Ch. 8 Fitting in
My twins are barely half a year old, but already Joshua and I am frantically searching for the best kindergarten for them. As parents, you always want the best for your children. Perhaps that's why I became the center of argument when my father decided to volunteer at a teaching hospital in Rwanda.
So, you might be wondering, was my father's family from Rwanda? Not at all. In fact, his desire to contribute to the poorer nation in Africa was purely humanitarian in nature. The pleasant experience of Dr. Webber motivated him to explore the option, but I am sure he would have said yes if people in Asia or Eastern Europe were asking for help.
The problem? I was four and ought to be in school. My father argued that although it was still slowly rebuilding after the genocide and internal turmoil that happened 2 decades ago, there were schools in Rwanda.
What he did not seem to understand was things bothering my mother. It wasn't about clean water, safe shelter, or schools per se. It wasn't even about giving up her job and surgeries for a while just so she could follow him everywhere--no matter how independent and strong she has always been, when a woman is married and in love, she would make it her priority to follow her spouse and help him achieve his dream as much as she can.
Fitting in. That, was the real problem. All through childhood, my mother was trying hard to fit in. It wasn't easy being one of the very few non-Jewish looking girls attending a prestigious Jewish school. It was even harder when she was forced to dress like a "lady" and talked like one with her "friends".
Whatever treatment she got from my grandmother, she tried to spare me from. Imagine taking your child to a completely foreign land, knowing very well that she would be singled out just by the color of her skin. No wonder she stopped talking to my dad for a week.
I did not have fond memories of that particular week. I think I actually told my friend Lily that I'd rather be eaten up by a buffalo in Rwanda than see my parents becoming estranged. Of course, I later found out that buffalo didn't like eating little girls, and my parents also came up with the best possible solution—I would be home-schooled by my mom while we're in Rwanda. As stern a teacher as she was with her medical interns, my mother actually turned our stay in Africa into the most fascinating experience in my childhood.