If you haven’t heard already from our tweets, Facebook posts or eye-roll inducing push notifications, the May issue of World Next Door Magazine is live! This month, we’re heading to the streets of New Delhi, India to see what God is doing through Truthseekers International.

If you have a tablet or smartphone, you can download our app using one of the links below.

However, we understand not everyone has the technology to use our app just yet. We beginning the process of posting our magazine content on the website as well, but it’s going to take a little bit of time to work out all the kinks.

In the meantime, I’d love to give you a taste of what the new magazine looks like. Take a look at the screenshots below to see some of our new features!

As a World Next Door fellow—or a traveler in general— some lost-in-translation moments are inevitable. Although they’re rarely very consequential, they do make for some pretty interesting moments.

A few weeks ago, Jeff and I were spending time at a rural, valley-nested, lakeside coffee plantation in Western Rwanda. About halfway through the week, the Plantation Manager, Assistant Agronomist and I sat around the kitchen table racking our brains on how we might obtain ingredients to make an “American” breakfast and dinner, per the request of Anastasi, the woman who cooks for us.

My fallback breakfast staple is eggs in a basket, which I call one-eyed sailors (gets a laugh every time) and French toast, because almost everybody has eggs and bread. Milk was an issue, but after two days of discussion, someone brought a few bags of whole milk from Gisenyi, and so the French toast plan came to life.

I asked if they had things like cinnamon or vanilla or syrup for French toast. When they didn’t understand me, I showed pictures on my laptop. I am still chuckling at the sight of everyone gathered around my laptop, scratching their heads as they studied a picture of cinnamon.  We don’t have, they said, totally puzzled.

They didn’t recognize the picture of syrup, and I could never really explain what it was to satisfaction.  I decided to improvise with honey (which has crystallized into a thick paste), boiled on the stove with water until syrupy. I asked about vanilla. They got very excited and said, Yeah! We have! We have!

My improvised French toast. Not half bad!

We gathered the next morning with the ingredients for eggs in a basket, and they stood around the stove ooooh-ing and ahhh-ing as I cut holes in the bread, cracked an egg inside, and flipped each piece of bread like a pro. We all enjoyed the dish, and it earned a table-wide applause.

The next morning I woke up, and the team was assembled in the kitchen as they had been the day before, but this time with the ingredients for French toast proudly displayed on the counter: eggs, bread, milk and vinegar. Wait, what?!  I picked up the vinegar and looked around like, What’s going on here? Everyone smiled and said, Yes! Yes! Vanirra!  It turns out, our accents combined with misplaced emphases, plus all the interchanging ‘r’ and ‘l’ sounds make vanilla sound like vinegar.

They were crushed, and also laughing. They had no idea what vanilla actually was, and we had no electricity to show them on the Internet.

In the end, we made some spectacular French toast with plain old milk and eggs, and I sprinkled a tiny bit of sugar on each side as it cooked. We water-boiled the honey into syrup, and we sliced sweet bananas on top. Five of the six present loved French toast, and report they’ll make the breakfast for their families this weekend. Score! Anastasi, however, doesn’t drink cow’s milk, so she showed up at the table ten minutes later with her very own self-prepared Egg in a Basket. Double score!

Huh. I doubt this will taste the same as vanilla…

Here I leave you with some other ‘l’ and ‘r’ exchanges that gave us pause…

• Blooke! You will swim in the rake?
• Yes, you are here with ARARM…
• The organization is called Aflican Load (Road)
• Licardo will pick you up?
• Here you will find an example of servant readership
• Yes, they have lapid services!
• So, as we crose…
• She will prepare the coffee for loast!
• It’s laining! Blooke! The lain! The lain over the rake!
• Now we will take bleakfast.
• You have the right in your heart. Harejullia!
• Ah! You are praying cards?
• The students! The football, they are praying!
• Ahhh, so glad I see you are arive!

When you think about what a World Next Door journalist does day to day, what comes to mind? Taking photos of joyful children? Sipping chai in tiny roadside markets? Walking into the sunset with a tripod on our shoulder, a notebook in our pocket and a smile on our face?

Well, that’s not far off. We do spend time doing all of those things. Activities like those are what make this job seem, well, pretty glamorous.

And don’t get me wrong. When I’m riding through rural Africa on the back of a motorcycle with the wind whipping through my hair and smiling children waving as I ride by, I tend to think, “I have the coolest job in the world.”

Yes, my job does include playing with ridiculously cute babies.

But here’s the thing. All that glamorous stuff? Well, it’s only a small part of what we experience each day.

In fact, the vast majority of our job isn’t quite as idyllic.

For example, here in South Sudan I have to bathe out of a bucket filled with brown, murky water. I sweat through the night in a stifling room with no air conditioning. I share my bedroom with wasps, ants, mosquitoes, mice, lizards and spiders.

On top of all that, getting from place to place is also less than comfortable. During my week-long visit to the town of Yei, I chose to take public transportation (a consequence of our insistence on experiencing the local culture and lifestyle as much as possible).

I hopped into a crowded mini-bus to travel 80 miles southwest of Juba. The trip took 6 hours. We drove an average of 15 miles per hour. The gigantic potholes were often big enough to swallow a car. Our soundtrack for the trip was non-stop auto-tuned reggae music.

Here’s a quick video to show you what driving on the “highway” from Juba to Yei is like:

As I held on for dear life, my face and clothing covered in red dust, and knowing I would need to make the same trip back in a week, I thought to myself, “Why do I do this job again?”

But then I arrived in Yei. I bathed, changed my clothes, had a cup of tea and then walked out to meet some of the leadership students I had come to visit. As we sat in the shade of a giant mango tree, I asked them about their dreams for the future of South Sudan.

These young leaders, full of passion and life and hope, were eager to share their stories with me. We compared notes about the differences between the US and South Sudan (no auto-tuned reggae music, for one) and laughed as I told them how tiny American families are.

Me with Gismala, one of the young leaders I met in Yei.

And it was there, surrounded by future world changers being served by the incredible ministry of ALARM, that I remembered.

“Oh yeah. This is why I do this job.”

Because even though I have to put up with discomfort and pain and sickness to do the things I do, I have the absolute privilege to sit at the feet of people around the world who are living out the kingdom of God in ways I couldn’t have even dreamed of back home.

I am able to interact with vibrant cultures far different from my own and grow my worldview in the process.

So bring it on, discomfort. Show me what you’ve got. I’m having the time of my life here and I wouldn’t trade it for the world…

Jeff Hartman and his wife Brooke are World Next Door fellows and have been in Rwanda for the past month. This is Jeff’s most recent blog post from a rural coffee plantation in the far western hills of Rwanda where they spent 7 days.

This is one of many unique adventures they have had while in Rwanda. You can read all about their trip in the upcoming June issue of World Next Door Magazine.

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Up the mountain and through the villages to Supervisor’s house we go….

OK, it doesn’t have the same ring as the famous Christmas song, but this trip was an adventure I’ll remember for a long time.

Several days ago Brooke and I had the privilege of interviewing a few employees at a coffee plantation in Cyimbili, including the lead supervisor nicknamed “Supervisor.” He shared with us how his life has been changed since he began working in Cyimbilli and how he was able to buy a house for him and his wife for $900.

He was very proud of his house. When asked where it was, he pointed and said “just up over there.”

Supervisor and his wife.

He invited us to his home, we accepted, and we ended the conversation with him asking us a few questions and sharing some very personal struggles he and his wife have been dealing with. Ironically, Brooke and I have been experiencing similar struggles, and while we didn’t have answers, we empathized and offered words of encouragement.

In his typical stoic way, he nodded and confirmed when we were going to visit him and his wife in his home “just up over there.”

Brooke and I had to wait a couple of days because of rain, but we got a break in the weather and set out with the manager of the plantation, the assistant agronomist, the accountant of the health center, and “Supervisor”.

Based on Supervisor’s description, we figured it wouldn’t be too far so we didn’t prepare much food or water. It was a very nice, casual walk through the plantation until we approached a mountain that we estimated to be a 1500-foot ascent STRAIGHT UP!

The conversation quickly diminished. Brooke and I stopped to “take photos” as a way of catching our breath.

The top rewarded us with 360-degree views of Lake Kivu and the 1000 hills of Rwanda.  But we also noticed the clouds were darkening to the East of us. The Rwandans didn’t think twice. That’s just life during the rainy season. But Brooke and I were thinking about waterproof bags and lightening striking high places.

Supervisor’s house from the outside.

We continued on through the village, got onto the main road, and it started to sprinkle. Even the Rwandans picked up the pace so we knew it could start pouring any minute. Brooke and I put our cameras away, picked up our cadence, and figured it couldn’t be much further since Supervisor did this journey every day. Right?

After about an hour of walking we veered off the main road into another village and started heading down a pretty steep trail. This descent offered relief but quickly we turned and took an unmarked “short-cut” up a steep hill to yet another village.

This third village was named Kigoma. Fortunately, it was Supervisor’s village. We had finally arrived.

Kigoma was a community planned by the government in an effort to decrease village sprawl and provide more people with electricity, water, and other “modern” conveniences. Supervisor’s house was one of approximately 15 brick houses in the village. It was very basic with a few wooden chairs, a coffee table and a couple rooms.

He welcomed us with Coca-Cola and Fanta (which they do for special occasions only). We met his beautiful wife and he invited neighbors as well. With 20 people crammed in a little room, we exchanged questions and laughs for about 45 minutes.

Our time ended with Supervisor thanking us publically for coming because most muzungus, or foreigners, stay down at the plantation and don’t interact with the village people. He also thanked us for our kind words of encouragement the other day and said they will be forever grateful.

Drinking the welcome soda prior to the arrival of the neighbors.

As we were there, word got out about the Muzungus. When we started the journey back, people of all ages came out to see us since many had never seen a white person before. Many thanked us for coming and we felt very privileged to be there.

As we walked, we still couldn’t believe Supervisor and many other people would walk 2-3 hours up and down mountains every day for work.

On our way home we were exhausted but we realized Supervisor was walking with us and would end up escorting us back to the plantation. In other words, he did that walk twice in one day without hesitation!

For Supervisor “just up over there” was just that, no big deal.

I recently had the good fortune to participate in the Indian festival Holi as I was working on the upcoming May issue of World Next Door Magazine.

The holiday can look very different whether you are in the city, a village or a slum. But in the section of New Delhi I was living in it very much resembled a giant public water fight.

Water balloons, squirt guns, buckets, you name it. Most of them were filled with colored dyes, especially red.

The first step was to protect the lens.

In my mind I had pictured this water fight in a field or open space. The reality is that most people simply lob attacks from balconies and the tops of buildings, sending water balloons on the heads of people many stories below.

The reasonable questions for me to ask myself before doing this would be

“Is it worth going out in this?”

You never know when a bucket of dye may have your name on it.

“Is it safe?”

“Do I have the slightest idea what will happen or what I’m doing?”

However, none of these really occurred to me beforehand. The only question I was worried about was,

“How do I water-and-dye-proof my camera?”

This is especially important because the camera (and its lens) are not mine. They belong to World Next Door. They are also worth about the price of an international airline ticket. And if I broke them on such an obviously dangerous and risky endeavor, I might need to buy such an airline ticket to disappear for a while.

Okay, not really. But still, I don’t want to break the camera.

Yet I had only found out about Holi the night before, and I had no special water-proofing equipment. I had to protect the camera, but I also needed to be able to fully extend and retract the lens.

It’s all worth it to get shots like this.

And with stores closed and Holi tomorrow morning, I had to do all of this with the stuff I could find lying around in my room.

Time for some improvising.

Step 1: Waterproof the Lens

First, I needed to waterproof the lens. The plastic packaging for a roll of toilet paper seemed to fit the bill, and I could use the screw-on lens guard to create a seal. Flexible, waterproof seal? Check.

Step 2: Add an absorbent layer

I knew that if the water and dye beaded up, eventually it would run over the plastic until it found a hole. I needed something to absorb it instead. So I cut a hole in a small cloth shopping bag (the bags here are generally cheap cloth, not plastic) and used a discarded rubber band to hold it tight over the layer of plastic. Absorbent layer? Check.

Step 3: Protect the back of the camera

Usually I show pictures of how I see the world, but on my Holi excursion with full camera protection, this is how the world saw me.

Two layers didn’t feel like enough, and I worried my hands might get wet and hurt the camera, so I used a small clear plastic baggy to cover the back of the camera as well. It allowed me to see through it and use the buttons, but never actually touch the camera housing itself. Protection from face and hands? Check.

Step 4: Pray

Pray. Seriously, I had never improvised a camera protection system before. I was just guessing. Prayer was definitely called for.

Step 5: Adventure time

I am proud to announce that my camera did survive. Despite being hit with water cannons, dye balloons, and catching an entire bucket-load full in the back, when I unpeeled the soaked layer of cloth and plastic, the camera was completely dry.

I can now display my photos of the chaos and joy of urban Holi, and say without any hesitation,

“No cameras were harmed in the making of these pictures.”

As a World Next Door journalist, it can often be challenging to decide what to pack.

Packing for my trip to Rwanda (where I am working on the upcoming June issue of World Next Door Magazine), I had many questions running through my head.  Should I get washcloths or face wipes? The kind that’s already wet, or the kind needs water? Which takes up less space? Which one is heavier?

I have discovered that little luxuries go a long way.  I can’t bring 90 days of face wipes. But I can bring a washcloth and know that 10 pre-moistened face wipes will feel like gold on ten special days when the water is off and I really just want to wash my face.

And the clothes! You should have seen my friends helping with my clothes. First, there were mountains and mountains. Then, piles and piles. Finally stacks of three and laborious conversations like this:

Me: Please can I bring my blue and white striped pants?

Friend: Will you even wear those pants?

Me: I think so. I don’t know. Maybe.

Friend: But you already have the khaki and white striped ones.

Me: I know but I like the blue ones.

Friend: You can’t have both. Pick one.

And on and on and on: Please can I bring my 10th green tank top… Please can I bring my 8th pink Nike shorts… Please can I bring my hoodie and my fleece…?

In the end, few items made the 50lb cut.  In a mad dash, though, I stuffed two scarves into the side pockets the morning we left. I had no idea these beloved scarves would prove so useful!

Here you can see an actual photo of me with my magical scarf

Here are what I have discovered to be all the life-saving uses for my last-second seemingly superfluous scarf:

• As a head covering when it starts to pour
• As a light jacket when it turns instantly cold at 6pm
• As a pillow when I ball it up and take a bus nap
• As sunscreen when I wrap it around my peeling neck
• As a tie to secure my laundry bag to my messenger bag so I don’t leave my laundry in the taxi (again)
• As a blanket when I’m cold at night
• As a seat covering when the chair is wet or muddy
• To carry my baby. No, wait. That’s not me. But if I had one, I could totally carry it hands-free!
• As a head wrap when I’m on my 4th day of unwashed hair. What? Bucket bathing and/or ice cold showering is kind of tricky when your hair is a curly mess.
• As a purse when I tie it up and carry it over my shoulder
• As a lens case when I wrap it around an un-cased lens in the fanny pack. Did I just say fanny pack? I meant my rugged Eddie Bauer hip bag.
• As a microfiber cloth (it’s not) to clean any laptop screen, glasses, sunglasses, lens, phone or iPad
• As a fancy accessory when I’m wearing my blue shirt for the third time

And so me and my scarves have triumphed over the conservative packer that tried to talk me out of these types of indulgences. Ladies, if you travel, bring your scarf.

It’s magical!

Sometimes really amazing, deep experiences occur and they just hang around. You can just bask in them.

And sometimes a deep and sanctified experience is followed by something totally absurd.

This was one of those times.

Catfish nibbling your toes? Totally normal.

I had just visited a Sikh Temple, a beautiful place where I experienced some very unexpected lessons about the heart of God. Upon leaving the temple, I stopped by a large reflecting pond.  Surrounded by marble, it is used for reflection and purification.

I was encouraged to stick my feet in. That’s when I noticed the fish.

Fishy Kisses!

There were catfish, lots of catfish. I mean hundreds, perhaps thousands. And I quickly realized that, by accident or design, sticking your feet in often involves getting little “catfish kisses” as they sniff around your toes.

As I waded into the water, I grabbed my camera – a photographic angler with my toes as bait.

Apparently, my feet weren’t tasty enough for them to get too close, but here you can see one brave fellow poking me with his whiskers.

I know when I was a kid, I had a picture of missionary work or Christian travel being deeply spiritual and solemn and sacrificial. And occasionally it is. But I never would have pictured catfish kisses being part of it.

If I had, I think I would have started this job sooner.

I’m not going to lie. I am very excited right now. Why? Because World Next Door is hiring again!

This time, we’re looking for a full-time Office Manager. This person is going to handle all of the day-to-day administrative tasks necessary to keep our organization afloat.

Finances, travel admin, event planning, donor tracking, internship admin… You name it.

We’re going to need someone who absolutely loves the little details, but who can also think big-picture. We need someone who is very flexible, but also dedicated to excellence. We need someone who actually gets energized by checking things off a to-do list.

Could that person be you? Could it be someone you know?  You can find the complete job description at www.worldnextdoor.org/jobs.  Feel free to pass the link along to friends or family you think might be a good fit.

We’ll be accepting resumes until April 26, and will have interviews the following week. To apply or find out more, shoot us an email at jobs@worldnexdoor.org.

Like I said, I am absolutely thrilled about this hire. It may seem insignificant to some, but having someone dedicated to the administrative backbone of our organization is going to help us do what we do even better.

We can’t wait to see who God will bring us!

Meet Jeff Hartman, one of World Next Door’s newest year-long journalism fellows, currently on assignment in Rwanda. You can find “behind-the-scenes” thoughts by Jeff and the other WND writers here on the WND blog, but he will also be a major contributor for World Next Door Magazine, available now for tablets and smartphones
(click here for details).

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This blog post is going to date myself a little bit, but I hope it will give you a little insight into my technological evolution. An evolution that has peaked here in Kigali of all places.

Growing up in rural Wisconsin did not help to develop an instinct for technology. I spent much more time outside than behind a TV. Computers weren’t even around our neck of the woods.

My first exposure to computers and video games were the Atari and Commodore 64. My first attempt at computer programming was my senior year in high school. I successfully programmed a smiley face on the Apple IIe that would scroll down the computer screen.  It was awesome.

The first time I went overseas was in grad school. I went to Switzerland for a semester. The inTRA-net (not internet) was going strong on campus back home but Switzerland was still pretty primitive in this regard.

The computer lab at IWE (the Institute of Women for Excellence). It seems that everyone is online these days!

My first trip to the developing world was in 1999 when I went to Nepal. Computers were being used for basic activities such as word processing, but tourists had to comb Kathmandu for an internet café.

Phone calls home consisted of 2-5 second pauses between sentences. Needless to say, this was extremely frustrating and almost not worth it. Fortunately I have evolved slowly over the years and now have many means of communicating and access to information right at my fingertips.

When Brooke and I signed up to go to Rwanda, we immediately looked into ways we could communicate. We figured access to the internet and cell phones would be possible but not easy.  I assumed we’d be able to get in touch with friends and family back home, but I wondered if I’d be regressing back to my Nepal or Switzerland days.

Like many people, what we knew of Rwanda was basically that there was the genocide 19 years ago and, well, that it’s in Africa. Its relatively primitive and nowhere near the United States technologically …. Right?

Well, as you continue to follow us during our time in Rwanda, you will see a trend developing. Our impressions of Rwanda before arrival were nothing compared to the reality of what life is actually like in many parts of the country.

The first couple of days in country consisted of setting up all our data and cellular plans, setting up our computers for wi-fi, communicating extensively via Facebook and planning Skype meetings back home.

Brooke, me and Barry. Hard at work or checking Facebook? You decide.

We have been able to watch the elevation change with our cell phones while driving through the 1000 hills of Rwanda (note, highest we recorded was around 7000’) and we have been able the access the internet with our phones at Cyimbili, a rural coffee plantation only accessible by boat or vehicle on unpaved roads. In many ways it isn’t that much different than the US.

Yes, poverty exists on a grander scale here but the technology exists and is easily accessible to those with means. Its quite amazing how connected we are and how small the world feels as a result.

Perhaps the most amazing thing occurred this past Friday when I was sitting in my room watching my Wisconsin Badgers take on the Indiana Hoosiers in the Big Ten basketball semi-finals on my computer. I was lost in the game cheering as if I was at the game but in reality I was over 7,000 miles away!

I shut the computer off after the game and went to bed thanking God not just for my experience here in Kigali, but for allowing me, and the world, to share in this phenomenal new level of connectivity.

When I leave Rwanda, I may fly thousands of miles to reach my home, but my new friends and colleagues here will always be just a few clicks away.

Meet Brooke Hartman, one of World Next Door’s newest year-long journalism fellows, currently on assignment in Rwanda. You can find “behind-the-scenes” thoughts by Brooke and the other WND writers here on the WND blog, but she will also be a major contributor for World Next Door Magazine, available now for tablets and smartphones
(click here for details).

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Hi! I’m Brooke. Sometimes when I’m traveling, I have strange experiences that cause me look around, confused, and say: Wait, what? For example, that one time I hopped into the front seat of a taxi to see a raccoon on a leash in the pick-up truck in front of me.Yes, things like that.

Tip off at the National League basketball game I visited.

Here are some Wait, what? moments in Rwanda so far:

1. Waking up on March 6th, traveling all day, going to sleep at our destination, and waking up on March 8th. Wait, what? What happened to poor March 7th?!

2. Traveling halfway across the world to be greeted at the Kigali airport by long-time friends from Wisconsin. Wait, what? Our friend works for UNICEF? And her family is in the middle of a two-year assignment in Kigali?  Such an unexpected and providential coincidence!

3. Catching myself trying to absorb everything with that Oh-I-wish-we-didn’t-have-to-go-home-soon feeling, then realizing WE DON’T! Wait, what? We are here for two whole months? And this is our job for an entire year? Score.

4. Sleeping like a princess. Wait, what? The mosquito nets. They look like giant white flowing canopies.  Barry’s even has lace, which makes me wonder if he feels like a *special* princess.

The mosquito net in my room.

5. Waking up to Princess Barry doing Insanity in our little shared 10×12 foot common area every morning and then watching him sweat profusely through breakfast. Wait, what? Exercise? Early morning? Tiny space? No breeze? He may soon relocate to the gazebo as soon as he’s comfortable spotlighting his Insanity skills.

*I am a week late posting this. In fact, he HAS relocated to the gazebo, and the maintenance dudes sweep and stare, sweep and stare, sweep and stare.

6. Attending a National League Basketball game (Army Patriot Rwanda vs. the oldest team in Rwanda) with tens of Rwandans in the stands. Wait, what? Yes, tens of Rwandans.  Across the parking lot was the entire country at the football (soccer) stadium.

7. Taking a walk downtown and passing by the Tulane University office. Wait, what? That’s my graduate school! What are those guys doing here? Guess I’ll go find out.

8. Rwandans interchange “r” and “l” at random. Also “k” and “ch”. For example, Cyimbili is pronounced Chimbili or Chimbiri, and Kigali can be pronounced Chigali. ALARM is sometimes pronounced ARARM and Road is pronounced Load. You can imagine my surprise to hear all the talk lately about the Kenyan elections. Wait, what?!

9. Walking to breakfast each morning along a path covered with avocados that fell from the tree outside our room. Also in the tree outside our room: ten thousand giant hawks. Wait, what?