Hershey Kisses

I’ve had a bit of trouble getting a long with the other teachers at my school. They aren’t sure what to do with me, and I guess if I’m being honest I’m not really sure what to do with them. There is only one female who is 50 years old and has no interest in being the maternal guide to the lost 22 year old American who was plopped in her lap this year and as a result I have been left to fend for myself a bit. The other counterpart my school assigned to me, because he speaks good English, quite frankly just creeps me out and I refuse to be around him alone which, as you can imagine, makes it difficult for him to be my guide to the community. Yet again, I am guideless. Also, I have had food posoining here enough times for my liking and as a result eat only food I cook myself unless I am absolutely forced not to, meaning I eat PBJs in my house for lunch instead of joining the other teachers. But in the past week things have finally started to progress. I went to a fellow teachers home. I helped another with his homework. I’ve been coordinating with the other English teacher on how to run the English club. So I decided to do something nice. When I got a package of chocolates I poured  a bag of Hershey kisses into a bowl and left them on the table in the staff room with a sign, “Chocolates from America . Help yourself. – Michele” I’m not sure why I included my name because clearly they came from me, but so be it. There were only two teachers in the room when I left the chocolates and I explained to them what they were. I had decided it would be too awkward to present them to a room full of people and then watch them react. The first three people to eat the candy hated them. Literally two of them walked outside and spit them out and told me, “these are very bad.” How awkward! I was tempted to take the candy back and hide in my house before the rest of the teachers could reject my gift. But the other English teacher, who was convinced that the chocolates tasted like cheese, was too amused by the whole thing and whenever a new staff member entered the room he insisted they take some. Luckily, I finally got some fans, to the dismay of the other English teacher who could only say, “really? You really like it?” Obviously this was shocking because there can never be more than one correct opinion in Rwanda. I breathed a sigh of relief as the consensus turned from negative to positive; more people liked the candy than didn’t and the female teacher brought some home to her kids who loved it. But I wasn’t sure that buying the hearts and minds of my colleagues with candy was really working. People smiled at me when the other teachers told them to take a candy that they were  from Michele, but no one thanked me or really said anything. Please and Thank you aren’t really popular phrases in Kinyarwanda, I actually haven’t even heard a good translation for please yet and I am usually the only person saying “Thank you” in the staffroom when the workers come in and pour our tea. (yes, someone pours my tea for me every day and it drives me nuts but that’s a whole different story). I decided not to be offended, it was a cultural difference, and I had chosen to give out presents I didn’t have to do it again. I went to teach my classes and at the end of the came back to collect my bowl. The kisses were gone – a final indication that they were a success - thank God. I walked back to my desk to hang up my jacket to find my note on my seat with “Thank you!!!” in English scrawled on it in several different handwritings. Just like I had been to uncomfortable to present the candy to them, they had been too uncomfortable to say anything to my face. People aren’t so different after all. Next week I’m going to try a bowl of cheez-its wish me luck!