Encouragement

During training, we were talking about asking for directions to places. We were warned that if we asked how far away our destination was that we should never believe the answer. If you are walking to the post and you ask how far away it is, the response will probably be "it is very, very close. Not far at all. Only about 5 minutes more." However, this could mean that you are a block away, or it could mean that you are 4 kilometers away. The reasoning is that if they tell you that it is really far away, then you will get discouraged. Better to have you keep going and find out later then make you dread the long journey. If you have to get there eventually, what you don't know can't hurt you right?

I have noticed that the same idea is transferred to other things. The first week I was at Rwaza, there were no students, but the office and ground staff along with Father Charles and some of his orphans would play basketball every evening. Every day they would ask katy and I to play. I hadn't played basketball since 7^th grade gym class and was not eager to play again, but I had been trying all sorts of new things in the few weeks I had been in the country, so making a fool of myself playing basketball was small coin at this point. So I joined in. Afterwards several people I talked to gushed about how good of a basketball player I was. "What are they talking about?!" I wondered. I may not be the best judge of basketball skills, but I know enough to recognize that I have none.

I also know that even in sports where I can hold my own, I look like a misplaced ballerina when playing them. When playing badminton, unintentionally I don't jump to hit the birdie, I leap. In college, I was on an indoor soccer team. I had one bright shining moment where I was alone with the ball, and the goal was wide open. I started dribbling towards it and then somehow tripped face-first over the top of the ball. My embarrassment was doubled by the fact that when I fell, I unknowingly did a little hop with flowery arms and probably pointed toes. I might as well have been wearing a tutu. So when someone tells me that I am very, very good at basketball, I get a little suspicious. When I was told the same thing about my Kinyarwanda skills the first time I tried talking with the sisters, it dawned on me that maybe this was the asking for directions situation we had been warned about. I realized that as I suspected, I really did have no basketball skills, nor was I being all that impressive with my language skills. In fact I was downright awful at both. But no one wanted me to get discouraged. They wanted me to keep trying, so they told me that I was very, very good. I suppose this approach has its pros and cons. I'm sure there are many people walking around Rwanda that think they are really good at singing or speaking English, when in reality they're awful. But then again, maybe there are people who are mediocre at singing and English that would have been awful at it if no one had praised their outstanding skills.

Either way, I've learned that praise should be taken with a grain of salt. If it's not gushed in its presentation, then probably its genuine. Before, everyone who had seen me attempt Rwandan cultural dancing couldn't say enough about how good I was at it. I know I'm getting better at it because now I rarely get comments on it.