tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41893842420219906312024-02-18T17:35:34.880-08:00My Incredible AdventuresRwanda EditionStaceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-33708555438960785202012-04-26T13:08:00.003-07:002012-04-26T13:08:28.058-07:00Public Memory and the Preservation of Genocide Sites in Rwanda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The following is a paper I wrote for the service learning class "Rhetoric of Social Movements." I use the blogs I wrote in Rwanda and a few articles about public memory to investigate the strong rhetorical functions of preserved trauma sites. This is a draft, and I'm trying to integrate more research and rhetorical concepts to the emotional and descriptive aspects. I would appeciate any and all <em><u><strong>constructive</strong> </u></em>feedback and I hope it can be some form of new information for you.<br />
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Remembering
Genocide: Trauma Sites in Rwanda<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">With a size of about 10,000 square miles, you could cover Rwanda with
your pinky finger on a world map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although it’s small in size, this country experienced one of the most
horrific attempts at extermination of the century. After decades of tension and
random outbreaks of violence, April 6, 1994 marked the start of 100 days of
genocide, killing one million people while the rest of the world stood by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Foreigners fled and the international
community did nothing to stop it, stating they didn’t want to intervene in
civil war. And for those three months, Rwanda was forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since then, Rwanda has had several efforts to
punish perpetrators and rebuild their society post-genocide. The aftermath
brought up many questions: What were they supposed to do with the thousands of
unidentified remains and the sites of mass genocide? How much do we want to remember
of this dark history? Using my notes from visits to the Nyamata and Murambi Genocide
Memorials, this essay will explore how Rwanda has preserved sites of mass
killings as genocide memorials and the different functions that they serve.
Genocide memorial sites in Rwanda are direct evidence of the traumatic events
that occurred in 1994 and function rhetorically to rebuild the country’s sense
of community, create personal connections to visitors, and establish the
international community’s relationship to the Rwandan genocide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Nyamata Catholic Church Genocide Memorial Site<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Description<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After driving from the city center
of Kigali through the small towns, we arrived at what was once a Catholic
Church. 10,000 people fled to the church in hopes that the militia wouldn’t
kill on holy ground even if they made it through the barricaded iron door.
However, our guide Valenti begins by telling us the story of April 10, 1994
when the militia arrived. They started by killing any who were outside of the
church’s doors with their work tools such as machetes or </span><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">hammers. This was a strategy used to preserve
ammunition. Those inside could hear the massacre outside and barricaded
themselves in the church. The men pushed against the doors and used their
bodies as human shields against the windows to protect the women and children
inside. At this point in the story, Valenti pauses to point out the giant dent
in the concrete and hole in the iron door. He continues to explain how the
militia received grenades from the government. I look up and see holes in the
ceiling, shrapnel from the grenade used to blow up the door to the church and
those pushing </span><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_4" o:spid="_x0000_s1030" style="height: 153pt; margin-left: 252pt; margin-top: 270pt; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 3in; z-index: 251659264;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">against it. These small pieces of evidence
along with the story put my imagination on overdrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Inside, the benches are covered with the clothes of the victims: dirty,
tattered, and full of bullet holes. Each in the group takes their time to
inspect the details of the clothing. Valenti picks up various objects to point
out the details and implies that we can pick up the clothing if we like, but my
American instincts keep me from touching anything in the memorial. Halfway
inside the church, I saw a tiny pink T-shirt with a faded cartoon on top of a
pile, and my initial thought was how similar it looked to one my 4-year-old ni</span>
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">ece has worn, until I saw the bullet holes and
bloodstains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought alone brought
me to tears. Valenti lead us to the back of the church and explained the
victims’ hopes that by grouping the children together in the more protected
area, the murderers would have mercy on them. Then, he showed us the dried up
blood stained on the brick walls from their heads being smashed into the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">A tomb has been added to the interior and as we
walked down into it there are skulls and bones with various wounds from
gunshots or machete, each with a very obvious cause of death. There is one
coffin far below and the victim of one of the most horrific rapes of the
genocide is buried there. The story of how she was raped until she died was so
graphic and brutal that I couldn’t bear to write it here. Her special burial is
there to commemorate all of the women who were deliberately raped and infected
with HIV as a weapon of genocide. There were more crypts outdoors filled with
caskets that held 5 sets of remains and were draped with purple fabric. On the
other side were more skulls and bones laid out and facing the center as if they
were staring at the visitors. Survivors of the genocide visit this site often
to look for the remains of their relatives, while still aware that they might
never be identified.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Analysis<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Preserving the Nyamata Genocide Memorial Site as it was found in
1994 links current visitors and survivors to the past trauma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The simplicity of the site’s presentation, as
if it was frozen in that point in time, serves as somewhat of an enthymeme,
which allows it to speak rhetorically to any audience. Unlike most memorials that
focus on transmitting past events to future audiences (Violi 43), the
preservation of this site serves a wide audience from survivors who still live
in the area to foreigners with no personal connection to Rwanda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Before the decision to preserve the church in Nyamata as a
memorial, there was much debate over whether the site should be preserved or
reverted back to its use as a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since most who still lived in Nyamata were either survivors,
perpetrators, or bystanders of the genocide, there were few who could continue
to see the church as a symbol of God and the Catholic Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would have to pass the site everyday
with the memory of what had happened there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Nyamata’s strongest rhetorical message to visitors who are not
personally connected to the genocide is that the innocent people who were
murdered here were people much like you or someone you know. These were people
who may have dressed like you and had beliefs like you. They believed that
hiding in a church would save them, and that their neighbors wouldn’t be able
to kill a child, let alone a group of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They prayed to God until eventually being murdered by their own
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The powerful rhetoric of Nyamata
is found within the stories told about it combined with the overwhelmingly
detailed evidence preserved there that sparks visitors’ imaginations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every person who visits Nyamata Genocide
Memorial will have a different experience because each will connect to
different details and remember different pieces of the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The extent to which the site is preserved,
down to bloodstains and shrapnel, create what Violi describes as a “felt
reality” (44) that could not be imagined without standing in the site where it
happened, like a kind of forced empathy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">For survivors, Nyamata was a place to visit their dead loved ones.
Since most of the bodies found were unidentifiable, the survivors were denied a
crucial part of their grief process: cleaning and preparing the body for
burial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since no one could claim the
bodies, there was also no one to provide funeral services for the thousands of
remains there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They asked survivors,
relatives, and other community members to clean and prepare anonymous bones as
if they were their lost relatives. This was a strong rhetorical tool that
allowed the community to begin rebuilding with the message that before they
could move forward, they had to recognize and grieve for all of those who
died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nyamata is also a place for family
members to find closure in knowing that if a loved one died there that he/she
has been buried with dignity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><u><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Murambi Technical School Genocide Memorial Site<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Description<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Murambi was supposed to be a technical college, but was still under
construction when the genocide began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
sits at the top of a hill in a very rural town called Gikongoro. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The entrance to the site has been turned into
a museum-like display. It documents from Rwanda’s pre-colonial history to
current day and is filled with Rwanda’s history of colonialism. It emphasizes
the fact that the Belgians created the distinction between Hutu and Tutsi and
that all later propaganda was in retaliation to that initial separation. There
is also a large portion dedicated to explaining France’s hand in the genocide
through “Operation Turquoise” when they falsely promised safety to anyone who
fled to Murambi and other “safe zones”.</span> <span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The museum portion led us to an unfinished rock walkway and an
outdoor hallway with a line of what were going to be classrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our guide explained the exhumation process
and that of the 40,000 people dumped in the mass graves, 800 were still intact.
These were preserved with powdered lime and placed back into the classrooms
where many hid and were killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk
to the hallway and catch a glimpse of a mummy-like figure through the doorway.
This being my third genocide memorial, I didn’t expect my body to hesitate the
way it did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood frozen in the
doorway, and an indescribable heaviness came over me as I stepped into the
first room and was immediately encased in the smell of a 17-year old corpse. It
wasn’t really a stench, just a distinct and unforgettable smell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I step back outside and breathe in the fresh
Rwandan country air and take in the beautiful lush landscape before stepping
into the next room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In the first room, my body was in too much
shock to look at details, but in the second I took the time to really look at
the bodies surrounding me, frozen in their final moment of terror. They still
have hair, and some are missing fingers and teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the faces are so detailed that I
could see the fear on their faces. I turn to leave and my eyes fall upon a
small body no longer than my arms with its skull completely flattened. I began
to weep. This was the kind of weeping that makes you feel like you can’t
breathe and your entire face is drenched in tears. I’d had enough, but the
guilt and intense sorrow made me feel obligated to pay respect to every person
in every room. The next room had a table with flowers and a poem dedicated to
the children who had died there. It read:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“Sleep my child and dream of
days to come when<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">pain is conquered in love’s
sweet embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Why do these lands cry out, stained
with our blood and tears?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">All the hopeful years blossom
into grief<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Hurt more than words can say,
dignity stripped away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Taking my everything, leaving
me to mourn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Someday I’ll wake to see,
change drifting over me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When truth has told her tale,
and her voice is heard<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">These rains wash over me,
scars though they still may be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Forgiveness takes a step
leaving me with hope.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I finished
reading, and noticed that the room is filled with children like the baby I had
seen in an earlier room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My vision
became blurry with my own tears after seeing the pure terror on each child’s
face. Most are flattened from being beaten against a wall or pounded with a
rock. Others are missing limbs or whole parts of their faces, and I’m stuck
there unable to move. The guide came and lifted my bag off my shoulders and led
me out of the room. She told me I’d had enough and sent me to look at the
beautiful landscape and feel the warm sun on my skin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" style="height: 160pt; margin-left: 234pt; margin-top: 125.85pt; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 240.95pt; z-index: 251663360;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="" src="file:///C:\Users\SMJOHN~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_3D1B2E0D-D022-42B5-8779-BC1922197758.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image011.png">
<w:wrap type="tight">
</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By now the
children who live <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">next door</i> to the
genocide site were so excited to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mazoonga</i>
(Kinyarwanda for foreigners) they ran out screaming with joy, but their screams
mixed with the images of child corpses gave me nightmares later. We passed two
more hallways like the first, but I didn’t go into any more rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk to the backyard and the guide points
out where the mass graves once were. There is a sign indicating that this is
where French soldiers <span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="Description: :::::Downloads:shim.gif" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 0.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 0.75pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="shim" src="file:///C:\Users\SMJOHN~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_3D1B2E0D-D022-42B5-8779-BC1922197758.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image013.gif">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span>built
a volleyball court over the graves to hide how many were actually killed. Next
to it is the empty pit where hundreds of children were buried alive. The tour
ends back in the museum lobby and we were all asked to sign the guestbook and
leave a note on the wall. There are messages from countries around the world
expressing their remorse and “Never Again!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Analysis<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The rhetoric of the Murambi Genocide
Memorial Site lays heavy responsibility on the international community. The
graphic visual evidence of preserved corpses and unfilled mass graves are meant
to shock the visitor, while the stories implying that the international
community is responsible for the genocide is meant to educate. The site’s
rhetoric as a whole intentionally lays itself out as direct evidence of the world’s
failure to intervene and France’s guilt in such a horrific genocide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Murambi is an example of Rwandan’s need for the truth to be
portrayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With all of the betrayals in
their history, from the Belgian’s segregation of Hutu and Tutsi, to the false
promises of sanctuary at each genocide site, it is an obvious nationwide fear
that history will be rewritten and the truth will be forgotten or called an
exaggeration. It is a priority in their country’s rhetoric to have clear
evidence of the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Murambi is
Rwanda’s proof that the international community had a hand in the genocide, and
France in particular played an active role in the training of militia and
killing of innocent people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The preserved corpses are unique to Murambi and have an additional
expression of pure terror to the victims that bones and pictures could not. The
smell is one that will haunt me and others who’ve written about the site (Sharp)
forever, and brings about an even stronger “felt reality”. The smell and
preservation of the bodies adds an additional moment of forced empathy to the
site because visitors are put into the situation of someone who has discovered
the bodies, smelled the remains, and viewed them in their tortured last
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is also the only site we
visited that left the mass graves unfilled. Filled or unfilled seems trivial,
but seeing the hole where adults threw children and covered them with dirt to
be forgotten like animals is much more impactful than hearing about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intense physical reactions that visitors
experience after visiting Murambi are an intentional result of the site’s
presentation. Seeing and smelling the bodies in the place itself puts the
visitor on a personal and unique grief process similar to when an individual
loses a loved one, but in this case all those lost are strangers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Unlike most other genocide sites, Murambi is not typically a place
for survivors and it is often a site that people will only visit once. The
graphic nature of the site makes it one that survivors rarely visit because it
focuses less on memorializing the dead and more on shocking visitors with the
direct evidence of what had happened there. The rhetoric in Murambi is more
focused on telling the graphic history and laying blame on the individuals and
outside countries guilty of genocide. The school has been set up with the
intention to educate the local community, in a way reverting it to its original
purpose while preserving it in it’s 1994 horror. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Conclusion<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In the national plan for genocide memorials in Rwanda, the Ministry
of Higher Education, Scientific Research, and Culture in 1996 stated that their
primary goal for the sites is to “educate Rwandans in a culture of humanity and
to advance the cause of ending genocide in Africa and the world” (from “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Office National des Memoriaux du Genocide et
des Massacres au Rwanda”</i> cited in Cook 304). The genocide memorial sites in
Rwanda are used to educate Rwandans in forgiveness and memorializing the dead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In both sites discussed in this essay, regardless of whether the
primary focus is to prevent genocide, lay blame, or make personal connections,
there is always a call for forgiveness, reconciliation, and the need to move
forward. In Nyamata, the guides mention the importance of remembering what
happened so that Rwandans can walk out of the site and live their lives to the
fullest <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">for</i> all those who’s lives
were ended short. They use the language of “people” who died and avoid using
the term “Hutu” without the word “extremist” afterward. When speaking of
victims they didn’t only say “Tutsi” but also “Tutsi-sympathizers.” This
distinction is important in distinguishing that not all Hutu were killers and
more than simply Tutsi were killed. Even in a site heavily focused on the
violence and guilt of the perpetrators, whether they are Rwandan or
international, like Murambi, there is language implying the need to forgive. The
entire poem on display in the classroom is about remembering the children and
the importance of learning the truth so that the scars can heal and ends with “Forgiveness
takes a step leaving me with hope.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Nyamata, Murambi, and other sites throughout Rwanda use the
preserved genocide sites to connect visitors to 1994. The combination of being
in the physical space with the forensic evidence present and the stories of
genocide told by the guides and in secondary sources can impress the images of
what you see into your memory. This allows others’ memories to enter your own
confirming that memory is social and created with others (Zelizer 215).
Rwanda’s genocide sites utilize that idea to lead all visitors to empathize
with the victims and create their own personal connections to the genocide that
occurred there. This supports their message that the Rwandan Genocide of 1994
was a tragedy not only for Rwandans, but the entire world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">By framing their history using preserved trauma sites, Rwanda
creates an enthymematic history that is difficult to disprove. By only
displaying the evidence of genocide and interweaving them with personal
stories, the sites create a history that can’t be disputed. It’s impossible to
see the bullet holes, bloodstains, and human remains and think that the stories
are exaggerated or made up because the evidence is right in front of you. The
French can’t deny their involvement when the evidence of their betrayal at
Murambi is so well preserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rwanda’s
use of their genocide sites to frame their history of genocide is a powerful
example of how memory sites can be used as an almost indisputable rhetorical
tool because of the emotional impact and felt reality brought on by the direct
evidence and stories of the sites. They utilize the sites to present the damage
of genocide and ensure that they will not be seen as insignificant to the
international community again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Works Cited<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Cook, Susan E. "The Politics of
Preservation in Rwanda." <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Preserving
Genocide Sites in <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rwanda: A Preliminary Assesment</i>. U.S. Agency for International
Development, 2000. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Johnston, Stacey M. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Incredible Adventures - Rwanda Edition</i>. Jan. 2012. Web. 18 Apr. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
2012.
<http://staceys-incredible-adventures.blogspot.com/>.<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Memory studies</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Sharp, Jeb. "Rwanda Genocide
Memorial." <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PRI: Public Radio
International</i>. 13 Feb. 2007. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Web. 19 Apr. 2012.
<http://www.pri.org/theworld/?q=node/7997>.<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Violi<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Violi, Patrizia. "Trauma Site Museums
and Politics of Memory: Tuol Sleng, Villa Grimaldi <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
and the Bologna Ustica
Museum." <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Theory, Culture &
Society</i> 29.1 (2012): 36-75.<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Zelizer, Barbie. "Reading the Past
Against the Grain: The Shape of Memory Studies." <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Critical <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Studies in Mass Communication</i> 12.2 (1995): 214-40.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
Images<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://autonomouskid.net/galleries/rwanda_memorials/images/nyamata___grenaded_gate.jpg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://www.cntraveler.com/features/2008/09/The-Week-of-Not-Living-Dangerously/_jcr_content/par/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">cn_contentwell/par-main/cn_colctrl/parcol2/cn_pagination_contai/cn_features_container/<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">cn_manual_feature_6/cn_image.size.cnt_rwanda_007u.jpg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://storage.canalblog.com/78/61/857772/65391465.jpg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in -9pt 0pt 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://www.pri.org/theworld/files/images/murambi2.jpg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in -9pt 0pt 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://s3images.coroflot.com/user_files/individual_files/original_221816_AXks0SRX3MPx0DSBZxedNEnST.jpg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://citizensofheaven.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/dsc_00351.jpg?w=590<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-51830528817200350662012-01-13T11:50:00.001-08:002012-01-13T11:50:19.909-08:00Day 8 - Shopping Therapy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday was a processing day. We went to the markets and I bought A TON of stuff. Gotta love barterin :) Afterwards, we watched Mashirika’s most famous show called Africa’s Hope. It was amazing. They are all such awesome actors, and knowing them personally made their pain and all their emotions so much more real. Sat in the front row. It was awesome</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-64314652304196663462012-01-12T01:15:00.000-08:002012-01-12T01:22:21.879-08:00Day 7 - Muhanga, a Cow, and an Inspirational Woman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm already out of order on days. Yesterday was much lighter on my heart and everything about it made me feel good. We toured around the Muhanga district, which is the sister city of Buffalo (the city most of the people in our group are from). I was a little disappointed because we moved around so much so fast. First, we went to a school for the handicapped, which I'm a little disappointed we moved through it so quickly. It's nice to see how intentional Rwandans are in the work that they do. It was difficult to communicate with the kids because I don't sign, but it's just another less in how universal a smile truly is. Next, we went to a high school. This school was so impressive, it is better than most public schools I've seen in America. The students here were the best and the brightest, it's obvious that they recruited these students. They value science and sports and are so knowledgeable about what exactly will bring them prosperity. Next was a school for future teachers, which is where the group did their performance. None of them would believe that I was 21, and those that did were surprised that I wasn't married and had no children. I ended up talking to one of the guys about my major and he was so intrigued by the idea of studying communication on the psychological level and as a practice. They're minds are so open, which is such a new concept to me. People here want to share your knowledge and find the best way to do things. It's all just so intentional.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The best part was when we drove way out into the boonies to one of the poorest neighborhoods in the district. Steven had to stop the car because he couldn’t drive in all the way. We slowly built up a crowd, and the kids would run down the hill just to catch a glimpse of the “Mazoonga” We bought a cow and gave it to a poor family. I was so overwhelmed with their gratefulness and curiousity. After Drew paid for the cow, a very old man who was dressed in what probably was his nicest clothes started singing/chanting in KinriRwanda (sp?) to bless the cow and pray that it give the family much prosperity. In Rwanda, cows are a symbol of wealth. The word for wealth “Ishyo” actually means “herd of cow” when literally translated. I am so grateful to be a part of this and it’s definitely true that giving is the best feeling in the world. We changed this family’s life forever by giving what is so little to us. I lucked out because I always lag so far behind the group and the old woman called to Drew and I because she wanted to show us her home. I was just saying how curious I was about what the inside of their adobe houses look like. It was a little dark, and definitely a simpler lifestyle, but there’s a beauty in that. I was so honored to have shared that with her, and just like every other place that we’ve visited, I have a greater appreciation for EVERYTHING I have been given in my life. I have a new way of thinking about how we solve problems and how I even identify something as a problem. My computer not working at 100% really doesn’t seem like an issue anymore. It’s an annoyance that I am so fortunate to have.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The mayor of Muhanga met us for lunch, and although she didn’t speak English, she is such an inspiration to me as a woman. Rwanda has the most female representation in government per capita than any other country in the world and the mayor is such a strong woman. Their initiatives to improve her district are so intentional. They don’t just grow anything in anyway, they test out different crops to be sure that they are getting the most out of the little they have. The reintegrate criminals by making them do tangible and visible work within the community. That way, civilians see the good that they have done and it builds that sense of comraderie and community for when the convicts have served their time. Rwanda’s justice system is the most effective at not just throwing away people’s lives after they’ve committed a crime. For a place that has experienced the worst hatred and violence I’ve ever seen, there is such little animosity towards each other because of it. The feeling of reconciliation and forgiveness throughout is so eye opening to me, and I hope that I can reciprocate it in my own life and help to spread this beautiful idea with everyone I meet, and I hope that those of you who read this can understand it well enough to spread the love as well :) <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At the risk of sounding preachy, I’m going to stop now. I am so thankful to every person I have met here for their smiles and their compassion. I am forever changed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-25216689163116276172012-01-12T00:29:00.000-08:002012-01-12T00:29:50.397-08:00When it Rains in Rwanda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It's 10am and today is already a gift. After an amazing night's sleep, I woke up to sunshine at 6:30am. Had a great talk with Ben, drank some of the best coffee I've ever had and had some delicious bananas. Sitting on the porch while talking story with our group. The clouds started to roll in and make shapes. Julia commented that it looked like the dragon from Neverending Story. All of a sudden it started to pour rain. I just love the smell when it rains. I kept saying "oh my god I wanna run in it" and Eve finally said, "hey if you wanna go I'll go with you." I immediately jumped up and booked it and of course I slipped and fell right on my ass. I wanted to play so bad though and I got right back up and sprinted towards the gazebo in the backyard. I ran around the house and other people started to join us. Screaming and jumping around, loving everything about it. Grass between my toes and rainwater dripping from my hair. I've never felt so cleansed. What a great way to start my day :)</div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-30944136119304111202012-01-10T16:35:00.000-08:002012-01-10T16:35:17.009-08:00Day 6 – Rwandan Compassion and Foreign Guilt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I really don’t know where to begin with today. We drove 3 hours to the Murambi Genocide Memorial. At this point I assumed I’d built up some resilience to the genocide talk, but today was by far the worst and then a few hours later became the best. Our day was planned so well that it took me to the most extreme low I’ve ever felt but somehow managed to bring me back up to feel the purest joy. My heart has never been so confused.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Murambi was in one word, horrifying. This was definitely the worst and what I saw here will haunt me forever. This school was way out in the countryside and very isolated. As we drove up, the kids were all getting out of school and they saw us coming. Per usual, they started running as fast as they could to catch up to us. I’ve never been able to bring anyone that much joy, and all I have to do is wave. I almost forgot I was about to step into a school where over 40,000 people were lured, brutally massacred, and then covered up by French soldiers and where 800 corpses remain preserved in the classrooms. Writing that down or hearing about it is disgusting in its own right, and I was surprised by how okay I felt when I heard what we were going to see, and I guess I didn’t emotionally prepare for it enough beforehand. Hearing the crunch of my feet on the rocks paving the walkway, we get to a long outdoor hallway with a line of rooms. The guide explains how the bodies were exhumed from the mass graves and those that were still in tact were preserved and placed back into the classrooms where they were killed. I make it to the hallway and catch a glimpse of a mummy like figure through the doorway. After seeing thousands of bones and skulls, I didn’t expect my body to hesitate the way it did. I couldn’t go in. I lagged behind the group a little and saw as everyone somberly stepped into the room and watched each walk out. I stood with my hand on the doorway, frozen. Telling myself I owe it to these people to honor their memory. If I don’t go in, then they’re ethically questionable lack of burial would be in vain. I step in and am immediately encased in the smell. I can’t even describe it, but it haunts me. I leave the first room after a few seconds. I step back outside and face out admiring the beautiful hills and valleys of the Rwandan countryside. I breathe in the fresh air and take in the beauty to prepare myself for the ugliness awaiting me in the next room. This time I brace myself by putting my hand on the brick wall and take a hesitant step inside. My eyes are on the back wall, trying not to look down, but the smell returns. I remember what Clovis said to me in Kigali, “You have to be strong.” I look around and see piles of bodies, frozen in their misery. With missing fingers and teeth and contorted to the point they look deformed. I scan my eyes across the room, but then I turn around to leave and right by the door is a small body about the length of my arm. Completely flattened. For some reason it reminded me of this little boy in the orphanage. He was the same size and had the cutest chubby little cheeks, and even though the corpse was flat, I knew this child had the same smile. I began to weep, not cry…weep. The kind of weeping that makes you feel like you can’t breathe and my entire face was soaked in tears. Luckily I was close enough to the door that someone passing by was enough to bring me out of there. At this point, I honestly don’t want to see anymore. I’ve had enough, but I keep repeating Clovis’s words in my head. Seeing Tie go in to yet another room after explaining why she wouldn’t last night was enough to give me the courage. So again, I submit myself to this emotional torture. In this room there is a table in the center with a flower and a piece of paper. For the first time, I walk all the way to the back of the room because I needed to read what it said. The top said “Sleep my Child” followed by this poem dedicated to the children who died here. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Sleep my child and dream of days to come when</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Pain is conquered in love's sweet embrace.</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Why do these lands cry out, stained with our blood and tears</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">All the hopeful years blossom into grief</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Hurt more than words can say, dignity stripped away</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Taking my everything, leaving me to mourn.</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Someday I'll wake to see, change drifting over me</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">When truth has told her tale, and her voice is heard</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">These rains wash over me, scars though they still may be</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 20pt; text-align: center;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial;">Forgiveness takes a step leaving me with hope.</span></i><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> I look up and notice that this room is filled entirely with children’s remains. This time I really can’t move. I stand there as my vision gets blurry with my own tears looking around at all the children and all I can think of is how few this is in comparison to those buried in the many mass graves throughout Rwanda. This is the state they were in when they died. Most are flattened like the first I saw. Completely crushed skulls, missing limbs, fingers, whole parts of their faces are missing….and the smell left me standing there for who knows how long. Suddenly I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. Literally the guide lifted up my backpack and took it from me. I thought she was saying I was taking too long, but she touched my shoulder and led me out of the room. I tried to take my bag back and she said she’d lighten my burden for a little while. I do the same process to get strength to go into the next room, but she leads me away. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her saying “that’s enough” I skipped the next 3 or 4 rooms until I reached the end of the hallway. Looking out at the beautiful green hills and feeling the soft breeze on my skin. I continued to weep. By now, the children who live next door have seen that there are Mazoonga around and they run as close as they can without leaving their property. I can’t look at them now. Not like this. They are so happy to see me, I don’t want them to see me cry, so I turn and face the doorway to the last room. I see yet another child’s crushed remains, the smell sneaks back into my nose and I hear a high-pitched scream. That took me somewhere I want to forget, but will probably give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I thought I had imagined it, but it was another neighbor kid who’d just seen us and was so excited he screamed. I don’t know if that’s comforting or not, but unfortunately I can’t undo what I’ve already imagined. I go back to the edge, sit down, and for the first time in a long time, I REALLY prayed. I believe in God and I go to church every once in a while, but I haven’t actually knelt down crossed my hands and begged God to take this burden from me. I was scared I’d never be the same again because of what I’d seen at Murambi. I open my eyes and see that now the kids are dancing. They are so happy to see us that they are DANCING, and it’s funny. I didn’t think it’d happen so quickly, but with tears still dripping down my face, I laughed. It didn’t take away the pain of it all, but I didn’t feel quite so hopeless. We went to 2 more hallways like those and I skipped a majority of the rooms, but of course now I had the image of these children hiding in these rooms and cowering in fear. I can’t begin to tell you how much worse it is to have living smiling dancing faces to connect to a flattened corpse. I felt like I was hollow and I needed to be grounded. For some reason I wanted to take off my shoes, but since this was a construction site at the time of the genocide, it wasn’t really safe to do so. We walked around and I knelt in the grass and just felt the ground. No clue why I had the impulse to do this or why it worked, but it brought me back to Earth for a second, which was exactly what I needed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now the newest information I learned at Murambi was not only did the international community FAIL to intervene, but French soldiers were living in Murambi and told the people that they would be safe at that school under their protection. Instead of keeping them safe, they congratulated the Hutu who killed those hiding there and then built a VOLLEYBALL COURT over a mass grave to cover it up. That’s almost more disgusting than those who did the killing, because the colonial influence is what created the animosity in the first place, and when they were asked to stop the killing, they helped it instead.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s the link to some pictures I found on the internet, but just to warn you they are very graphic and not for the faint at heart http://www.pri.org/theworld/?q=node/7997 </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So after leaving Murambi, I was obviously in a very very sad place. Even though such natural beauty and happy people surround it, I was in a major depression mode from having to process such a harsh and horrifying reality. Luckily, Drew was aware of this and planned for some uplifting fun afterwards. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After lunch, we went to Burundi which is a college town in Rwanda. The most powerful women drumming group performed for us. It was around half an hour, but I was so into it and enjoyed it so much that it seriously felt like 5 minutes. They’re energy was electric and it was impossible not to smile in their presence. I felt like my soul had been refilled yet again. After their performance they did a workshop with us and drumming with them was some of the most fun I’ve ever had. They all had such major attitude and loved what they did. Women traditionally weren’t allowed to drum because drums are a symbol of power, and that was reserved for men. But of course now, they are officially the best drummers in Rwanda (through competitions) and they’re an inspirational example of the gender equality that Rwanda has reached. They have at least met, and probably surpassed the United States in that realm. Later when Drew told us that the women in this group had been a mixture of survivors, widows, and perpetrators, my jaw literally dropped. None of us even had a clue. Just another example of how inspiring Rwandans are. At first they didn’t want to work with each other, and they had every right to feel that way, but through music and drumming they are a family. It’s amazing to see the forgiveness and the rebirth of a community that once destroyed itself at the word of foreigners. And the fact that they still invite foreigners with such compassion and excitement, I am in awe of them every single day I am here. They are the most generally loving people I have ever met and it was a gift to be in their presence. After seeing Murambi and being surrounded by so much death, I truly needed their joy. And the strange mixed backgrounds of the group gives me even more hope that Rwanda has moved past this genocide and that a better world is indeed possible. </div><!--EndFragment--></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-10669856681736278782012-01-09T09:56:00.000-08:002012-01-09T09:56:03.908-08:00Day 5 - Safari Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Woke up at 5am to drive to the Akagera National Wildlife Park. It's awesome how they just have a protected area for the animals to live how they're supposed to. Got some amazing video and Lewis took over my picture taking duties for a while... Here's some of my favorites.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Warthogs!! Pumbaa</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">didn't see any elephants, so I made one in the car :)</div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-15974370848260780442012-01-08T19:17:00.000-08:002012-01-09T08:18:16.733-08:00Day 4 - Indescribable<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I fell in love with Rwanda today. There’s no other word to describe the feeling I have right now. I’ve never felt so physically overjoyed and upset at the same time. Whatever the word is for this, it’s the most intense emotion I have ever felt. It’s all thanks to a little girl named Rita. I was expecting to be overwhelmed at the orphanage by sad faces, but from the second we arrived all I saw were smiles and little hands to hold. Of course, Rita is just one of many children who call Gisimba their home, but she touched me deep down in my heart and soul. Saying goodbye to her smiling eyes was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. She is so curious and never left my side. When we left my hand felt empty without hers in it. I fell in love with her smile and her sense of wonder. She would admire my earrings and my hair, but she never once asked for anything. My presence was enough for her, but I wanted to give her everything I owned. She was a little more timid than the other kids, and I think that’s why I was so drawn to her because after a few minutes her personality really started to shine through. I’d hear her quietly begin to sing, but if I drew attention to it she’d stop and flash the most shy yet flirtatious smile. Her dress reminded me of the fancy poofy ones that Keilana would wear and play princess. Rita was amazed with my hair and kept touching it, and when the other kids were playing football, we sat on the side while she braided my hair. Sitting next to me she played with my camera a little and caught on so fast! I didn’t even have to show her, but within a few minutes she was playing with the manual zoom and focus. She helped me get some great footage with commentary on who was in the shot and who they were to her. She loves her sisters and wouldn’t stop talking about them. I really hope she does email or call me, because I don’t think I could truly be okay in my life without knowing she’s alright. Thank you Rita for sharing your love with me. The memory of your hugs and your soft “I love you” will fill my soul with this wordless emotion forever.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">To learn more about the orphanage I visited visit <a href="http://gisimba.org/">http://Gisimba.org</a> a donation of $300 sends a child like Rita to school for a year. That’s less than $30/month. Please consider it because there were so many other children who touched my heart that day. There are some who live at Gisimba who are 18 years old, and although it is a great place, they deserve to have the same opportunities we have just for being born in America.</div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-80161670621373706092012-01-08T10:16:00.000-08:002012-01-08T10:16:35.084-08:00Day 3 - "I Can. I Must. I Will." Rwandan Courage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“Today” we went to the Kigali Genocide Memorial, the biggest mass grave in Rwanda with over 250,000 victims buried there. We first bypassed the building and went into a beautiful garden. Walking under canopies surrounded by giant cement slabs and beautiful plants and flowers. Almost like a reminder of those who died while still honoring their life and creating new life around it. We enter the memorial center and it starts the history of the Rwanda genocide. Although the 100 days of killing in April 1994 is the “climax” of Rwanda’s genocide story, it’s scary to know that this genocide (and all others) was the result of a very intentional plan. The groups of Hutu and Tutsi didn’t even exist until the Belgians gave them those labels and ID cards based off of how many cows someone I find the trivial differences between the groups even more scary because it’s clear that for YEARS Rwandans were pretty much brainwashed against each other. From what I understand, during the colonial time, Tutsis were more of the upper class (more cows) minority, while the Hutus were the working class, but had a huge majority in the population. After the Belgians left Rwanda, the Hutu had a\ lot of resentment for the Tutsi and once the Hutu president was assassinated (debatably by Hutu, Tutsi, or Belgians) the killing began immediately. The history of what led up to the genocide is equally as important as remembering those who died because it is the only way we can prevent this from happening again. Genocide isn’t spontaneous. It’s calculated and planned out. There were radio broadcasts and 10 Commandments for the Hutu establishing superiority and calling the Tutsi cockroaches. It’s a gradual dehumanization that allowed neighbors to turn on each other and it will frighten me everyday to know that it could be happening anywhere without our knowledge. We automatically assume nothing like this could happen in America, but the further our country gets divided and the more I hear politicians subtle hate speech against homosexuals and our inability to find compromise in almost any situation. Of course, I’m not saying that America is a time bomb for genocide, but in a more intense division in an unstable environment like Rwanda’s was it would be ignorant to say it couldn’t happen anywhere else and that scares the crap outta me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was one display that spoke about the children who were orphaned with a giant photo of a group of children staring down at the center. At this point I needed a break. I didn’t have room to take in any more. I just sat there and let them stare at me. I wanted to remember their faces and after everything I had already seen I needed to just sit down and breathe (and cry..again). I looked into each child’s eyes and even though I was 3 years old when this happened I can’t help but feel responsible. These children are parentless and what they went through has will be part of them forever and the most fortunate people in the world didn’t step-in to help. When they needed us most, the UN said “yes, there is major killing and they need help” while pulling out troops and turning their backs on these children and their country. I’m ashamed and horrified that the entire world stood by and did nothing while this girl with deep brown eyes watched her parents be killed and carrying a baby on her back. The 3<sup>rd</sup> section of the center was dedicated to the memories of the children who died in the genocide. There was a large photo of a little girl named Ariane Umutoni. Looking into her eyes and then at the plaque that says </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Ariane UMUTONI</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Age: 4</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Favourite food: Cake</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Favourite drink: Milk</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Enjoyed: Singing & Dancing</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Behaviour: A neat little girl</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cause of death: Stabbed in her eyes and head</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This room was filled with other pictures and mini-bios. Seeing the face of a baby who’s head was bashed against the wall was too much. This memorial was so beautifully made. I felt like I knew a little of who they were. Humanized their photos and I felt like it gave them a little more life.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The survivor wall was a big room with photographs hanging on clotheslines. It’s a live display because people can come in and take photos or add photos of their families. The photos gave a very short glimpse into the immense stories of those who are buried outside. I sat again and watched another video projected on the back wall of survivors talking about the loved ones they’d lost. A man was talking about how he and his mom were in hiding and there was almost no food left, only beans. His mom knew he didn’t really like beans so she somehow found him a passion fruit and the next day his mother was killed. He’ll always remember that passion fruit was the last meal he ever had with his mom. I thought about the lilikoi that grows in our backyard and my parents are very adamant about making lilikoi juice out of it. I don’t know why my mind went there, but I pictured the same situation and that lilikoi being the only thing we had to eat. I also couldn’t even remember what my last meal with my parents would be, but I know I would never be able to eat it again. What an ugly reminder of a tragic and traumatizing moment in his life. Clovis was sitting near me and saw me crying. He scooted over, touched my shoulder and said “sorry” I asked him why and all he said was “you have to be strong.” I’m constantly in awe of their courage and how strong survivors are. I would be a wreck.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After seeing more and more death, hatred, and the extent to which the murderers went to to cause the most amount of pain, it was easy to say that they were just evil people. After lunch, we spoke to Jim Waller, a researcher of the penetrator psychology. He spends all of his time in the Rwanda prisons, interviewing the worst of the worst of the murderers. It was important to have that talk with him because it reminded me of how dehumanizing anyone, even someone guilty of such horrific things, is counterproductive. Genocide is only possible because of the calculated dehumanization of the victims over time. By dehumanizing the perpetrators, we open the door for history to repeat itself. In a way, the perpetrators are a different type of victim. I don’t want to put them anywhere near the same level as the true victims and those who were tortured or have to live with the physical and emotional scars. It’s scary to think that the people who committed these horrendous acts are human the same as anyone else. We all have it in us somewhere, which is yet another heavy truth I have to remind myself of. These people were brainwashed and possessed by the devil. They have to live with what they’ve done, and they easily could have been born on the other side of it. Most of them didn’t have a choice. We talked about that gang mentality that we see in America and how most of them were teenagers who are proven to act on impulse and take advantage of any opportunity. I’d like to believe that human nature is to resist the opportunity to let the animal out and take without remorse, but when it comes down to it, we’re all made of the same stuff genetically. Those murderers are only 0.01% different than me, and it was the mob mentality that allowed it to get that far. It’s something I’m struggling to really believe, but I’m trying to forgive the human inside them. If a survivor can live next to them and forgive them, I should be able to too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Afterwards we did a workshop with Mashirika. I filmed a lot less because I really needed that reflection to deal with all of these intense emotions of the last few days. Highlights were asking the difference between genocide and war, and exercises in how we carry burdens and the struggle to let it go. Then we went to Rosette’s for dinner which turned into one of the craziest dance parties. Can’t wait for them to take us out clubbing next week :)</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-21204886215819019782012-01-06T17:04:00.000-08:002012-01-12T01:23:41.014-08:00Day 2 - Rwandan Rollercoasters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I apologize in advance if this post is all over the place and INCREDIBLY LONG I’m trying to break it up and bold the important things…but no promises. Today was such an emotional rollercoaster, I still feel like I can’t fully comprehend the experience I had today let alone pass that on to other people. Rwanda has changed me more in 2 days than any experience I’ve ever had. Nothing can compare. But I’m gonna try my best to explain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I woke up under my mosquito net to soft sunlight and birds chirping out the window…2 hours before my alarm. I don’t remember the last time I slept that well and still woke up early. There’s a Rwandan saying that we kept hearing today “God spends his whole day working all around the world, but he sleeps in Rwanda” and at breakfast Drew asked what it was like to spend my first night with God. We sat outside on the porch and took in the beautiful sunlight and scenery with my delicious Rwandan cup of coffee.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m gonna talk about my day out of order because I want to make sure I get to the important stuff and I’d rather end on a happy note…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">NYAMATA GENOCIDE MEMORIAL – Questioning Humanity</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The drive to Nyamata was our first time out of Kigali which is a major city. We drove there straight from lunch, so going from the city center and through all these smaller towns was one of the coolest transitions. The landscape in Rwanda is so lush and green We’d pass a bunch of trees that would open up and show the hills and valleys. I’ve never seen so many banana trees!! There were children playing on the side of the road and carrying big square jugs of water on their backs or heads. There were bicycle taxis (yes a guy riding a bike with 2 seats who gives people rides) and women carrying fruits in baskets on their heads. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We get to the outside of the church and the guide, Valenti begins by telling us the story of the people who were massacred in this place. The mere numbers were enough to sink my heart into my stomach. Of the 45,000+ who are buried in the mass graves, Over 10,000 Tutsis were led to the Nyamata Church with false promises of sanctuary, and how they were killed is even more horrifying than the numbers. It was a plan. Every piece of new information just made me question everything I believe about humanity. I hate to say it but I even began to question God. What God could let this happen? Of course I know that this was the pure absence of God, but it really makes me question my faith. How could any human PLAN to murder thousands of their neighbors with no mercy? What brings a person to do that? They used work tools outside like machetes and hammers so that they didn’t waste their ammunition (something they could only get from the government). Then they tried to break down the doors of the church while the men inside pushed against the walls to protect the women and children inside. I can’t imagine the sheer terror to witness the massacre of your family and friends while hiding inside a church. The screams ring in my ears and I know that what I imagine can’t compare to the reality of it all. The image of the children cowering inside, trying to be quiet while seeing and hearing what will eventually happen to them is the heaviest truth that I have ever had to face. When Valenti points to the dent in the floor and huge gap in the metal door and says it’s from the grenade the Hutu extremists used to eventually get through the door. I look up and see the holes in the ceiling from the shrapnel. We walk inside and the piles and piles of clothes on the benches taken off those who were killed there and more devastating reality hits me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At this point I’m still successfully keeping my composure because I’d seen these pictures before, but as I walk around I get the courage to really look at the details of these clothes and on the top of one of the piles is a tiny pink T-shirt with a faded cartoon on it and at the time I thought it was Rocket Power (but that wasn’t even playing till 1999). Regardless, that tiny pink T-shirt was tattered and surrounded by more clothes filled with bullet holes. The clothes were so small. How could someone do this, let alone TO A CHILD? I want to erase my first thought from my mind because I thought that shirt looked a lot like one I’d seen Keilana wear with a similar character on it. It was exactly her size. This is when I lost it. The thought that a child just like my niece witnessed such hatred before being murdered so horrifically was unbearable. They took this girl’s life and all of her innocence. We walk over to the back of the church and Valenti deals out yet another heavy story of how all the children hid in this area because it was the most protected and the adults hoped that by putting all the children together, the murderers would have mercy on them. Unfortunately this genocide was about more than just killing the Tutsi’s physical bodies. They’re intentions were to torture them not only physically, but emotionally by murdering all hope until they begged for death. I remember the children we played with yesterday who were dancing and playing with us. Their curiosity still makes me smile, until I picture them cowering in fear while their innocence and faith in the world is destroyed under a cross in a house of God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was the job of the women to kill the babies. Most would pick them up and bash their heads against the wall, and most of the blood is still there. I remember when Eve and I were talking in the car on the drive up to Nyamata about how it’s scary to hold a baby because they look so fragile. Again I asked, HOW? What woman, let alone MOTHER could do this to a helpless baby? Later I am told that the more vicious women would pound the babies’ heads with a big stone mortar like a poi pounder. It’s almost as if they got pleasure out of coming up with even more sadistic ways to end an innocent life. <i>Like animals thirsty for blood</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We go down into the tomb and there are skulls and bones in a glass case. I force myself to look at each skull and at this point I can barely hear Valenti’s explanations about IDs. You can see exactly how each person died. Gunshots, machete, some looked like half of it had been completely torn off. I tune back in and Valenti explains how most of the bodies were unidentifiable, so the survivors had no way to honor their dead. They had to pass this place everyday with the knowledge that their loved ones never received a proper burial. So those who hadn’t found their relatives would clean unidentified bones to symbolically give their lost loved ones closure. Going outside and into the next tombs, all you see are caskets draped with purple fabric (a symbol of mourning). I couldn’t even count the caskets, and each had at least 5 sets of remains most had more. One section had all of the skulls and bones laid out. The skulls were facing in towards the center, staring at me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Afterwards we spoke to a woman who was visiting the memorial named Veni, and she told us she goes there all the time and looks at the bones in the outdoor tombs searching for her family. She talked to us for hours, and after going through such intense emotions, all she could talk about was how important it is to know the truth but also to move past it. “The mourning is over” and “There is a better day” such a wise woman and I’m blessed to have met her. If she weren’t there I would have been in a very dark place. My heart had been broken and I had lost most of my faith in humanity. Hearing her speak about something so horrifying and ugly in such a calm way lifted my spirit. Knowing that a woman who has a direct connection to this place and even more questions that will never be answered can somehow forgive the murderers and those who refused to help is inspiring. The part of the apostle’s creed “forgive those who trespass against us” has never rung more true. She lives that everyday. I think about all the people I get angry at on a daily basis for something as silly as cutting me off and the people I still hold grudges against because they’ve wronged me in the past and I think “If Veni can forgive the people who gave her brothers and sisters limps in 1959, made her move to another country, killed her family members, and be at total peace, I should be able to too.” I think how America reacts to any type of attack like 9/11 and how we’ve alienated an entire culture who had nothing to do with the attack. There is such hatred for the Islamic people in America because of what a few had done on 9/11 and some hold on to that hate, but somehow she is at peace with the thousands of her neighbors who raped and murdered uncountable numbers of her people including children. She alone restored my faith in God and in humanity. God sent her there to bring me back my hope, because without that there is no way I could have survived 2 weeks here. Thank you Veni! I wish I had more time and space to tell more of your story. You have inspired me and given me something I will hold onto for the rest of my life. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the drive back we stopped at a river (the name I forget, but will update later when Carl is up) There were men cutting sugar cane and young boys on boats hauling it down the river. The kids immediately crowded around us and loved playing with my camera (per usual). We stood on the bridge with the beautiful Rwandan sunset and reflected on the memorial together just by saying single words.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">HAPPILY EVER AFTER - at the beginning of the day..</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even though this happened first, I wanted to talk about it last. My goal isn’t just to tell the story of the genocide. That story has been told many times and now there is a fear that Rwanda is still dangerous today. That was in 1994, but Rwanda has grown and been reborn in the last 17 years. There is life in Rwanda and so much joy. Just driving around if you smile at someone passing on the street they give you the biggest smile. I’ve been given the best hugs by people I had just met. There is an openness here that I haven’t seen anywhere else. This is the Rwanda that gives Veni hope. (keeping it short because I’m already at 3 pages)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We went to the Mashirika studio at that’s a very small space with bright colors and great energy above a few shops down the street from our guest house. The group did a lot of acting exercises and it was awesome to see how close we all were after only meeting last night. Drew led breathing exercises and a fun name/movement game. During the name part I wanted to get in the middle of the circle to film and of course slipped on my pants that are too long and slid right into the floor. Bruised my elbow, but the camera was perfectly fine.. so I’ll count that as a blessing. I always do know how to make an entrance aaand it was a game to introduce ourselves :) but the best part was definitely whenever Hope taught us songs in the Rwandan language. The first was repetition of “Mwaramuste” which means good morning. My favorite was a song that was very playful, and the leader would say “Iyabi yabi yabawe” and the group would answer back “Iyaba Iyabawe” twice while going in a circle, then the leader could say anything they want being as silly as they want before passing it on to another person who could lead the circle in different directions. Difficult to explain, but that’s why we filmed the whole thing anyway :) We got some great footage. Words cannot describe the joy in each of their smiles. As horrific as the memorial was, the time with Mashirika made me feel like I had grown another family and I never would have thought they had been through such a nightmare. This is Rwanda in 2012. They’ve found the hope that was lost in 1994, built upon it and healed in less than 20 years. They remember their dead and the history and refuse to let anyone deny that it happened but still live their lives and find ways to find joy in whatever way they know how. For Mashirika it’s through music, dance, and theater. And coming from a place that still holds grudges about slavery and republicans or democrats, I wonder where we could think we are ahead of them. The sense of community they have is priceless. The Rwandans I’ve met in the last 2 days have been through so much but are still happier than any American I have ever known and we could learn a lot from this “3<sup>rd</sup> world” country.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember how ethereal my morning was, and I truly believe that the evil that occurred in 1994 (whether it be the fault of a corrupt government, the devil, mob mentality, pure hatred...WHATEVER it is) has been buried and built upon. Whether he was here or not in 1994, God is in Rwanda now.</div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-53756732173803102412012-01-05T12:21:00.000-08:002012-01-12T01:23:12.859-08:00Day 1 - It's Time for Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Sitting on the couch in New Life Guest House in Kigali Rwanda and almost everyone I’m here with is blogging haha. In case you missed it, I spent all of my 21<sup>st</sup> Birthday on a plane to Africa. Correction: not A plane…more like 4 planes. From Boston to Buffalo to DC to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to a stop in Uganda and FINALLY over 15 hours later to Kigali, Rwanda. It took me from “snow” to desert and the longest leg of our flight was 12 hours!! We got here around 2pm Rwanda time, piled all of our bags into the bag of a truck and followed it in a big van. We had a couple hours to settle in and take a quick shower before we headed out to ISHYO Performing Arts Center to meet up with the Rwandan performance group Mashirika (<a href="http://www.mashirika.com/">www.mashirika.com</a>). When we first arrived, there were a lot of kids around and we are so obviously American they couldn’t get enough of us. It reminded me of when we went to the gypsy villages this summer. They ambushed us to take their picture and were totally tripping out on my video camera. I was letting them look through the lens and see themselves in the screen. Definitely almost got it taken away from me at one point when I was surrounded by little kids with no way out, but they all listened very well once I got the heart to tell them no more. They weren’t even mad about it and started dancing for us. AND THESE KIDS COULD DANCE! They were doin the dougie and breakdancing. It was so cool. We were talking about it later and still can’t figure out how they know that stuff since most of them don’t have tv (a few didn’t even know that “dougie” had a name).</div><div class="MsoNormal">We finally went inside to “give” them our performance. It was so inspiring to watch both groups…definitely made me miss my Kam Skoo drama kids. The AFP group from Buffalo State performed 2 scenes from Romeo & Juliet and a few songs from RENT. Mashirika’s performed an excerpt from one of their full-length plays inspired by the word “tomorrow.” It was about how children view tomorrow and the vicious cycle of abuse and runaways who get lost in it. All the actors were stunning as individuals and as a group and we definitely got some great footage. Of course, at the end it ended in hugs like we’d known each other for more than just those few hours. After over an hour of carrying the camera on that shoulder mount I could definitely use some TLC on my back :) We’re all so tired after dinner (which was bomb btw), that when we all got on our computers to blog about it Papa Drew (aka Drengis Kahn) passed out on the couch with laptop in his lap. So of course we took a few great pics before we woke him up.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tomorrow we’re meeting with Mashirika again so that they can start collaborating on the story they’re going to create together in their original (very very small) performance space. Then we’re going to lunch and heading over to the Nyamata Genocide Memorial…which I guess I’ll talk about tomorrow :)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanks again to everyone who supported me through this (financially and just keeping me sane whenever I freaked out about it). I couldn’t have done it without all of you.</div></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0Kigali, Rwanda-1.950106 30.058768999999984-2.0190305 29.979169999999982 -1.8811814999999998 30.138367999999986tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-78554384759322249232011-08-08T19:13:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.682-08:00Dinner in a Palace!<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>1st day in Morocco....so far pretty amazing.<BR> <BR> Went to the capital Rabat and was led around by a professor from UVA who is from Rabat. We saw a bunch of touristy sites and took pictures as usual. We went to this place that has a cool view of the ocean (women aren't allowed to go to the beach during Ramadan, so we could only look at it) then she took us to a rug factory. The ladies in there were so nice they stopped their very speedy production to show us how and just smiled and one even made a little yarn bracelet for me. I got some cool videos out of it, so I'll post some later.<BR> <BR> It's Ramadan right now, which is the time that Muslims fast in order to experience true hunger and true thirst as a way of inspiring charity (at least that is what I was told during dinner by one of the professor's friends). The cool thing about it is that we were able to take part in an iftar (hopefully I spell that right) which is when they break from fasting. The COOLEST THING about it is that this professor's family apparently used to be a pretty prominent family in Morocco..because her "family home" is basically a palace...<BR> <BR> <BR> yes that's right, I ATE DINNER IN A PALACE tonight.<BR> <BR> <BR> It's closed to the public and their family has a rule of no parties outside of the people who own it. It's a kind of joint ownership so no one really lives there, it's just common property. I sat at the dinner in awe of everything. it was equally as beautiful and more well preserved than Topkapi Palace in Istanbul (obviously not as crazy, but seriously I still can't believe it).<BR> <BR> Not to mention the dinner conversation was fascinating. We talked about religion and racism and language. I'm still trying to comprehend it all. Hopefully I have more thoughtful things to say about it in the morning...because it is about 2am right now.<BR> <BR> We didn't get back until 1am because we left late then our bus got into an accident. not really sure how it happened because everyone was asleep..the story we've come up with is that something fell off the truck in front of us that was carrying a bunch of metal rods and cracked our window. It was complicated because a group of guys were running around on the back of the truck, but I'm thinking that was just unrelated nonsense.<BR> <BR> Going to Marrakech tomorrow and staying in a Riad!! a really nice one too :)<BR> <BR> <BR> did I mention that I ate dinner in a palace tonight? ..okay just checking<BR> <BR> nighty night ya'll</FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-23028565548291189252011-08-04T05:46:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.682-08:00Gypsies<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>Found this old post that never got sent…..so it was supposed to be dated July 28<BR> <BR> <BR> So it's day 3 in Bulgaria and guess where I've been all day.....in bed! I was tired last night, so I stayed in. Good thing too because around 1am I started throwing up. Food Poisoning for the win. I'm pretty sure it's all the food that they made us in the Roma community. It was all pretty good, but I guess my stomach just can't handle gypsy food. Luckily my friend Laura had some tums and that at least made my stomach stop hurting.<BR> <BR> Anyways...besides the vomit, my visit to the Roma community was amazing. We went to 2 different villages. One was the lower class of gypsies whose houses are all run down. They were all so happy to see us that it really masked the intense poverty that they face everyday. It was inspiring to see people with so little be so happy. The kids were definitely the best part. They were loving our cameras and kept yelling "photo photo" I think they've never really seen pictures of themselves before so it was crazy. I felt kind of like an alien from another planet. Most of all, it was enlightening to see how the Roma really live and how nice they are especially since this entire trip gypsies just keep getting a bad reputation. Everyone always says watch out for gypsies, especially the kids, but after meeting them in their own communities it's obvious that they are all just trying to survive any way they can. There was a single mother with 5 kids and her house was so clean for what she had to work with. A father in the village also had 5 kids and he was talking about how they have no healthcare whatsoever and he goes into town everyday to try to do odd jobs just to feed his family. It was so hard to leave the first village because we could tell that the kids were having so much fun. It's an amazing feeling to go somewhere and just have your presence make someone's day like that.<BR> Then we went to the second village which by comparison to the first was much more well off. They had homes with real doors and a working bathroom. They were a lot closer to middle class than the 1st. We sat in their living room for a pretty long time and got to ask questions about the Roma and it got really interesting. I never knew that there was so much division amongst the gypsies or that they had their own class system within their community. Whenever the elections come up their community gets a lot of money and support, but once elections are over they get forgotten again. They were talking about how politicians will "buy" votes from the Roma and how they have to vote that way because the voting system isn't as anonymous as it seems.<BR> After our talk we went to what was basically their community center. It was the biggest building in the village, but it was about the size of a my living room and kitchen. We had to wait outside because they were prepping something. And it was their custom to feed their visitors bread with honey as they walk in the door. It tasted like sweetbread and when we went in there was a bunch of teenagers in there dancing and a full table of food!<BR> They made us a feast (possibly what made me sick, but now I’m thinking it was stomach flu) most of it was pretty good. I really liked the bread and the soup. Sausage was a little strange and I couldn’t eat it, but afterwards I had some rice pudding ☺ yummm. After we ate we danced and the girls let us wear their belly dancing belts and attempted to teach us to belly dance…it was a little strange. The boys were pretty eager to dance with us and take pictures so it got a little weird after a while because we didn’t want to offend anyone..It was one of the most fun times on this trip and it was pretty sad to leave.<BR> </FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-21169332586980733802011-07-31T00:10:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.682-08:00Wedding Crashers<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>Crashed a Turkish Wedding last night...nuff said</FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-70354925797863342912011-07-22T03:26:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.683-08:00So it's been awhile...<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>since I blogged. I think the last thing I wrote was about Italy, but it could have even been earlier. I don't have too much time to write right now, but here's a little recap:<BR> <BR> Croatia was amazing. Such a beautiful place, but I get the feeling I was stuck in a touristy part of town the whole time. Like going to Hawai'i and only seeing Waikiki. We stumbled upon a not so touristy "beach" (there was no sand) and there were a lot of families and no one really spoke English there which was a good sign. Cliff Jumping was really fun. Never had to climb that hard to jump into water and the climb was definitely the scariest part of the whole thing. They even have cliff bars that serve drinks and snacks on the cliff so after you jump you can have a beer haha. On the last day people woke up really late so I ventured out on my own and saw some of the churches. As much as I'm loving my friends I definitely needed that. I would have left Croatia completely disappointed but that morning I walked around the old city and found the Church of St. Ignatius. Even after the Vatican and all these famous churches, going into that empty church and seeing the beautiful artwork and having time to actually read what it was all about was really what I needed at that point in the trip. I was getting pretty homesick and starting to wonder if I was actually getting anything out of Semester at Sea that was worth it. I even found this really cute market and bought some sage honey with almonds (ate some yesterday in my peanut butter sandwich and it was AWESOME).<BR> <BR> Greece was pretty crazy. 1st day in Piraeus I had Greek yogurt and honey for breakfast then went to Athens and saw the Acropolis. It was cool, but after all the hype it's not really worth the heat stroke. It was pretty much like walking through the desert. If you're ever in Greece, go to the Acropolis in the wintertime...you're body will thank you. Afterwards Lisa and I went to Placa and shopped around a little bit. Got some really good food. Had a Greek salad and Lisa got Kebabs. The cook sent us over some free french fries too. Bought some Greek sandals and a few other gifts. After we got back to the ship we watched the Women's World Cup Finals at where else but TGI Fridays...yea I'm being serious...it was such a good game and we had a great time, but the US totally could have won it. My friend Paige's friend was actually in it and scored the first goal which was pretty cool. 2nd day we had no plans and there was a taxi strike so getting into Athens was going to be impossible. We walked around Piraeus for 2 hours trying to find a movie theater to watch Harry Potter. Finally got someone to tell us how to get there, but the bus took 1 and a half HOURS to show up because of the taxi strike. Got to the mall and Harry Potter was so worth it. I definitely can't believe it's over feels like my childhood has officially ended. Going to watch it again when I get back to the states because it really was the best movie.<BR> <BR> I'm running out of time, so I'll just give the bare minimums. Next day went to Mykonos - fun but way too many tourists. Then went to Paros - totally UNDERRATED. my favorite part of Greece by far and wish we could have just went straight there. We're on the ship now and on the way to Bulgaria =) sad to be half way through the trip but excited for the next few countries. We're going through the straits of Turkey right now and it's pretty cool. I just looked out my window and saw the Turkey War Memorial..kind of awesome.<BR> <BR> <BR> ps someone email me if I never wrote anything about Italy and I'll fill ya'll in.</FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-42120797351084086912011-07-01T06:29:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:42:09.532-08:00Adios Barcelona :(<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On the ship for 1 day on the way to Italy. Sad to leave Barcelona but so excited for the adventure we’re about to have in Italy.<br />
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Spain was definitely a party port…looking at my pictures I felt guilty that I didn’t bring my camera out as much when we went sightseeing. Here’s the recap of the last couple days…you might want to split up the reading for this because it’s going to be a ridiculously long post.<br />
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Woke up late on Day 2 because we had to refuel on sleep. Met with people for lunch on the ship (which wasn’t very good especially compared to the tapas we had the day before) I had to go shopping to get some shoes since the heels didn’t work out too well and I have the bruises to prove it :P Went to the same mall that we went to when I came here in high school. Forgot how awesome that mall was…took a lot of willpower not to buy a bunch of clothes. We had a pretty cruise day. After shopping we went to get tapas. Found a deal of 5 euro for 3 tapas and a glass of sangria…really loving that sangria. We were in this really cute restaurant we found a block away from La Ramblas. (We figured eating ON La Ramblas would be expensive and not as good) We just kind of hung out there for an hour or two ran into some other people from America and Canada who had just gotten to Barcelona after being in Greece. They gave us some tips for Greece which will hopefully come in handy later. Went back to the ship for SIESTA (my new favorite time of day) when I went back to my room Rebecca (my roommate) was getting ready to go to Flamenco. She invited me and as much as I love my siesta, Flamenco sounded like fun so I changed and went with her. Flamenco was just as fun as I’d remembered, but I wish I would have just taken a nap and gone out with Laura and Danielle because Rebecca’s friends aren’t really my type of people. They’re all really girly and pretty insecure. They insisted on eating on La Ramblas I didn’t eat because what I had tasted of the tapas wasn’t good in comparison to what I had eaten earlier. They said we were going to go straight out after Flamenco but instead we spent a good hour looking for a place to eat then settled on this place that wasn’t very good. One girl just started crying in the middle of the street because she hadn’t talked to her mom since she got on the ship. I need to mention that these are all 20 year old people and there was ZERO alcohol in anyone’s system…trust me I’m as confused about it as you are. I was literally praying that Danielle and Laura would pass so that I could ditch this group and go with them….which unfortunately never happened.<br />
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I feel like every night starts out in such a bad place and then comes around…I knew there was no way I would want to meet locals with these girls because they are embarrassing and really judgmental. They didn’t want to leave La Ramblas..but all the bars on La Ramblas are so American, and if I wanted to drink in America I would have just stayed in Pensacola or San Francisco. There are a bunch of bar crawl promoters on La Ramblas and we kept turning them down, but one of them was very good at his job and offered us extras. We thought about it and decided to do it SAVED MY NIGHT…kind of. The girls were still lame, but I made really good friends with the promoter. His name was Chris and he was from England. We bonded and he talked about his girlfriend who took his baby to America and I talked a little about Kainoa. He watched out for us and upgraded our drinks to cocktails which was nice. I even made him some extra money by recruiting a good group of people to do the bar crawl. First mistake was babying the girls I was with. They already were looking down on me just for talking to people and making friends with the promoter...then they refused to drink their drinks and didn’t pay Chris’s commission. He brought the 15 euro cover down to 13 and forfeit his commission for us…I paid it anyway because he deserved it, but some of the girls didn’t want to which I thought was really rude and ungrateful. ANYWAYS. Chris hooked it up and got us into the club earlier than the rest of the people in the pub crawl. We went into the VIP section and got champagne service. Coolest part was that when they brought out the champagne there were sparklers on them…yea we were in a VIP club with fireworks and champagne… FOR FREE. After our last drink the girls didn’t even want to dance and we left 5 minutes later. So lame. But it was a great night yet again. Made friends with another “local” He’d lived in Spain for 2 years and basically told me his whole life story. He took his job very seriously and even dressed in a dress shirt and tie. Most promoters on La Ramblas were total douches but Chris saved my night from a group of really lame girls who complain way too much and cry about nothing. I know it sounds like I had a bad night, but I had such a great time and considering the circumstances, that’s a good night to me =)<br />
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Day 3 was officially the best. Technically it was 3 and 4 because we just stayed up the whole night since it was the last day. Woke up very late and went shopping again. Laura and I bought hammocks which is going to be soooo awesome in Italy! (to be continued on that one…) Went back and took a quick nap and got ready to go see Kaskade. Pretty much everyone on the ship was going to this Kaskade concert. We went to Port Olympic first (where we were the first night) with Laura, Danielle, Paige, Lisa, and Jake. Hung out around there until 1am (when Club Opium opened) I didn’t drink very much just because of how much I’d had the night before and since we were dancing and there was a good chance of getting separated, I wanted to be on alert. The music was awesome we danced ALL NIGHT until the club closed at 5:30am. Found a bunch of people from the ship and having Jake with us was awesome. His strategy for getting creepers away was by far my favorite I’ve ever seen. We give “the signal” and he comes over and grinds up on the guy until he gets weirded out and leaves…definitely one of the more entertaining parts of the night. Paige and Lisa were really tired so they went back when the club closed, but we planned on staying up all night, so we went to the beach and watched the sunrise. Barcelona at sunrise was fun. We put our feet in the water and just feeling the sand between my toes was exactly what I needed. There were a bunch of other people sitting in groups and talking about their night. There was a guy doing fire poi balls on the beach which was AWESOME to watch. We sat there for a good couple hours and talked and then a guy walked up and we just talked story with him for a while. His name was Tarantino (like Quentin Tarantino) and he was from Brussels. We went over to his group and met Fredriko from Argentina, another guy from Belgium whose sister went to UH last year and a girl from Italy whose name was way too hard to remember. We talked to them until around 9am and then we left together to get food. Went on the subway to Alphons X which was the neighborhood they lived in. They went up to their apartment while we got pastries and brought us jackets (we were still in our club clothes and it was pretty cold). Tarantino loved to talk about politics and the Belgium guy really liked hip-hop and would randomly just start beatboxing. Laura was IN LOVE with Tarantino haha. She and Danielle were like 10 year old girls with a crush it was HILARIOUS to watch. After getting the jackets we went to this park and just talked and got to know each other. It was so interesting talking to so many people from such different places. Hard to explain everything and why it was so amazing, but we really just had great conversation for hours and I feel like I learned so much about the culture. It got to be about 11am and they were obviously tired, so they went to sleep and we went to get some café con leche (delicious). Made our way back on the subway to the ship changed our clothes and left for Parc Guell. First we went to get some food. Jake and I shared a huge thing of Paella and we had some Tapas and more water. We got lucky and the metro station was right next to the restaurant we were at and started our last (and best) adventure in Barcelona. Getting on the subway we were definitely so sleep-deprived it turned loopy haha. A man with an accordion and his partner with a drum started walking through the subway car and it was so funny and awesome. We started dancing and pretending we were a carousel. So much fun. Gave them a few euro coins before they left the car. Made it to the stop for Parc Guell and walked out….in case you didn’t know, Parc Guell is at the top of a HUGE hill. Reminded me of the time we walked to Coit Tower in San Francisco but was so much more tiring because we climbed this hill sleep deprived, dehydrated, and in the sun. It was so worth it though. Even though I’d been to Parc Guell before, I had forgotten more of the detail of it and the other people I was with really would have missed out if they didn’t go. Parc Guell is this park that Gaudi designed with all these really unique and crazy buildings and landscape. Not to mention it give you an unforgettable view of the city. We went the long way around apparently and made it up to the highest point with the cross. There was a man with a guitar and crazy glasses gettin down on his guitar. It was a fun time dancing up there with the great breeze. We made it over to the center where the Hansel & Gretel house is and took some pictures (will share when I have good internet and can upload pictures) We had to leave in kind of a hurry because Laura had an FDP at 4pm and on-ship time was at 6, so we caught a cab. All of us passed out on the cab and we got totally ripped off. I am 99% positive that when we fell asleep she drove in circles. It was like a 5 euro nap, but split between 4 people it wasn’t too bad. At one point she GOT OUT OF THE CAB at the stop sign…I was just so confused and I wasn’t sure if it was actually happening or if I was dreaming it and it wasn’t until we got to port that we got out and said “were we driving in circles?” and we all agreed we were. We laughed all the way to the ship… then passed out.<br />
</span></div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-57853909551881476562011-06-28T03:06:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.683-08:00Viva Barcelona!!<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>Danced hard. Feet hurt. Dirty. Bruised. and Smiling.<BR> <BR> Stumbled in at 7am this morning. I LOVE BARCELONA! Everything they do here makes so much sense. They take it easy but party hard. Loving the naps in the middle of the day and partying till the sun comes up.<BR> <BR> <BR> Drinks last night:<BR> Sangria (daytime)<BR> Sex on the Beach<BR> Mojito (my first)<BR> A taste of Rum and Lemon (surprisingly good)<BR> Rum and Coke (served seperately. a tall glass of rum and a bottle of coke YES!)<BR> <BR> <BR> After the girls came back Laura, Lisa, Danielle, and I went out to La Ramblas and walked around. Stopped and got some tapas & sangria (delicious!) and just talked story for a couple of hours. Last night was one of the most fun and crazy night I've gone out. Started out rough (way too many people with us and too many disagreements and not enough alcohol) but once we split up and had less people the night got crazy fun. I had to wear heels because the only other shoes I had were Jesus slippers, so we're going out shopping today to get me some decent shoes. I woke up with so many bruises from falling over. Now I know what Caroline felt like :P We met a group of Spanish people who spoke AMAZING English and they showed us around. That was a life saver because if we didn't find them it probably would have been a horrible night of wandering and looking for clubs. The clubs here are very American. We asked if these were just touristy bars, but they said all clubs play American music which was kind of a bummer. Lost a friend who made the stupid mistake of going to the beach with a guy (which we were told specifically not to do) We held his ID to make sure he'd bring her back in one piece, but he convinced her that she left her bag with us....which she did not do. Luckily there wasn't much in there and she came back right around the time the bars were closing. He disappeared right after he got his ID back. Danielle ended up finding someone who spoke French and they had a lovely conversation. One of the Spanish guys who was showing us around ended up getting into this intense political debate with the guy who spoke French. It wasn't malicious or anything, but it was so interesting to hear. They were talking about the independence of Catalonia. SO AWESOME. The French guy was translating to Danielle and another Spanish guy was translating to English for me. Caught a glimpse of the sun as we rode a cab back to the ship. Such an awesome experience. Can't wait for round 2 tonight.<BR> <BR> <BR> </FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-43542761698323717232011-06-28T02:53:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.683-08:00Monks and Mountains<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>Guess what.....I'M IN BARCELONA!!!<BR> <BR> Haven't gotten to wander the city much. Had a field trip first thing in the morning and we went up to Montserrat where the Monastery is. The mountain was unreal. It was like a cobblestone mountain. Rocky but the rocks were smooth. The line was wayy too long to see the Black Madonna so I'm a little bummed about that, but places like this just make me feel so small and insignificant. One of the monks came out and led a song and Paige stumbled into a confessional at the end of someone's time and ended up sharing a laugh with the monk when he came out. <BR> <BR> So it's official, I don't like structured tours or tourbusses...yea you get there faster, but I really wanted to go on the train and I didn't like that we only had 2 hours to wander around. It made sense to skip the Black Madonna, but I would have stood in the long line if I could have left whenever I felt like it...for an hour drive there and back, I want to be able to stay as long as I feel like. I feel like complaining because we were told we were staying 2 hours later, and we didn't really get what we paid for....next time I'm just going on my own.<BR> <BR> We got back like 2 hours early, so we're waiting for the other girls to get back and then go get Tapas :) Mucho Excited!</FONT></P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-13810308583129961562011-06-25T08:21:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.683-08:00Gibraltar!<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>I wrote that with a British accent, so if you didn't already, please reread the title a la 'arry Potter =)<BR> <BR> We are docked at Gibraltar "bunkering" more fuel. On the way into the Mediterranean you could see both Africa from one side of the ship and Europe from the other side. It was so foggy and far away that it just looked like two land masses, but it's a weird thing to be between two continents. We're in this peninsula of Spain so both sides have land and a fuel boat is attached to ours to get more fuel. It's pretty exciting! The fuel carrier is right outside my window. I noticed that I started taking pictures out of my window, so when I am able to post pictures I think I'll have a "view from my window" thing. It's strange to think seeing land is cool..but everyone on the ship is outside checking it out and it really is an amazing thing to see. I'm really excited to get out.<BR> <BR> Barcelona in TWO DAYS!! I can't wait to get off this ship. It's still so unreal that in two days I'll actually be in another country instead of in classes. I think I did alright on both my tests. I think I did well on Global Studies, but there's really no way to know until I get the grade. My history class is a total joke. I really don't like the professor, it's obvious that he's not here to really teach us anything and he just wanted a free ride to the Mediterranean. He came to class late, talked about nothing then put quiz questions on the board and just left the room. Not to mention he called out all of the people with learning disabilities in front of the entire class. It's kind of bullshit, but the class is easy so I don't really care.<BR> <BR> Writing my 3rd poem and I love the assignment but it's making me homesick. The assignment was to go through old pictures and write about one we haven't seen in a while. Of course I went to the Europe pics of me and Kainoa..then on to the really old pictures of Keilana. I watched some of the videos she and I made together and they are so funny. It's really crazy to see how little she was and it's even weirder how big she is now. Most of the videos she's only talking a little baby talk and mostly using sounds...now I don't think that girl is ever quiet haha. I forgot all about when me and her would sing Disney songs and run around in the rain. Feeling very nostalgic so far. I'm hoping I get a little adventure in me soon!!<BR> <BR> Who wants a postcard?</FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-57938062757362312462011-06-25T00:12:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.684-08:00Studying 101<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>Sooooo update: I have forgotten how to study<BR> <BR> 2 tests today (wish me luck!) and I've seriously been attempting to study, and I can't believe how impossible it is. I get distracted with every noise outside and the rocking makes me so sleepy. If I leave the room there's just wayyyy too much stuff going on (people walking around, music, club meetings) It is cruel and unusual to have tests in this type of environment after only 7 days of class. I'm a little concerned about my tests, but one is multiple choice and shouldn't be that hard. History is a whole nother story because I really just can't find some of the study terms (not even on wikipedia!) We'll see how this goes...</FONT></P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-50985875799427435972011-06-23T08:22:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.684-08:00Cabin Fever<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <BR> <P><FONT SIZE=2>I just realized I haven’t posted since the first day of classes…right now we’re on day 5 but it feels like I’ve been here for weeks. I definitely have a love/hate relationship to my poetry class. First assignment was awesome, second assignment was nerve racking. He wanted us to get all deeply emotional and that’s definitely the opposite of what I’ve been trying to do since I left Kainoa so it’s a nice little battle between me and poetics.<BR> <BR> I’m in history class now…so that’s pretty telling of how I feel about it. The teacher bounces all over the place. Doesn’t even know when the time changes (we lose an hour almost every night) and we’re his 4th class of a really long day.<BR> Global Studies is somewhere in between. I find the information interesting and the professor is really dynamic, but it’s in the worst classroom and I fall asleep everytime. Today I had to skip it so that I could finish my poem =/<BR> The first video is up on the SAS youtube page (I’ll post the link when I get it). I didn’t help too much with it, I did some of the B-Roll and I little interview in it at the end because our girl intervewees never showed up. My supervisor, Mike basically did everything though.<BR> <BR> I’m starting to really like life on the ship, but at the same time it’s getting kind of crazy. Cabin fever is setting in. I have become pretty good friends with one of my roommates (Rebecca). I still get along with the other one (Sylvia) pretty well but we don’t hang out as often. I eat dinner with Jenny and Danielle (2 girls from the Bahamas Villa) pretty much everyday and then we sometimes play games later at night with a group of other girls.<BR> <BR> The ship was pretty rocky for a couple days. I started to get a little seasick, but I’m all good now. This morning we passed an island. Not sure what island it was, but it was weird seeing an island in the middle of the Atlantic. After we passed the island the water looked so surreal. I can’t even explain how silky the ocean looked. I took a picture and a video (a la Double Rainbow guy) because just the smoothness of it was tripping me out.<BR> <BR> I’m excited to get to Spain! I cancelled my Ibiza trip because I haven’t talked to the girls and it was going to be a huge waste of money (I found out the cover for most clubs is about $50) Me and my group of friends bought tickets to see Kaskade in Barcelona which will be just enough partying for me instead of 3 straight days of it. I’m excited to get to Barcelona again and explore it without all the touring and the structure. Hopefully someone I know speaks Spanish =/<BR> <BR> As I mentioned earlier, we lose an hour of sleep almost everyday, so we’re functioning on 23 hour days. Of course I’m still a night owl and sometimes don’t get to sleep until 1 or 2 in the morning just because we’re eating cookies or playing board games. Last night it was taboo! The piano bar has this really awesome Japanses root beer…it is heaven (especially after the cookies!)<BR> </FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-19097121012206578982011-06-20T08:57:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.684-08:00First day of classes<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <P><FONT SIZE=2>We started classes yesterday and I’m already thinking I’m crazy for doing this. We have 3 classes a day, EVERYDAY. I’m happy I brought my glasses because the amount of reading we do per night is insane. I was completely overwhelmed yesterday after the introductions. I’m taking Poetics of Travel, Italy and the Mediterranean in the Age of Renaissance, and the required Global Studies course. I’m on my lunch break right now and this will probably be the only free time I get.<BR> <BR> Yesterday my poetry class had me very scared for the upcoming week, but after the second class I think I am going to really like this class. The professor is cool (you know those pensive poetic types) and the reading wasn’t so bad. The writing assignments are going to be challenging, but in the good way. I think this class is going to stretch my brain and force me to think about the places I’m travelling to in ways I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. I’m thankful for the crazy part of me who thought an everyday poetry class would be fun. <BR> So far Global Studies is extremely boring. I’m not used to lecture style classes because we don’t have those at USF. We literally sit in a room with about 300 other people and he just talks. Yesterday he talked about logistics of the ship. It was literally all numbers like how many people live here, what happens to our water, how much fuel we use, how fast we go. Which is interesting, but definitely not what I want to be sitting through right after lunch in the room that is known for rocking you to sleep. The professor for that class seems energetic, so I’m hoping day 2 is a little more interesting.<BR> <BR> The history class is the boogie man of the group. I am scared sh*tless of that class. There will be so much reading and memorization required for that I really don’t know what I was thinking when I signed up for this. Overall I’m supposed to be reading about 100 pages per night, which is literally impossible to do while still getting a decent amount of sleep and finishing work for my other classes. I hope he covers enough in the lectures so that I don’t have to read EVERYTHING or else that class will be a nightmare.<BR> <BR> I’m happy that we’ve started classes. I feel like I’m going to learn a lot about myself and the places we’re going. It’s definitely overwhelming to have class everyday and the days seem to go on forever. I feel like I’ve been on the ship for weeks, but it’s only been 3 or 4 days. (HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD!!) I started to get a little homesick, but it’s mostly better now. I wish I had come on the ship knowing just one person because right now it feels like I’m in a completely different universe. It would have been nice to have just 1 familiar person with me.<BR> <BR> I don’t know if I already posted this, but please send me emails. They are really fun for me to read before I go to bed and makes me feel like I’m still on planet Earth :P my email is smjohnston@semesteratsea.net I may not be able to reply right away, but I will eventually.<BR> <BR> </FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-25523202643167655872011-06-18T09:41:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.684-08:00Smooth Sailing<!-- Converted from text/plain format --> <P><FONT SIZE=2>This is going to be a long one, so you might want to save this post for when you have some time...<BR> I moved onto the ship 2 days ago (June 16th) and have been pleasantly surprised ever since I left the villa. My cab driver was the best from all of the Bahamas. That cab ride was the perfect end to the Bahamas because my driver was down-to-earth and actually had a conversation with me. We compared Hawaii to the Bahamas and he talked about the new building that was going on. I really wish I could have talked to him longer because the entire time in the Bahamas I was curious about how the local people felt about the extreme amount of tourism there.<BR> <BR> Since I got this sweet work-study position, I got to move on the ship a day earlier than everyone else. I literally just walked right onto the ship. No lines or waiting at all. I didn't realize how much of a blessing that was until the next day when I was filming the line all day. People waited for HOURS in the heat and I got to bypass all that, unpack, and pick my bed before anyone else. I'm in a triple, and being economy, I was expecting a closet. I lucked out AGAIN. I got put onto deck 4 so we have one of the bigger cabins with a WINDOW. Some people paid about $2000 more than we did and didn't even get that! My roommates are Rebecca and Sylvia. They are both really nice. Luckily none of us brought a lot of stuff, so we all fit pretty well. Our cabin is actually pretty spacious for sharing with two other people.<BR> <BR> I'm a little nervous about my job because so far it's been pretty demanding. The first day I had to work from 7am to a little after noon in the sun with very few breaks. Since I'm the Videographer's Assistant, I kind of have to be there whenever something needs to be filmed. By the end of it, I was exhausted. I think I either have allergies or I'm sick, which is really unfortunate. Yesterday, everyone else came onto the ship and it got a lot more crowded. It was nice to get to hang out with the other work-study people the day before because I am actually familiar with a good amount of people. I have 3 other people that sort of work with me. We are the Communications Department, and there's 1 Photographer's Assistant and 2 Communications Assistants. We all work in the same room and somewhat work together. I actually have my poetry class with one of them, Jeremy, so that should be pretty cool.<BR> <BR> We haven't started any classes yet. Instead we've been in meetings ALL DAY LONG. These are the most brutal. Sitting in what they call "the Union" for hours and listening to people talk about Honor Codes and Safety and Plagiarism is even more difficult when the boat is rocking back and forth. I've been so sleepy. My roommates and I have been taking naps almost every break that we get. I've never slept this well. It's a little bad that I'm not out being social, but my body needs the rest and I've been meeting people at other times. <BR> <BR> More GREAT news. When I was going from station to station making sure I had all my forms filled out I was given a piece of paper that was kind of like a checklist. First I went to the accounts table because I was curious about when I had to pay the rest of my tuition. On the paper it had the amount still due (after my scholarship and work-study grant) it said "Amount due: $5995" which I was expecting.. What I wasn't expecting was that right below that it said "Aid pending: $5995" I had to read it about three times, I couldn't believe the bottom of the page that said "Balance : $0" I was completely speechless. My eyes got really big and I guess my face was weird because my supervisor looked at me and asked if I was okay. I said "I'm better than okay! I just found out I'm doing this voyage for FREE!" I'm not sure how much of it is grants and how much is loans, but I'm so blessed in so many ways to be able to actually have money to spend while I'm in the ports now. <BR> </FONT> </P> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-37095138408484258102011-06-16T08:11:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.684-08:00Pictures!!added in pictures to some of the older blogs. Not sure if I'll be able to upload any while on the ship. If not, you'll just have to take a looksy after I get back :)Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-25924070041495551862011-06-16T08:10:00.000-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.685-08:00Sunshine and FrogsYesterday was my last FULL day in the Bahamas. I'm getting on the ship around 1pm today!!<br /><br />In the daytime we went to the beach at the Sheraton which is a short bus ride away. I was smart this time and loaded up on sunscreen before we left. It was only 3 of us because some of the girls went on a stingray adventure, and another just wanted to stay home. At first we all just laid out in the sun and went swimming. The water here is so shallow and goes on forever, so it was more like sitting in the water than swimming.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyj-ArU5AHxUwVrEaAeQVARE77PwPcITHdKCgdly1e5UrW2eSSzTpUWKlWeJabBKo56OukZA3iJiTOnEbcTzNgcfy-gmv-SzijxBZG5CQG8o400ht_OL6WgBxir4p3_Ldts5xuIbGAYo/s1600/P1000029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyj-ArU5AHxUwVrEaAeQVARE77PwPcITHdKCgdly1e5UrW2eSSzTpUWKlWeJabBKo56OukZA3iJiTOnEbcTzNgcfy-gmv-SzijxBZG5CQG8o400ht_OL6WgBxir4p3_Ldts5xuIbGAYo/s320/P1000029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Probably shouldn't have laid out for so long because we all ended up running out of water. It was funny because after overhearing other people's conversations we were surrounded by other SASers and ended up staying out in the sun ALOT longer than we thought. Me and Danielle got thirsty and the cheapest thing close by were coconut drinks. What's funny is that even though I'm from Hawai'i, I've never had a coconut drink...until yesterday =)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnaIJoDTxoyuwU_6UArqij9dsNmI5KirwWuAuPLIYNrdhcx0r-Fi2sivt4rzK-CD_43-pzP8owr1mr0LlR430sGNep5Z_1nuBurfZksJKlGzv0mnEpFtNd1pnbeu2aEK-t9mFchk0hWI/s1600/P1000030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnaIJoDTxoyuwU_6UArqij9dsNmI5KirwWuAuPLIYNrdhcx0r-Fi2sivt4rzK-CD_43-pzP8owr1mr0LlR430sGNep5Z_1nuBurfZksJKlGzv0mnEpFtNd1pnbeu2aEK-t9mFchk0hWI/s320/P1000030.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It got to the point where we were so burned we HAD TO go back to the villa and escape the sun. I was so red, but luckily this morning most of the redness has again faded to tan. I'm a little worried about my shoulders and parts of my arms because I scratched and now it's really itchy =/ But I'm hoping a few days with less sun will heal it all right up. Definitely should have packed that aloe vera. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />Later that night we decided to go out to Senor Frogs, but drinks at the bar are wayyyy to expensive, so we went to the duty free liquor store and got a bottle for $10 and mixed it with some McDonalds soda (Being the classy ladies we are) unfortunately I'm not in the picture, because I was taking it :P</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXkKQW_vvyBqriMc8x15mNp5ZZV8L-DkGfoDIRuUcAgjVn6IKvUW3aXZJ412KPf2dDZ1zfREx_iRTE69hw6Ah7FXS3PLHw42uis8JoZBj5zwOGE_Uz8B86LIaopJpZoPBRX1ejkhqrmI/s1600/P1000032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXkKQW_vvyBqriMc8x15mNp5ZZV8L-DkGfoDIRuUcAgjVn6IKvUW3aXZJ412KPf2dDZ1zfREx_iRTE69hw6Ah7FXS3PLHw42uis8JoZBj5zwOGE_Uz8B86LIaopJpZoPBRX1ejkhqrmI/s320/P1000032.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />As we were drinking we got minorly scammed by some boys giving us puka shells (we already knew what was happening, but didn't really mind) I told him all I had was change and he said okay...dumped my coin purse in his hand and he came back and complained that there were pennies in there. Part of the Bahamas experience I guess.. Definitely don't need more puka shells, but no big deal.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We just walked right in to Senor Frogs and they didn't charge us cover because they thought we were already inside (awesome way to save $10) walk in and their doing the shot line. Which is when they stand on chairs and pour shots in your mouth as people walk through in a conga line. Very fun, but that was my last drink of the night since we're in a foreign country and all. We danced for a while but then the music got lame. They played "We Will Rock You" at least 4 times and it was obvious that some girls don't know how to handle their alcohol because I'm calling the last half of the night the "night of the sloppy bitches" One girl took her top off in a booty shaking competition. At the end of the night, one got carried out with no shoes or panties on...another got lost and I later saw her get into a local guys car....Kind of scary that some girls are so unsafe when they drink especially when they are in an unfamiliar place. Definitely happy that I went, because it reinforced that I can't get too drunk and I can't depend on another girl to take care of me because one girl in our group was trying to get us to leave another one just because "it's not her fault she's drunk." Maybe that's a cultural difference. She wasn't sloppy..just slow to leave, and it made me really uncomfortable to have to argue with someone just to wait for our other housemate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Overall, I met a lot of SASers today at the beach and at Senor Frogs and learned three very important lessons</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> 1. always wear sunscreen</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. always be sober enough to take care of yourself</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. don't trust other people to look after you or your things</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">things I already knew, but doesn't hurt to remember before going on a trip like this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div>Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4189384242021990631.post-88449663505683478682011-06-15T07:13:00.001-07:002012-01-05T12:35:46.685-08:00Burn Baby BurnSo I may possibly be sunburned but luckily every morning it fades from red to tan :) hoping to keep that pattern alive for the rest of the summer. The sun here is ridiculously strong. I'm wearing sunscreen and still gettin a pretty red. I'm mostly back to my normal shade of brown/yellow. I practically forgot what it was like to have tan lines! <br> Staceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16723396494118344557noreply@blogger.com0