August 24 - Mom

Disclaimer: For every blog post, the title will indicate the name of a person or place which the post is dedicated to. 

For this first one, my words, my love, my abrasive hugs all go out to my precious mom. I’m going to miss you, and I love you. Uri mwiza (OoRee Mweezah, “You are beautiful” in Kinyarwanda). You will always be my best friend. 

After a couple of undoubtedly chaotic flights and layovers, I will land in Kigali, Rwanda and begin my study abroad journey very soon. I keep envisioning what it will look like in comparison to the ostentatious DU; I have to realistically remind myself every couple of minutes that I still have two long nine-hour flights to go (one to Brussels and one to Kigali) before I arrive. Currently I am sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare airport near my gate C16, sucking on a ginger chew for stomach calmness and receiving some serious glowers from my fellow travelers for unabashedly hogging an outlet to carefully type out a blog post….Part of me wants to apologize, but the other is unafraid because of the once-in-a-lifetime type of experience I am about to have. So, I type on. I digress.

Contrary to popular belief and my own engrained expectations, I did NOT cry (well…not until my mom hugged me a second time at DIA). When we checked in, the ticketing agent gave my mom a pass to escort me all the way to my gate—this has never happened before!  Despite my unwavering allegiance to self-reliance and independence during this trip, I agreed to allow my mom to come along to the gate.

I don’t cry. Not because of a biological incapability, but because I don’t see the point most times when life has so much positivity to offer. But when any kid sees their mom in tears, hiding cowardly behind the shaded lenses of her adjustable glasses and running squeamishly to the bathroom to cover her emotional baggage, he or she cannot help but cry, too. It’s emotional. Leaving for five months and traveling to a remote area of the world which has seen so much atrocious conflict and ethno-political struggle…it hits you like a train.

Sans much careful contemplation, I applied for this trip a mere seven months ago. Ever since I committed to Rwanda, I have heard nothing but negative thought after flabbergasted facial expression:

“What? Rwanda? I don’t even know where that is.” Look at a map – it’s in East Africa.

“Do you know that genocide occurred there?”

Yes, actually, that’s the primary reason why I am going…to study genocide, conflict, and peace in the most authentic and tender of places.

“Why would you choose such a place?”

After living twenty years amongst the solace of modern, American middle-class comfort and security, I was dying inside. I wanted to escape my privilege, to leave a piece of it behind while I saliently immerse myself in the culture of simplicity, of authentic talks, and of genuine people who see the world as an experimental petri dish for justice, peace, and communal cohesion. I wanted to see what it would be like to live apart from the comfort of home, embracing the will of others in a relationship of trust.

I started to think about this more on the ride to Chicago….everyone who travels via bus or plane experiences this relationship. We surrender our lives (literally) to the will of the pilot or bus driver. Whether consciously or not, we relentlessly permit others to mercifully control our lives through the subtle belief that everything is going to be okay. I believe in Rwanda. I have faith.

“Couldn’t you have gone to, I don’t know, somewhere fun like Switzerland, France, Australia, somewhere normal with a civilized society?”

First of all, this statement made me severely uncomfortable. American ignorance and universal generalizations never cease to amaze me. If it’s not enough to state that the genocide occurred over twenty years ago and Kigali is now a contemporaneous bustling city, I would like to further add that oftentimes American conceptions of civilization (or civilized people) are flawed and single-minded, painting a picture that rests on easel of economic development and political prowess, rather than examining the sociocultural sustainability of a certain location. Kigali is civilized. There is deep history and context of peace, love, generosity, patience, and openness. While this view may be juxtaposed with the genocide that started in 1994, its people and culture have marginally evolved—just like American civilization has evolved to be more inclusive of African Americans post-Civil Rights Movement and de jure Jim Crow. Furthermore, this generalization assumes that people are incapable of change…that humanity is permanently and perpetually evil and “not fun.” It does not allow the intrinsic space for forgiveness, reconciliation, restorative justice, community building, etc.

(I may rant in this blog. Apologies ahead of time).

“Africa” by Toto just came on my iPod…how comically appropriate.  Now jamming out and still hogging the plug…stares are steadily augmenting.  Nodding my head to “Hurry boy she’s waiting there for you/ It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you / There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do / I bless the rains down in Africa /Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.” 

Once I land in Rwanda, I hope to update you on all things program related (study abroad information) as well as provide a comprehensive overview of the current disparaged standings of the country in contrast to its infamous past!

Until then, my blogger/follower/newfound readers. Turi inshuti (Toorhee nShoo-Tee, “We are friends” in Kinyarwanda)

Positive thoughts and vibes appreciated,

Jaser