How cool is that.

We spent what seemed like an awful lot of the time in Heathrow waiting in lines, since four of our group (including myself, which was why I was in the lines) had errors on our tickets, meaning they needed to get reprinted at every stop, and calls and emails had to be made, and the whole thing is crazy and frustrating. But oh well. At least we’ve been on each and every plane, which is good.

I undertook braiding my hair in very small braids, in order to minimize the amount of washing I would have to do in Rwanda. The first section took me an hour and a half and I had only done one … of six. At that rate I wouldn’t get it done by the time we got to Nairobi even if I braided straight. Luckily, though, the other sections turned out to be smaller (or maybe I did slightly bigger braids) so I did manage to get them all braided on the plane and I now look somewhat like Medusa. My knuckles are, understandably, rather sore. I didn’t do much else on the way to Nairobi apart from try to start A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (upon which I fell asleep because I was exhausted) and watch most of The Blind Side over people’s shoulders. I’m pretty sure I know the plot inside out and backwards. XD I also listened to quite a lot of music: Phantom, Where’s Neil When You Need Him? and Turn it On Again.

Oh, and I slept a bit, on and off. I am going to be very tired come nighttime in Kigali – it is 4.30 in the morning in Kenya right now, I land at six, we leave for Kigali at eight (I won’t be able to sleep in between), land three hours later (maybe I can sleep there), and then we’re on the ground until evening. While it’s nice that I switched more or less easily to Kigali time, it’s frustrating that it switched and I didn’t sleep with it. Sleeping in airplanes is not easy.

Before I run out of power, I ought to eat my breakfast – OH that reminds me. The food on the way to London was good (pasta with meat sauce, bit of corn salad, bun, brownie) but the food on the way here? Oh my goodness was it ever good. I had lamb which was absolutely wonderful, cooked with saffron and cinnamon I believe, tender and juicy – and it was paired with a good amount of rice and a portion of cooked cauliflower with a kick. So good. And a lovely little bun (real butter both times, so yummy), and crackers with a soft cheese, and a salad that included lettuce (what a concept – Air Canada, take tips please!), and a fruit crumble with custard. Excellent service. So now I get to eat my breakfast and I am looking forward to it! I’m sure the next time I add to this will be in Kigali … wow.

December 15th, update; life, update

2009-12-18T22:53:00.004-06:00

Last thing: YouTube proof. That would be me, ladies and gentlemen. :D

(yay)

Also: school. is nuts. To do:

chemistry lab report
French written task
study material for French oral commentary

finish/reread La Princesse de Clèves
finish/reread L'enfant noir
read/reread La misanthrope

revise history assignment
prepare English oral presentation on Hamlet
write and annotate script
prepare writing variables sheet
prepare props and costume
oh, memorize script
reread Running in the Family for detail test
reread Hamlet for commentary test
prepare English oral commentary on Running in the Family
prepare lesson plan and material for concert band piece
write first draft of Extended Essay
write and revise Theory of Knowledge essay
research for Theory of Knowledge oral exposé
get 29 more CAS hours, fill out all paperwork
get 60-ish more hours of physical activity, 45-ish of which must be moderate to vigorous
prepare university audition pieces

get an accompanist
translate word-by-word foreign pieces
send paperwork to Brandon U

raise $2169 by January 12 to go to Rwanda
finish writing song for trip to Rwanda
cease being sick
relax somewhere along the line
I'm sure I've forgotten something ...

yeah ...

Maybe I'll actually be able to blog now. who knows. I've never been very good at this.

EDIT: oh yeah, I did forget something - Christmas.