Friday, February 12, 2010
Simple Joys (November 29)
I like chocolate, sipping sweet wine, long conversation and comfortable silence. I like cold water, clack tea, the smell of baking bread and Grandma’s chocolate cake. I like green. I like goofy dancing, sad songs, bon fires and small children. I like the smell of rain and tomato leaves. I like a captivating book, proximity to water and a prolonged cuddle. I like wide open space, staring at the night sky and curling up in a ball. I like the feel of tears on my cheeks, a pencil on paper and the wind in my hair. I like swinging so high I feel weightless and laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
Randomness
So clearly I haven't updated my blog in a while. The problem is, at the beginning of my internship I wrote A LOT in my journal with the itention of censoring it and putting it online. But then I got behind. And more behind. And more and more behind. So now I have a few entries saved on my computer but they are entirely out of order. I have decided since I am disorderly and since my time in this country has disappeared so quickly (today is my last day at RDB) whoever of you might actually read this thing can get my thoughts and feelings in the totally random mixed up way they ususally occur to me.
Dates will be included with the random out-of-order entires. Think of putting it all in order like some kinda jigsaw puzzle sent especially to you all the way from Rwanda.
Bon apetit!
Dates will be included with the random out-of-order entires. Think of putting it all in order like some kinda jigsaw puzzle sent especially to you all the way from Rwanda.
Bon apetit!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
White Girl Can't Eat Chicken (September 22)
Since there was no food at the teacher’s lodging today and I was very hungry I went to the restaurant that UCK has a deal with and ordered lunch there. Well, one of the staff saw me being all Canadian and struggling to remove the meat from the bone of my chicken with my fork and knife and some degree of delicacy. He asked if he could help me and not sure what else to say I agreed. After washing his hands he proceeded to rip the meat from the bone for me with his fingers while I tried not to look absolutely mortified or laugh out loud from my embarrassment and draw attention to my ridiculous situation.
Other entertaining tidbits…
- I successfully navigated the Rwandan 3 cheek kiss greeting today for the first time. Woo!
- Conversation at the pub with Patrick and Vivens this evening revolved around cultural differences in marriage and domestic help. I learned that neither of these two grown men are able to make their own beds, never mind cook and clean for themselves!
Other entertaining tidbits…
- I successfully navigated the Rwandan 3 cheek kiss greeting today for the first time. Woo!
- Conversation at the pub with Patrick and Vivens this evening revolved around cultural differences in marriage and domestic help. I learned that neither of these two grown men are able to make their own beds, never mind cook and clean for themselves!
Family Dinner (September 21)
After returning to Gitarama and taking a short nap in my room I endeavored to follow Patrick’s terrible directions to reach the point on the main road in the city where he was waiting for me. As such is my luck, my phone ran out of minutes as I was doing this. Luckily I managed to find him without incident and he introduced me to his sister Bijoux. We then set out to walk to Vivens’ house for dinner.
The walk to Vivens’ house turned out to be quite a trek since he doesn’t live in Gitarama-proper but in Byimana. Nearly an hour later the three of us arrived and I couldn’t help but feel that the shower I had taken just before leaving was all for naught. After ringing the bell, being let in the gate and led into the house I realized this was to be no small dinner party – in attendance were Vivens’, his wife Clarisse, myself, Patrick, Bijoux, Vivens’ sister, brother, brother-in-law and niece as well as his best friend/neighbor, David. Most everyone was settled in the living room of Vivens and Clarisse’s beautiful and large house chatting while Clarisse bustled about making sure everyone always had more beer or Fanta to drink. Vivens’ mother and father also joined us and after introductions (me attempting to greet them in Kinyarwanda) and once again embarking on the weird half-hug Vivens’ reminded me to say amakuru? They were very curious to learn more about me but speak only the local language so that made things very difficult. Vivens translated a few times and at one point his father challenged his mother to ask me for some particular piece of information about me herself since she didn’t deem his answer satisfactory. This made everyone laugh and me smile once the transaction was translated.
At one point one of the house girls brought out Linda, Vivens and Clarisses’ beautiful and very big 11 month old daughter. In true style of one so young she chose to play strange and cling to her dad for quite some time. While she turned away from almost everyone in near tears, she was eventually persuaded that David wasn’t so bad and passed some time on his lap. Some time thereafter the strange looking white girl was far too interesting and seemingly safe enough to visit and so Linda walked (with help) right past her Uncle Felix to me. Like every other baby I’ve met, the more any individual tried to get Linda to come to them the more adamant she was in her refusal, thus I think my choice to let her be helped my case very much.
Dinner was meat that I think was slow cooked with carrots and green bananas and onion and was served on four or five large platters each with multiple forks. This meal was probably the best thing I have eaten since I arrived in Rwanda. Eating behavior, aside from everyone attacking the platter nearest him/her with a fork and the help of the people sitting nearest them, seemed to follow the general idea of “do what comes natural.” By that I mean that you use whatever implement is most effective to eat any particular piece of food – fork, fingers etc. – and after chewing all the meat off a bone simply spit it out and move on. I had seen similar behavior before (ex. Eating brochette right off the skeer where at home if would remove the meat onto my plate and eat it with my fork) and am beginning to embrace it. Frankly, eating with a greater emphasis on function rather than form (fancy table manners) is a bit refreshing and certainly more efficient. And Clarisse promised to show my how to make the dish we ate so hopefully I might be able to recreate it when I return home.
After digesting dinner for a bit Vivens made a small speech welcoming everyone to his home and me to Rwanda and essentially to his family and inviting me to join them again. This practice of making a small speech at such gatherings of friends seems to be quite common here (Apollo did the same thing at his house, after we ate, for Hannah’s farewell) so I think I may have to get better at responding to such gestures as I generally don’t know what to say.
Daily Smiles
- Navigating the half-hug with considerably greater success this time relative to last time.
- Linda and everything about her. She’s absolutely adorable. I love children.
- The unavoidable “one last round” biting Patrick in the butt more than me for once!
- The ride home, during part of which 4 of us were packed into the backseat of Vivens’ car.
The walk to Vivens’ house turned out to be quite a trek since he doesn’t live in Gitarama-proper but in Byimana. Nearly an hour later the three of us arrived and I couldn’t help but feel that the shower I had taken just before leaving was all for naught. After ringing the bell, being let in the gate and led into the house I realized this was to be no small dinner party – in attendance were Vivens’, his wife Clarisse, myself, Patrick, Bijoux, Vivens’ sister, brother, brother-in-law and niece as well as his best friend/neighbor, David. Most everyone was settled in the living room of Vivens and Clarisse’s beautiful and large house chatting while Clarisse bustled about making sure everyone always had more beer or Fanta to drink. Vivens’ mother and father also joined us and after introductions (me attempting to greet them in Kinyarwanda) and once again embarking on the weird half-hug Vivens’ reminded me to say amakuru? They were very curious to learn more about me but speak only the local language so that made things very difficult. Vivens translated a few times and at one point his father challenged his mother to ask me for some particular piece of information about me herself since she didn’t deem his answer satisfactory. This made everyone laugh and me smile once the transaction was translated.
At one point one of the house girls brought out Linda, Vivens and Clarisses’ beautiful and very big 11 month old daughter. In true style of one so young she chose to play strange and cling to her dad for quite some time. While she turned away from almost everyone in near tears, she was eventually persuaded that David wasn’t so bad and passed some time on his lap. Some time thereafter the strange looking white girl was far too interesting and seemingly safe enough to visit and so Linda walked (with help) right past her Uncle Felix to me. Like every other baby I’ve met, the more any individual tried to get Linda to come to them the more adamant she was in her refusal, thus I think my choice to let her be helped my case very much.
Dinner was meat that I think was slow cooked with carrots and green bananas and onion and was served on four or five large platters each with multiple forks. This meal was probably the best thing I have eaten since I arrived in Rwanda. Eating behavior, aside from everyone attacking the platter nearest him/her with a fork and the help of the people sitting nearest them, seemed to follow the general idea of “do what comes natural.” By that I mean that you use whatever implement is most effective to eat any particular piece of food – fork, fingers etc. – and after chewing all the meat off a bone simply spit it out and move on. I had seen similar behavior before (ex. Eating brochette right off the skeer where at home if would remove the meat onto my plate and eat it with my fork) and am beginning to embrace it. Frankly, eating with a greater emphasis on function rather than form (fancy table manners) is a bit refreshing and certainly more efficient. And Clarisse promised to show my how to make the dish we ate so hopefully I might be able to recreate it when I return home.
After digesting dinner for a bit Vivens made a small speech welcoming everyone to his home and me to Rwanda and essentially to his family and inviting me to join them again. This practice of making a small speech at such gatherings of friends seems to be quite common here (Apollo did the same thing at his house, after we ate, for Hannah’s farewell) so I think I may have to get better at responding to such gestures as I generally don’t know what to say.
Daily Smiles
- Navigating the half-hug with considerably greater success this time relative to last time.
- Linda and everything about her. She’s absolutely adorable. I love children.
- The unavoidable “one last round” biting Patrick in the butt more than me for once!
- The ride home, during part of which 4 of us were packed into the backseat of Vivens’ car.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Kibuye Weekend (September 19 – 21)
Since Patrick had not been home in a while and since I was new to Rwanda and had not yet made the journey Patrick offered to take me to spend the rest of the long weekend in Rubengera – his hometown – complete with a visit to the nearby tourist destination of Kibuye and Lake Kivu.
After the ATER meeting we went to catch the bus that would be our transport. The bus was of the same style as the one Tina and I took in Kigali and since it runs a route from Kigali to Kibuye and we were getting on part way, in Gitarama, all the good seats were clearly taken. Thus, I spent the ride on one of the fold up seat in the aisle with by bags on my lap. Overall the journey was not bad – the young man sitting next to me did his best to help me when the time came for me to attempt to awkwardly stand up and let people pass me to get off the bus and asked to borrow my book. Thus he spent the time before the sun went down reading slowly through the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh yes, and I’m pretty sure a woman in the front third of the bus got car sickness as there came a point when the guy next to her stood up abruptly and she could be seen trying to wipe something up. Shortly thereafter a distinct putrid smell wafted back to me. I vowed to do my best to sit next to people who look like they have strong stomachs from then on.
We arrived in Rubengera at about 6:30 pm and made our way to Patrick’s mother’s house to stash our things. At the house I was introduced to Patrick’s Grandmother – a very cute thin old lady who I never saw eat over the course of the weekend but who I did see put back a few beers. After that we went to the pub that Patrick’s mom owns in town and had a few drinks. It was here that I met Patrick’s mother – who only speaks Kinyarwanda. We said hello and she asked amakuru? which I understood but quickly realized I did not know the answer to. Throughout the night many people stopped and greeted us and exchanged words with Patrick. One of Patrick’s friends, Jean Marie, also joined us. He was already a few beers in and proceeded to try and woo me with some terrible French but it wasn’t long before we returned to Patrick’s mother’s house for dinner and rest.
The next morning we slept “late” for Rwanda, waking at about 9 am. Patrick showed me a video compilation of photos from a vacation a few years ago with friends and family. This sentimental side of Patrick was unexpected. After bathing and breakfast (bread dipped in egg and fried, kinda like French toast but, sadly, without the cinnamon and syrup) Jean Marie dropped in and continued his efforts from the night before, much to my embarrassment. I did my best to be polite and clearly uninterested. Apparently at least Grandma got the picture as she made a joke in Kinyarwanda at Jean Marie’s expense.
Thankfully it wasn’t long before all of us headed to the pub – Patrick, his mother and Grandmother, Jean Marie and myself – and almost immediately after it started to storm. Loving the heavy rain and wicked winds I took a couple videos on my camera while Patrick laughed at me. Just before the storms had ended we were joined by Patrick’s sister Angelique (I still am not sure if she is his biological sister or just a very close family friend as they tend to use the words sister and brother very liberally here and don’t understand the distinction they convey in Canada), a fascinating and kind male friend of hers who I dubbed “Awesome Guy” in my head since I can’t remember his name for the life of me, and by Patrick’s fiancée, Alida. Once again I was surprised by Patrick, I’d had absolutely no idea he had a fiancée.
Angelique quickly became the life of the party – being a vocal and lively participant in all conversations, telling jokes and drinking Mutzig. We then at lunch and had some drinks in the leisurely African style I am still getting used to. Even though she spoke in Kinyarwanda I could tell Patrick’s mom didn’t think I’d taken enough food and was trying to feed me more though I managed to fend her off more successfully than I have done to everyone else who has tried to overfeed me so far. I was however harassed into having a beer with lunch – Patrick argued that my taking water was clearly a step back in preparation for a leap forward (into beer).
After lunch Angelique, Alida and I piled into the back of Awesome Guy’s car, while he and Patrick took the front seats and we all headed to Kibuye and Lake Kivu. The drive was beautiful, filled with huge green hills and winding roads, as are most drives in this country. The drive ended with a brief tour of Kibuye town, including special note for a church where more than 10 000 people were killed during the genocide, and stops at several of the resorts in the area which cater mostly to European tourists. By this time I learned that Alida was indeed quite quiet, that Awesome Guy spoke English. Also, broken conversations in French with Angelique were increasing, especially as she took me by the hand and we headed down to the lakeshore to dip our toes in the water.
Lake Kivu is so beautiful it stuns you into silence. The water is an extremely tranquil blue-grey with massive hills rising out of it on all sides and in the middle with majestic grace. There are resorts on the lake but not the kind you find in North America. They are nestled into the sides of the hills and make no attempt to impose or dominate the dramatic landscape. The closed comparison I can some up with to anything in Canada is Lake Louise - the water of Lake Kivu has the same peace to it. That’s where the similarities end though. There is no colossus of an overpriced hotel and the small parking lot is hidden on the far side of the resort buildings from the lake rather than next to it. Most distinctly lacking are the throngs of tourists snapping photos and disturbing the hushed silence. Instead you are left with the near illusion of being at your own lake front cottage with a private beach. I never wanted to leave, I could lose myself staring out at that water forever.
My fantasies of simple quiet isolated living were destroyed by a fisherman in a wooden boat who paddled by singing loudly and off key at the top of his lungs. Angelique looked at me with big excited eyes and said “Tu veux?” When I nodded she ran off to the lakeshore, yelling after the fisherman in Kinyarwanda. I followed, ignoring Patrick’s protests that “it’s not safe,” and after Angelique finished speaking with the fisherman the two of us put on life jackets and climbed into the boat for a short ride. The boat ride was quite fun – the fisherman continued to sing his song which Angelique translated to be something like “the lake is good, the boat is good, brochette is good, and beer too!” I told Angelique about Sam, Mark and I attempting to canoe in Kenora and she told me about the car accident that killed her parents and sister three months ago. I couldn’t come up with the appropriate French words to say “I’m sorry.”
When we returned to the rest of the group there were some tasty small friend fish waiting for us and a little more conversation before getting back in the car and heading to Kibuye town. In town we stopped at a restaurant owned by Angelique’s aunt where we had another drink while she visited family and Patrick caught up with some of his acquaintances. During this time I got to have wonderful conversation with Awesome Guy about Rwandan culture and weddings, about him seeking to buy some property in Quebec and about his vacation time in Rwanda while he is between contracts with the UN! I also reached the conclusion that this guy is fascinating and I hope I will meet him again.
We left Kibuye for Rubengera just as it was getting dark and shortly after we got on the highway it started to rain again. This was particularly treacherous as night here is incredibly black (the moon and stars are usually obscured by clouds and mist; by comparison nights at home are really more of a midnight blue but certainly not black) and the rain was very strong and coming in the broken drivers window. Angelique held a piece of clothing to cover much of the window to keep the rain out and we drove slowly and with great caution for the duration of the journey to Patick’s mom’s pub.
We found Jean Marie at the pub, and he joined us at a table for the standard drinks and conversation. During this time I tried to tell the story of Aminou’s foreigner moment and the difference between being a regular and being regular however when I got to the end of the story I realized I didn’t know the French word for “poo” and could only say “number 2.” Awesome guy was the only one who understood me and thought this was pretty funny. Since no one else got it I tried again only to come to the same roadblock in my vocabulary and this time “number 2” was so funny that Awesome Guy actually got up and left the table he was laughing so hard. By the time I explained what I meant, through laughter and embarrassment, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any funny left for the rest of the group.
Shortly thereafter we parted, the two women and Awesome Guy to return to Kigali and Patrick and I to head back to the house for dinner. It wasn’t long before the Kigali party was at the house though, there was to be no more driving tonight, they’d return in the morning. I tried my very best to stay up until everyone else was ready for bead but I was totally beat and it was pretty obvious. I felt like the exhausted child at Christmas dinner who is determined to fight sleep with every bit of strength he can muster for fear of missing the interesting things that will surely happen after he is asleep.
The next morning after breakfast Patrick took me for a walk around his hometown. He showed me the hospital where he was treated for malaria, his primary school and that of a few others, the tree behind which many women have their babies when they can’t make the whole walk to the hospital before giving birth and a women’s cooperative produce market. We then returned to the pub for one last drink and this time I was able to bargain for a small beer instead of a big one. Unfortunately, over the course of the weekend the bartender somehow got in one the joke and brought me a bit Mutzig anyway!
Daily Smiles
- Patrick’s grandma taking off her headscarf and running her hands through her hair before busting out a model pose for Patrick’s camera.
- Still being very unused to the idea of eating dinner after returning home from the pub rather than before you go out.
- Attempting to wait politely for Patrick to start eating breakfast only to be forced to admit that I was also waiting to see how to eat the egg-toast.
- Shoes in the house – if it’s your house you trade your outdoor shoes for flip flops that you wear around the house. If it’s not your house you wear your shoes right in (most of the floors are concrete or tile). When you reach the edge of a carpet you remove your shoes, and if you’re wearing them you also remove your socks. Seeing Jean Marie do this made me think of KO doing the same thing at my front door and me thinking he was mildly crazy before shrugging it off.
- At lunch, Angelique saying she’s going to have to work to remember all her French from school so she can speak to this umuzungu. Patrick’s mom saying she’s going to have to go back to school for the same reason.
- Watching Patrick’s mom add extra food to the plates of the other women without their permission.
- Explaining to Patrick and awesome guy why I wasn’t eating right away. That for me it’s impolite to start eating before everyone has their food. And why I wasn’t eating much. Because in my house you were always allowed to go for seconds but you must finish everything on your plate so it’s better to start small.
- Angelique going everywhere barefoot and her extra emphatic speech noises (there are a lot of noises that are a regular part of speech here, and they have specific meanings. Does that make them words?).
- Angelique always asking “Ça va?” and whispering “Je t’aime” in my ear as we hugged goodbye.
- The continuous challenge between Patrick and I regarding what constitutes flat. People in this country have no idea.
- The random little girl in the street who cowered and cried in fear when she saw me. That's a new reaction for a child seeing a white girl. I tried not to laugh too loudly.
- Actually managing to nap a little on one of the little seats on such a jaunty bus ride back to Gitarama.
After the ATER meeting we went to catch the bus that would be our transport. The bus was of the same style as the one Tina and I took in Kigali and since it runs a route from Kigali to Kibuye and we were getting on part way, in Gitarama, all the good seats were clearly taken. Thus, I spent the ride on one of the fold up seat in the aisle with by bags on my lap. Overall the journey was not bad – the young man sitting next to me did his best to help me when the time came for me to attempt to awkwardly stand up and let people pass me to get off the bus and asked to borrow my book. Thus he spent the time before the sun went down reading slowly through the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh yes, and I’m pretty sure a woman in the front third of the bus got car sickness as there came a point when the guy next to her stood up abruptly and she could be seen trying to wipe something up. Shortly thereafter a distinct putrid smell wafted back to me. I vowed to do my best to sit next to people who look like they have strong stomachs from then on.
We arrived in Rubengera at about 6:30 pm and made our way to Patrick’s mother’s house to stash our things. At the house I was introduced to Patrick’s Grandmother – a very cute thin old lady who I never saw eat over the course of the weekend but who I did see put back a few beers. After that we went to the pub that Patrick’s mom owns in town and had a few drinks. It was here that I met Patrick’s mother – who only speaks Kinyarwanda. We said hello and she asked amakuru? which I understood but quickly realized I did not know the answer to. Throughout the night many people stopped and greeted us and exchanged words with Patrick. One of Patrick’s friends, Jean Marie, also joined us. He was already a few beers in and proceeded to try and woo me with some terrible French but it wasn’t long before we returned to Patrick’s mother’s house for dinner and rest.
The next morning we slept “late” for Rwanda, waking at about 9 am. Patrick showed me a video compilation of photos from a vacation a few years ago with friends and family. This sentimental side of Patrick was unexpected. After bathing and breakfast (bread dipped in egg and fried, kinda like French toast but, sadly, without the cinnamon and syrup) Jean Marie dropped in and continued his efforts from the night before, much to my embarrassment. I did my best to be polite and clearly uninterested. Apparently at least Grandma got the picture as she made a joke in Kinyarwanda at Jean Marie’s expense.
Thankfully it wasn’t long before all of us headed to the pub – Patrick, his mother and Grandmother, Jean Marie and myself – and almost immediately after it started to storm. Loving the heavy rain and wicked winds I took a couple videos on my camera while Patrick laughed at me. Just before the storms had ended we were joined by Patrick’s sister Angelique (I still am not sure if she is his biological sister or just a very close family friend as they tend to use the words sister and brother very liberally here and don’t understand the distinction they convey in Canada), a fascinating and kind male friend of hers who I dubbed “Awesome Guy” in my head since I can’t remember his name for the life of me, and by Patrick’s fiancée, Alida. Once again I was surprised by Patrick, I’d had absolutely no idea he had a fiancée.
Angelique quickly became the life of the party – being a vocal and lively participant in all conversations, telling jokes and drinking Mutzig. We then at lunch and had some drinks in the leisurely African style I am still getting used to. Even though she spoke in Kinyarwanda I could tell Patrick’s mom didn’t think I’d taken enough food and was trying to feed me more though I managed to fend her off more successfully than I have done to everyone else who has tried to overfeed me so far. I was however harassed into having a beer with lunch – Patrick argued that my taking water was clearly a step back in preparation for a leap forward (into beer).
After lunch Angelique, Alida and I piled into the back of Awesome Guy’s car, while he and Patrick took the front seats and we all headed to Kibuye and Lake Kivu. The drive was beautiful, filled with huge green hills and winding roads, as are most drives in this country. The drive ended with a brief tour of Kibuye town, including special note for a church where more than 10 000 people were killed during the genocide, and stops at several of the resorts in the area which cater mostly to European tourists. By this time I learned that Alida was indeed quite quiet, that Awesome Guy spoke English. Also, broken conversations in French with Angelique were increasing, especially as she took me by the hand and we headed down to the lakeshore to dip our toes in the water.
Lake Kivu is so beautiful it stuns you into silence. The water is an extremely tranquil blue-grey with massive hills rising out of it on all sides and in the middle with majestic grace. There are resorts on the lake but not the kind you find in North America. They are nestled into the sides of the hills and make no attempt to impose or dominate the dramatic landscape. The closed comparison I can some up with to anything in Canada is Lake Louise - the water of Lake Kivu has the same peace to it. That’s where the similarities end though. There is no colossus of an overpriced hotel and the small parking lot is hidden on the far side of the resort buildings from the lake rather than next to it. Most distinctly lacking are the throngs of tourists snapping photos and disturbing the hushed silence. Instead you are left with the near illusion of being at your own lake front cottage with a private beach. I never wanted to leave, I could lose myself staring out at that water forever.
My fantasies of simple quiet isolated living were destroyed by a fisherman in a wooden boat who paddled by singing loudly and off key at the top of his lungs. Angelique looked at me with big excited eyes and said “Tu veux?” When I nodded she ran off to the lakeshore, yelling after the fisherman in Kinyarwanda. I followed, ignoring Patrick’s protests that “it’s not safe,” and after Angelique finished speaking with the fisherman the two of us put on life jackets and climbed into the boat for a short ride. The boat ride was quite fun – the fisherman continued to sing his song which Angelique translated to be something like “the lake is good, the boat is good, brochette is good, and beer too!” I told Angelique about Sam, Mark and I attempting to canoe in Kenora and she told me about the car accident that killed her parents and sister three months ago. I couldn’t come up with the appropriate French words to say “I’m sorry.”
When we returned to the rest of the group there were some tasty small friend fish waiting for us and a little more conversation before getting back in the car and heading to Kibuye town. In town we stopped at a restaurant owned by Angelique’s aunt where we had another drink while she visited family and Patrick caught up with some of his acquaintances. During this time I got to have wonderful conversation with Awesome Guy about Rwandan culture and weddings, about him seeking to buy some property in Quebec and about his vacation time in Rwanda while he is between contracts with the UN! I also reached the conclusion that this guy is fascinating and I hope I will meet him again.
We left Kibuye for Rubengera just as it was getting dark and shortly after we got on the highway it started to rain again. This was particularly treacherous as night here is incredibly black (the moon and stars are usually obscured by clouds and mist; by comparison nights at home are really more of a midnight blue but certainly not black) and the rain was very strong and coming in the broken drivers window. Angelique held a piece of clothing to cover much of the window to keep the rain out and we drove slowly and with great caution for the duration of the journey to Patick’s mom’s pub.
We found Jean Marie at the pub, and he joined us at a table for the standard drinks and conversation. During this time I tried to tell the story of Aminou’s foreigner moment and the difference between being a regular and being regular however when I got to the end of the story I realized I didn’t know the French word for “poo” and could only say “number 2.” Awesome guy was the only one who understood me and thought this was pretty funny. Since no one else got it I tried again only to come to the same roadblock in my vocabulary and this time “number 2” was so funny that Awesome Guy actually got up and left the table he was laughing so hard. By the time I explained what I meant, through laughter and embarrassment, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any funny left for the rest of the group.
Shortly thereafter we parted, the two women and Awesome Guy to return to Kigali and Patrick and I to head back to the house for dinner. It wasn’t long before the Kigali party was at the house though, there was to be no more driving tonight, they’d return in the morning. I tried my very best to stay up until everyone else was ready for bead but I was totally beat and it was pretty obvious. I felt like the exhausted child at Christmas dinner who is determined to fight sleep with every bit of strength he can muster for fear of missing the interesting things that will surely happen after he is asleep.
The next morning after breakfast Patrick took me for a walk around his hometown. He showed me the hospital where he was treated for malaria, his primary school and that of a few others, the tree behind which many women have their babies when they can’t make the whole walk to the hospital before giving birth and a women’s cooperative produce market. We then returned to the pub for one last drink and this time I was able to bargain for a small beer instead of a big one. Unfortunately, over the course of the weekend the bartender somehow got in one the joke and brought me a bit Mutzig anyway!
Daily Smiles
- Patrick’s grandma taking off her headscarf and running her hands through her hair before busting out a model pose for Patrick’s camera.
- Still being very unused to the idea of eating dinner after returning home from the pub rather than before you go out.
- Attempting to wait politely for Patrick to start eating breakfast only to be forced to admit that I was also waiting to see how to eat the egg-toast.
- Shoes in the house – if it’s your house you trade your outdoor shoes for flip flops that you wear around the house. If it’s not your house you wear your shoes right in (most of the floors are concrete or tile). When you reach the edge of a carpet you remove your shoes, and if you’re wearing them you also remove your socks. Seeing Jean Marie do this made me think of KO doing the same thing at my front door and me thinking he was mildly crazy before shrugging it off.
- At lunch, Angelique saying she’s going to have to work to remember all her French from school so she can speak to this umuzungu. Patrick’s mom saying she’s going to have to go back to school for the same reason.
- Watching Patrick’s mom add extra food to the plates of the other women without their permission.
- Explaining to Patrick and awesome guy why I wasn’t eating right away. That for me it’s impolite to start eating before everyone has their food. And why I wasn’t eating much. Because in my house you were always allowed to go for seconds but you must finish everything on your plate so it’s better to start small.
- Angelique going everywhere barefoot and her extra emphatic speech noises (there are a lot of noises that are a regular part of speech here, and they have specific meanings. Does that make them words?).
- Angelique always asking “Ça va?” and whispering “Je t’aime” in my ear as we hugged goodbye.
- The continuous challenge between Patrick and I regarding what constitutes flat. People in this country have no idea.
- The random little girl in the street who cowered and cried in fear when she saw me. That's a new reaction for a child seeing a white girl. I tried not to laugh too loudly.
- Actually managing to nap a little on one of the little seats on such a jaunty bus ride back to Gitarama.
Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (September 19)
Students in Rwanda face a particular challenge; historically their education has been delivered almost entirely in French while at home they speak exclusively the local language, Kinyarwanda. This would make them no different than the typical Canadian immersion student except the government recently decreed that the language of education is to be changed, and all classes at all levels are to be delivered in English as of the beginning of the new school year, in January 2010. Effectively, this means that all of the students currently enrolled in school must switch the language in which they learn to one in which both they and their teachers are less fluent. While this challenge doesn’t seem to be having a significant impact on the attitude of the students (select grades have already made the switch), many teachers are concerned about how implementing this plan will affect the learning ability of students, especially since the change was legislated without a corresponding implementation plan or effort to upgrade the language of many lecturers. Many the teachers are not comfortable with English, particularly in small and rural centres, making it likely that many courses will continue to be taught in French though students will have to complete examinations in English regardless.
Enter the Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (ATER).
Brand new, this alliance of current and well-trained English teachers in Rwanda aims to expand the use and influence of the English language in Rwanda. Immediately, they wish to support the transition of the language of education from French to English. This meeting was meant to be the first official gathering of potential members of a yet unofficial organization. While working out the logistics of legalizing themselves, the members of ATER were also setting about creating a proposal for the US Peace Corps that would see them partner in efforts to increase the English language proficiency of teachers throughout the country.
For me, while I commend the efforts of these individuals to better the quality of education in their country and to start finding solutions to a problem before it bites Rwanda in its proverbial ass, the proceedings of the meeting were perhaps more interesting to me than the content itself. It was really cool to be in the groundbreaking meeting of an organization of people who are passionate about something and wish to work to make a change for the greater good rather than for individual gains. It was also interesting to observe the interactions within the meeting – another example of culture not seen by the typical tourist The meeting started about an hour late (yay African Time) with Patrick, the chairman, explaining the agenda he created. After that, another meeting member who understood the Peace Corps initiative quite well essentially took over the meeting. When it came time to share ideas for the proposal each person in the room was specifically given the opportunity to speak, though what I considered to be the most modern and business-like idea took several tries to by heard and understood. After deciding on some guiding principles and the general content of the proposal, it was divided into sections and each was delegated and a timeline set (I later learned that this timeline was not very strictly adhered to as it would have been at home).
The other cool thing for me was to be taken very seriously during the meeting. My opinion was actively sought several times (thankfully my work in AIESEC gave me a few useful organizational tips) and was closely listened to. The list of ideas I gave to Patrick at the end of the meeting, I was told, was worked into the final draft. I suppose I am still very used to being dismissed as “young” by “adults.” Being treated as such an authority (or at least feeling as though I was) was both exhilarating and nerve racking.
After the meeting, naturally, was time to celebrate. Celebrating such a job well done involves everyone who participated (or at least the main players) heading to a local pub for food and drinks over a period of several hours. Thankfully, I packed before I left the room in the morning as Patrick and I only had a few minutes to spare between the celebration and catching our bus to Kibuye for the rest of the weekend.
Daily Smiles
- Shaking hands with every one of the students in the primary school outreach programs as they passed where I was sitting chatting with one of the UCK students.
- Getting the same set of questions about age and marriage once again from the aforementioned kids.
- Reading Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten while waiting for the meeting to start – this book is both hilarious and remarkably insightful.
- African time
- Speaking to Bona on the phone and realizing after I hung up that “I will pass” may not have meant I’ll pass on this opportunity but I’ll pass by to see you and wishing I’d clarified what he’d meant.
- Patrick checking to make sure I’d ordered food at lunch (most of the conversation etc. was in Kinyarwanda, most especially the ordering) and Rukundo answering “Yes, she ordered….in French!”
Enter the Association of Teachers of English in Rwanda (ATER).
Brand new, this alliance of current and well-trained English teachers in Rwanda aims to expand the use and influence of the English language in Rwanda. Immediately, they wish to support the transition of the language of education from French to English. This meeting was meant to be the first official gathering of potential members of a yet unofficial organization. While working out the logistics of legalizing themselves, the members of ATER were also setting about creating a proposal for the US Peace Corps that would see them partner in efforts to increase the English language proficiency of teachers throughout the country.
For me, while I commend the efforts of these individuals to better the quality of education in their country and to start finding solutions to a problem before it bites Rwanda in its proverbial ass, the proceedings of the meeting were perhaps more interesting to me than the content itself. It was really cool to be in the groundbreaking meeting of an organization of people who are passionate about something and wish to work to make a change for the greater good rather than for individual gains. It was also interesting to observe the interactions within the meeting – another example of culture not seen by the typical tourist The meeting started about an hour late (yay African Time) with Patrick, the chairman, explaining the agenda he created. After that, another meeting member who understood the Peace Corps initiative quite well essentially took over the meeting. When it came time to share ideas for the proposal each person in the room was specifically given the opportunity to speak, though what I considered to be the most modern and business-like idea took several tries to by heard and understood. After deciding on some guiding principles and the general content of the proposal, it was divided into sections and each was delegated and a timeline set (I later learned that this timeline was not very strictly adhered to as it would have been at home).
The other cool thing for me was to be taken very seriously during the meeting. My opinion was actively sought several times (thankfully my work in AIESEC gave me a few useful organizational tips) and was closely listened to. The list of ideas I gave to Patrick at the end of the meeting, I was told, was worked into the final draft. I suppose I am still very used to being dismissed as “young” by “adults.” Being treated as such an authority (or at least feeling as though I was) was both exhilarating and nerve racking.
After the meeting, naturally, was time to celebrate. Celebrating such a job well done involves everyone who participated (or at least the main players) heading to a local pub for food and drinks over a period of several hours. Thankfully, I packed before I left the room in the morning as Patrick and I only had a few minutes to spare between the celebration and catching our bus to Kibuye for the rest of the weekend.
Daily Smiles
- Shaking hands with every one of the students in the primary school outreach programs as they passed where I was sitting chatting with one of the UCK students.
- Getting the same set of questions about age and marriage once again from the aforementioned kids.
- Reading Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten while waiting for the meeting to start – this book is both hilarious and remarkably insightful.
- African time
- Speaking to Bona on the phone and realizing after I hung up that “I will pass” may not have meant I’ll pass on this opportunity but I’ll pass by to see you and wishing I’d clarified what he’d meant.
- Patrick checking to make sure I’d ordered food at lunch (most of the conversation etc. was in Kinyarwanda, most especially the ordering) and Rukundo answering “Yes, she ordered….in French!”
Friday, October 23, 2009
School
Classes here in Rwanda are very, very different from classes at home. Aside from the expected lack of technology, the style of teaching and of learning is very different, as are the associated attitudes.
The typical classroom is quite large; I would guess roughly 50 students though I am terrible at making such estimates. Students are required to wear uniforms, mid-calf skirts for girls and long shorts or pants for boys, usually with a button-up shirt. By North American standards most of the classrooms are very poorly equipped – containing hand-made wooden desks with attached bench seats (students often pack three of themselves onto these benches in a manner that would, I think, be uncomfortably close for any Canadian), a larger equally wooden bureau for the teacher (who continues to move from class to class through the end of secondary school) and large blackboards at the front. Classrooms are generally unadorned, with no pictures, tables or other learning materials on the walls.
The style of teaching is almost uniformly that of a lecture, with the teacher speaking on the subject at the front of the room and writing corresponding notes on the blackboard. Most teachers, especially those who teach sciences, wear lab coats to class for their lectures. There is little consideration of different learning styles and only a few exercises given at the end of each class. Classes are both less and more interactive than those in Canada. There are fewer “toys” or other objects for the students to learn with, fewer demonstrations and models, but many simple questions are asked of the students as the lecture proceeds. To be a kinesthetic learner or to be dyslexic in one of these classes would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of consideration and versatility in teaching styles.
The students are responsible for cleaning the board for the teacher and one student who serves as classroom manager is responsible for having a supply of chalk for the teacher and also of attempting to maintain order in the class – mostly by banging on the desk or hissing to quiet students down. Generally, there are far fewer discipline issues in these classes than in Canadian ones, students don’t act out aggressively or even actively challenge authority. What the teacher says is taken as fact. While the students still seem to learn quite a lot this makes for two huge disparities relative to students in Canada, at least so far as I am able to perceive. Firstly, students are not well equipped to think critically, about just about anything. To be fair I’m not sure how much critical thinking I learned in public school or if most of it came from university, but it is clear that nothing the teacher says in questioned and students are not encouraged to criticize information and ask why as much as students in Canada. Second, students almost completely and totally lack creativity. When I asked the students in the girls school to write something using the pictures of Canada as inspiration I got almost exclusively descriptions of what they saw in the pictures and perhaps a few very reasonable inferences. My encouragements to write a story, to “make something up about the man who lives in the lighthouse” were pretty much completely ignored. Even explaining that so long as they used English they could not possibly be wrong didn’t help. Students are concerned with having the correct answer and little else, and the nature of the schools encourages this pattern of thought.
As negative as this sounds, students tend to approach learning with an eagerness and tenacity distinctly lacking in nearly all their Canadian counterparts. Students generally pay close attention in class and take incredibly neat and complete notes. When a question is asked of the class students are eager to answer, nearly all of them raising their hands, calling quietly “me, teacher!” and making snapping noises with their fingers in hopes of being chosen to answer the question. The opportunity to write the answer on the board rather than simply reply orally only increases the collective excitement to demonstrate knowledge. Equally impressive is the tendency of students to be able answer questions on material taught only a day or two before, implying that studies are taken quite seriously by most and that students consider themselves as primarily responsible for their own learning.
Part of me suspects the eagerness to learn stems at least partly in the fact that education is not a given in Rwanda. Recently the government has said that each child has a right to seven years of primary education and, if I recall correctly, has made the first four of these years free (and I have been told that 90 to 95% of children now enroll in/complete these four years), but the fact remains that basic education in Rwanda has a cost which many families are unable to bear. Thus education is a privilege. I cannot say for certain that all students understand or are lead to believe this but it seems that they must realize at some point during their education that being able to attend classes rather than being required stay at home or to try and earn money makes them the fortunate ones.
The obvious question at the end of all this might be “how do we improve the quality of education in Rwanda (and Africa) and ensure that it reaches more children?” And that is indeed a valid and important question, one for which many individuals, governments and NGOs (millennium development goals, anyone?) are working to find a solution. Nonetheless, the question that keeps nagging and saddening me is “how do we get children and youth in North America to understand, appreciate and not squander the incredible gift they are given in universal public education?”
The typical classroom is quite large; I would guess roughly 50 students though I am terrible at making such estimates. Students are required to wear uniforms, mid-calf skirts for girls and long shorts or pants for boys, usually with a button-up shirt. By North American standards most of the classrooms are very poorly equipped – containing hand-made wooden desks with attached bench seats (students often pack three of themselves onto these benches in a manner that would, I think, be uncomfortably close for any Canadian), a larger equally wooden bureau for the teacher (who continues to move from class to class through the end of secondary school) and large blackboards at the front. Classrooms are generally unadorned, with no pictures, tables or other learning materials on the walls.
The style of teaching is almost uniformly that of a lecture, with the teacher speaking on the subject at the front of the room and writing corresponding notes on the blackboard. Most teachers, especially those who teach sciences, wear lab coats to class for their lectures. There is little consideration of different learning styles and only a few exercises given at the end of each class. Classes are both less and more interactive than those in Canada. There are fewer “toys” or other objects for the students to learn with, fewer demonstrations and models, but many simple questions are asked of the students as the lecture proceeds. To be a kinesthetic learner or to be dyslexic in one of these classes would be incredibly difficult due to the lack of consideration and versatility in teaching styles.
The students are responsible for cleaning the board for the teacher and one student who serves as classroom manager is responsible for having a supply of chalk for the teacher and also of attempting to maintain order in the class – mostly by banging on the desk or hissing to quiet students down. Generally, there are far fewer discipline issues in these classes than in Canadian ones, students don’t act out aggressively or even actively challenge authority. What the teacher says is taken as fact. While the students still seem to learn quite a lot this makes for two huge disparities relative to students in Canada, at least so far as I am able to perceive. Firstly, students are not well equipped to think critically, about just about anything. To be fair I’m not sure how much critical thinking I learned in public school or if most of it came from university, but it is clear that nothing the teacher says in questioned and students are not encouraged to criticize information and ask why as much as students in Canada. Second, students almost completely and totally lack creativity. When I asked the students in the girls school to write something using the pictures of Canada as inspiration I got almost exclusively descriptions of what they saw in the pictures and perhaps a few very reasonable inferences. My encouragements to write a story, to “make something up about the man who lives in the lighthouse” were pretty much completely ignored. Even explaining that so long as they used English they could not possibly be wrong didn’t help. Students are concerned with having the correct answer and little else, and the nature of the schools encourages this pattern of thought.
As negative as this sounds, students tend to approach learning with an eagerness and tenacity distinctly lacking in nearly all their Canadian counterparts. Students generally pay close attention in class and take incredibly neat and complete notes. When a question is asked of the class students are eager to answer, nearly all of them raising their hands, calling quietly “me, teacher!” and making snapping noises with their fingers in hopes of being chosen to answer the question. The opportunity to write the answer on the board rather than simply reply orally only increases the collective excitement to demonstrate knowledge. Equally impressive is the tendency of students to be able answer questions on material taught only a day or two before, implying that studies are taken quite seriously by most and that students consider themselves as primarily responsible for their own learning.
Part of me suspects the eagerness to learn stems at least partly in the fact that education is not a given in Rwanda. Recently the government has said that each child has a right to seven years of primary education and, if I recall correctly, has made the first four of these years free (and I have been told that 90 to 95% of children now enroll in/complete these four years), but the fact remains that basic education in Rwanda has a cost which many families are unable to bear. Thus education is a privilege. I cannot say for certain that all students understand or are lead to believe this but it seems that they must realize at some point during their education that being able to attend classes rather than being required stay at home or to try and earn money makes them the fortunate ones.
The obvious question at the end of all this might be “how do we improve the quality of education in Rwanda (and Africa) and ensure that it reaches more children?” And that is indeed a valid and important question, one for which many individuals, governments and NGOs (millennium development goals, anyone?) are working to find a solution. Nonetheless, the question that keeps nagging and saddening me is “how do we get children and youth in North America to understand, appreciate and not squander the incredible gift they are given in universal public education?”
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