What is going on? "Culture Shock" maybe?

This was written to be posted about a week ago, but I haven’t had internet at all … This is a long one … get ready!

So I haven’t written a blog in a while … I bet ya haven’t noticed, right? Sorry :/

Where to start … I’m really not sure where I’m going to go with all these things running through my head right now, but bare with me. It could be one of my famous Kristina stories that makes no sense and goes on forever (actually I can bet on that) or it will be a serious and probably confusing explanation of a bunch of random things.

Not including this week, but the last two weeks I have hardly done anything at work. The CDP promoters have some sponsorship deadlines they have to meet by August 1^st, so they all have been hurrying to get that stuff done. With 300 children Mechtild is in charge of … well, it difficult to find the time. I don’t blame her for not making my internship a high priority on her list. As a result of all this, she has had to call me several mornings and tell me not to come into Cyeza community because I would be bored watching her translate letters. A few times, however, I have gone in and helped her by taking pictures of some of the sponsor CDP kids. I probably took 25 pictures in all to help update the “Case History” packet that sponsors get about his child. Most pictures were at Cyeza, but some we had to travel to other areas because kids had moved. And this, I think, is when it all began.

A couple weeks ago is when I noticed “something” change inside me. I just felt different. It was the day we had to travel south about 30 minutes in a taxi to the Ruhango area to take pictures of a couple sponsored girls in secondary school (high school). This was the last picture we needed to get for the day. We had already gotten two; one from a girl in secondary school closer to Gitarama, and the other at a primary school (elementary) just in between the two.

I didn’t bother me the first couple weeks of being here … probably because it was all just so new and exciting still, but even then I noticed it. I noticed the stares, the laughs, and the look of irritation on the Rwandan’s faces when we couldn’t understand them in either of their languages: Kinyarwanda and French. In the beginning all I noticed were the stares and although I didn’t expect them, I understood why I was getting them. I mean … I am a mizungoo and it doesn’t make much sense to them that a bunch of white people are there in their country, their town, their home. Most of the time the stares were in shock- some were delighted to see us and welcomed us with open arms, other times I feel like they are glares. This all sounds ridiculous even as I’m typing it, but it’s how I have been feeling. I get the stares from the women mainly, and that one day I just about lost my “cool” with it all.

Expectations … a word I’ve come to be hesitant to use since the 3^rd of June. I’ve been confused about whether or not it is good/bad, ok/not ok to have expectations. Since the day I found out that I was accepted as an intern I had expectations about this summer. I had expectations about Africa in general mainly- the people, the food, the WEATHER mainly, and the wildlife. I had some expectations, not many, about the internship- I actually thought that I would be sleeping on a hard ground every night. On the phone interview I had while applying I remember being asked if I could do that or if I would mind sleeping on the ground a couple nights … that put the expectation in my mind-ya. But these expectations I had were neither good, nor bad. They were simply ideas of what I thought this summer would be somewhat like.

This past year I learned an incredible amount of information about experiences oversees and in other cultures. Whether through just traveling or missionary work, people are pretty much guaranteed to experience some kind of culture shock. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this summer. I thought, “There’s no way I’m going to get ‘culture shock’ … that’s only for people who don’t really know what it is. Boy was I wrong. I realized a couple weeks ago that there’s pretty much no avoiding it. No matter how much I prayed for myself or had others pray for me, no matter how much I prepared myself for drastic situations, no matter how much I talked to people here about what I was going through … I still got it. Culture Shock … yep, that’s it and it’s the most frustrating thing for me.

If you know me you know that I love to experience new things. Sure most of the time it’s scary for me. Usually I get so nervous about meeting new people that by the time they’re right in front of me I can hardly get a full sentence out of my mouth which makes my face turn red which … is just a mess, don’t ask. But despite how nerveracking all of that is for me … I will NEVER pass up an opportunity to try new things and travel and see the world, the beautiful creation that God has made for us, His people!

So lets recap all this … for both of us …

I’ve experienced culture shock. I once didn’t mind the stares and the hundreds of kids running up to me everyday wanting to hold my hand, walk with me, and talk to me. I used to laugh with the people who were laughing at me because of the differences in clothing, ideas, food, etc. In the beginning I felt bad when I saw the irritations on peoples faces when they found out I came to their country, but couldn’t speak either of their languages.

Now, to be honest, I hardly want to come out of my own room. I walk down the road and look at my feet because I’m tired of the stares from people on the street I’m walking down, of the laughs from teenage girls about whatever they just laughed at me for, of the glares from the women who I am sitting next to in a taxi, and of the children who say, “Give me my money” as I’m trying to just get home. I have to fight the urge inside of me to just ignore these people. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t.

You have no idea how difficult it is for me to write all this right now. I’ve read all of your comments, e-mails, and notes on my wall on facebook about how proud you are of me- about how I have a good heart and I’m such a nice a caring person who is making a difference in these peoples lives. If I’m honest I’d tell you that I cry every time I read those. I feel like I am doing the exact opposite of all of those things. I think about how I’m really feeling and my attitude and what my actions are saying. I think about that one kid who just wanted to hear me, a white person, say “Fine, thank you. How are you?” to his “Hello, how are you?” He even tried to talk to me in MY language. It breaks my heart to think about all the people here I have probably disappointed and hurt. If I could I would take it all back.

This was all I wrote a couple weeks ago. I realized I got to 3 pages and I tried to wrap it up, but it didn’t work. I guess I just left it at this … kinda cut off, sorry.

I’m in Kigali for the rest of my stay here until Tuesday, so I’ll post again tomorrow sometime since I have the day off. Thanks for reading and caring so much. You all are such a blessing and I thank you for your prayers and concern for my safety here! I love you all.