Now that I have been in Rwanda for almost a week (it feels like so much more for all that i have learned . . .), I am starting to figure out exactly what I am going to be doing here. I have been spending some time with the Trauma Councilors in the family program. I am going to try and put together a serious of audio interviews and video interviews of the kids here - because so far, things have mostly been written. It will be a lot easier (especially for kids) to express their feelings about HIV and AIDS - family members they may have lost, futures they may or may not be looking forward to - verbally. Then I will work to translate the interviews for the co-executives to have the information. I will also try to put together some video clips for the website. Hopefully, this will spur more people to donate, since they will be able to match a face and a story to the organization. Today I spent hanging out with a ton of kids who speak kinyarwanda. It's amazing how much easier it is to communicate with kids across a language barrier than it is adults. A few of us sat in a circle and I drew a picture of something, for example a heart, and then asked them "iki ni iki" - "what is it" and then we would list the words in kinyarwanda, english and french - mutima, heart, coeur. Those kind of small successes help to make all of the huge differences between their childhood and mine fall away.

Being white in africa is a really odd situation. In some ways, it's sort of like being a celebrity, except it doesn't matter who you are or what your favorite color is. All that matters is that you are a muzungo (white person). This connotes money, privilege, and beauty. It's like you are the most desired person and an alien at the same time. This past weekend, a few of my friends and I took a bus up to a gorgeous lake called Lake Kivu in the countryside. When we got off the bus in this rural town, probably 20 to 30 school children started following us and all over the town we could here children calling out "muzungo" and rallying more and more to follow us. All I know how to say really is hello, how are you, fine, and what is your name. So clearly the conversations were short.

People followed us throughout the town - some unaware that we could hear them whispering "muzungo" and "money". It really sucks to know that you are worth one thing only to an entire community. And I imagined what it would be like to be a celebrity - to be swarmed with people, but to be completely alone.

In Kigali, the city where I live, white people aren't as rare. But even so, every man that you talk to wants your phone number, and they don't take no easily, even with a wedding ring. Those annoyances aside, I am constantly amazed by people's kindness here. Honestly, the atrocities are visible still 14 years after the genocide (often referred to as the war here, I think because it's less painful). You occasionally see people without legs, which isn't that uncommon across the world - but here it is because many had their limbs cut off so that they could not escape. At first, I noticed people with scars and just thought that they were normal - that skin care wasn't as good here, that scars are more visible on dark skin, but they are just too numerous to ignore.

That said, these people bear their pain more gracefully than I thought possible. Their past has become a fact of life and they continue each day with a genuine interest in other people and are continually welcoming.

That was much more long-winded than I had anticipated . . . But just to show you a little bit of the sentiment that I have developed for this place, here is a picture of the countryside that I saw on my way to the lake. My camera couldn't do it justice - the colors are more vivid with more depth and everything is bigger and surrounds you . . .