Azizi Life

As Peace Corps Volunteers in Uzbekistan, we always thought we were getting the “real” experience of what life was like there. In some ways, we looked down on diplomats and businesspeople, although it was likely more out of jealousy that they could buy $10 cereal in the capital whenever they wanted. Still, we were a bit self-righteous and judgy. Let’s make that very self-righteous and judgy.  By the way, spellcheck, you’re wrong, “judgy” is a word.

In our defense, I doubt those folks ever killed a live turkey for the holidays. And I never saw them taking crowded buses (and I mean crowded…metro during rush hour is bush league compared to those buses) or negotiating in Uzbek at the bazaar. Or taking cold “showers” from the sink in January.

Now that I’m on the other side, I am constantly aware of the privileged life we have living overseas. When I see volunteers here, I feel a tinge of nostalgia (although it’s not enough to stop me from getting annoyed if our water runs out at home). So when I found out that there is a program called Azizi Life, where you can spend a day with a rural artisan group joining in agricultural activities, I said sign me up. Oh, shoot, and my sister, too. As an aside: my poor sister…she came here on vacation and almost every other day, I made her get up as early as 4:00 a.m. to do a trek in the mud to see chimpanzees or drive five hours to a national park or hoe in the fields. She rocks!

We met one of the coordinators at Azizi’s office in Muhanga, about an hour outside of Kigali, where we received a briefing on the day’s activities and met our interpreter. Our interpreter was a schoolteacher named Juliette, who had been working with Azizi Life for two years. Along with Juliette, we were dropped off in a nearby village called Cyeza, where we met the women’s cooperative that would host us for the day.

Our hosts (about ten in total) greeted us outside a very humble clay house that belonged to one of the members. A typical Rwandan village dwelling, it included a small outdoor courtyard for washing and hanging clothes, cleaning food, and housing the animals (they had a cow and pig); a tiny room for cooking; a main room for eating; and a bedroom. They had two benches, a table, and a wooden bed for furniture, and the only decorations were a few pictures of Jesus and Mary with palms.

The day began in the main room, where we introduced ourselves. Normally when my sister and I travel to developing countries, in order to avoid the inevitable “why not?” question, our families always temporarily expand to include (for my sister) a husband and several children. This time, however, we were forthcoming.  We were surprised to hear that one of the women was divorced and one, who was 28 years old, was still single and didn’t seem to have any intention of getting married.  Coincidentally (?), the latter had the biggest smile of all the women and laughed easily. This was good because we needed a smile and laugh when I introduced my “flat” niece…

So, my niece is doing a school project that involves sending a homemade picture of herself covered in contact paper to faraway lands to be captured doing interesting and educational things. This is in the spirit of “Flat Stanley,” if you remember him. If you don’t, read this not very interesting link: https://www.flatstanley.com/about. I was sure the women would think we were crazy and I even considered not telling them and just surreptitiously photobombing Flat Niece into a few pictures. Through the help of our interpreter, Juliette, however, the women completely understood and thought it was a fun project.

With the introduction of our childless selves and our one-dimensional companion finished, we were given traditional skirts and headscarves to wear for the day. We peeled cassava that would be cooked for lunch, and then it was on to the field on a somewhat angled hill to hoe. I was ridiculously inept at this. I’m pretty sure all I did was throw dirt all around me (I think I accidentally buried one of the children sitting in the field) and create more work for the women after I left, but at least I got a small sense of how backbreaking hoeing can be. Next, we went out to chop and bundle grass to feed the cow. Pulling banana leaves off a nearby tree, one of the women helped us fashion a flat base for the grass to put on our head to carry back to the house. The cow looked at the pathetic job I did hacking up his breakfast, rolled his eyes, and sighed with resignation. He must be used to inept foreigners ruining his meals, but I’m sure we did a particularly bad job of it.

Next, we hiked down the hill to the valley, where water was being pumped from a nearby mountain. We carried back about 10 pounds of water, stopping several times on the way up the hill—Juliette seemed winded, you see. While resting, we learned that children normally perform the duty of water collection, balancing it on their heads while running up a crazy steep hill without stopping.  With that knowledge, I stopped one of the kids and demanded she carry me up the rest of the way. I’m no fool.

Magically, lunch had been prepared while we were being carried by children up the hill. Lunch consisted of yummy warm cassava and beans, as well as fresh avocados, which are abundant in Rwanda. Most Rwandans—even those in the city—only eat meat a few times a year on major holidays. The conversation flowed easily, as Juliette fielded questions from me, my sister, and the cooperative members about each other’s daily lives.

Fortified from the meal, we then learned about weaving, which involves cutting open a leaf from an agave plant (which look like giant aloe plants) and shaving off strands. The strands are died various colors, dried, and used for weaving baskets, earrings, and bracelets. For the next two hours, the women VERY patiently worked with us to make earrings and bracelets while my sister and I shared investment strategies and stock exchange tips. One of the member’s babies, a four-month old named Kevé, joined us and was treated to a rendition of the few lullabies I know: Rock-a-bye Baby, Twinkle Twinkle, and Enter Sandman. Hey, I’m just getting Kevé, caught up…Metallica just came out with a new film, so he can’t be the only four-month old in Cyeza who doesn’t know their songs. At least their classic stuff, anyway.

We ended the day with singing and dancing, which sounds a bit contrived, but it truly wasn’t. I’m not saying they sing and dance all day while doing their activities, but it was obvious that these women have a tight bond with each other and share important life experiences together. Their easy conversation, frequent laughter, and warmth toward one another was evidence enough that they enjoy strong support from each other and a deep friendship.

I started out in the morning nervous that it would be a day full of awkward conversations and misinterpreted actions. I pictured myself tripping down the hill with precious water spilling out from the container wobbling on my head, or creating more holes in their fields than are in Courtney Love’s liver. Instead, it was a window into Rwandan culture and the difficult life women face in rural areas that I would never have had otherwise.

On the way back, we ran into some gnarly Kigali traffic. I looked over at the crowded minibus next to me and saw someone who could be a Peace Corps Volunteer sitting inside. I thought about the Aleve and red wine waiting for us at home and felt a twinge of guilt. But I also felt relief. And profound gratitude.