Confessions of a missionary.

Confessions of an American missionary living in Rwanda. 

I love Rwanda, more than I ever thought possible to love a country not my own. Honestly, Rwanda feels more like my country than America ever did. I love that I get to live here and experience so many new things. However, there are so many differences than life in the U.S. And, no matter how much you adapt, your natural culture (meaning the culture that you were born and raised in) always seems to make it’s way out in everything. 

So here we go, confessions of a missionary. All inspired/thought of while hanging out in a village for two weeks. 

• A bit strange, but honestly kind of love that I live in a culture where it’s totally ok to pick your nose in public. Some may find this gross, but when it’s hot, dry and dusty, sometimes you just gotta pick it. 
• There is always time for tea, and I love it. However, I find the response that comes with the suggestion taking bread with no tea hilarious. It’s like you’ve just suggested to drive a car with no steering wheel. Oh, the look on peoples faces. 
• Kinyarwanda is sort of a crazy language. Somedays, I feel confident in my speaking and understanding ability. Other days, it seems I have forgotten everything and am unable to comprehend even the most common greeting. 
• In Rwanda, when it rains, everything stops. When I first came to Rwanda, this drove me insane. Now, I love it. It means time to rest, to hang out with people and maybe even have a cup of tea. 
• While in a village, and the only mzungu/non-kinyarwanda speaking person, I tend to play games to entertain myself. Some of these games are guessing games. These include “Guess that noise: goat or child?” or “Why is my foot brown? Dirt line or tan line?”. The second game usually ends in the sad realisation that it is only dirt and not a tan. Other games include counting games. As a foreigner in a village, there are so many things to count 
• How many times someone says “Hallelujah” or “Amen” in church
• How many times you hear the word Mzunugu in one day 
• How many children sneak up behind you, just to touch your skin
• How many times you hear “Eh, you know Kinyarwanda?” just because you greeted someone in Kinyarwanda
• How many times you are asked if you're married. 
• How many times mzungu and amafaranga (kinyarwanda word for money) are mentioned in the same sentence. 
• How many times does a visitor come to the house during a meal. This one happens nearly three times a day, about 6 days a week. 
• I love that I live in a country where I can have amazing, fresh fruit year round. Fruit that someone from Michigan can only dream of. Banana, mango, pineapple, passion fruit, papaya - only the best. 
• I really do love kids, honestly. However, it’s not so enjoyable having a mob of children around me when I’m simply trying to buy groceries in the market. And honestly, I began to strategically plan my trips to the market. Mzungu in the market at the same time as kids leave school - crazy mob time. 
• I’m learning to truly love village life. It’s quiet, involves walking - a lot, it  involves more work. But, I love community. I love walking to the market and meeting people on the way that know and remember me. I love the simplicity of village life. 
• I also truly enjoy the city. Where I can easily find a moto, I can go for a cup of coffee, I can go out with friends, I can go to an English church service and…have electricity. 
• Food. Good stuff, different that I’ve grown up with but really do enjoy it. And, even foods that I hated when I first came, are now becoming favourites. Cassava, issombe and ugali (both from maize and cassava flour) are current examples of this. 
• I am quite fortunate to live in a country with no incredibly strange foods. I’ve heard stories of missionaries in foreign countries who are offered and accept strange things - animals, plants, milk mixed with blood, etc. While I have eaten some strange things (nothing to crazy, just rat, ants and a worm - nothing crazy), they have been by choice. Never a situation where someone offers it to me as a gift. However, these past two weeks, I had an experience. And it’s somehow humorous. My two team members and I visited an old woman. She so sweetly gave us cassava and milk. I like cassava. Milk isn’t too strange. However, I hate milk. The taste, the smell and what it does to me after. Gross. Anyways, these precious old lady puts this milk in front of me. She was so proud to give us what she had and was an incredibly cute gesture. However, I had a dilemma. Do I drink it? Do I leave it? My team members teased me about it, knowing I hate milk. However, I felt guilty, so I took a drink. And I know this makes me a horrid person and terrible missionary but a line from Napoleon Dynamite popped into my head: “It tastes like this cow go into an onion patch”. 
• One day, I woke up with a giant red, swollen spot on my leg. It was itchy and painful. Should I have seen a doctor? Maybe. Instead, I poked it and played with it. I may or may not have also experienced an upset stomach, dizziness and fatigue. Maybe it was connected, maybe it wasn’t. Oh well, better now. And this is a common experience - strange spots showing up, strange sicknesses but no doctor visits. But whatever, I’m still alive.