All in Peace Corps Rwanda

To wash or not to wash; that is not the question. It is Saturday morning which means that once again the time has arrived to engage in the *weekly ritual of washing my hair. I attempt to negotiate my way out of the somewhat arduous task. Perhaps I could postpone a few days and just spray my hair with a little water, a little leave-in conditioner? I could always just rinse and then do a full wash another time? But these gravity-defying, moisture-resisting mass of coils and curls atop my head don't negotiate; they dictate.  And I, humble servant that I am, obey.

Buhoro Buhoro

This is my moment, I think to myself. You’re going to use Kinyarwanda and describe to mama (host mom) what you observed. Right. But I only know about ten phrases in Kinyarwanda and most of them have to do with introducing myself and telling people where I’m from (as if the accent and general aura of being perpetually lost doesn’t fulfill the latter obligation).