UMURERWA

Here’s something I found that I wrote a few months ago:

This afternoon, after classes were finished, my students in S2B had a naming ceremony for me. The naming ceremony is something that Rwandan parents do when their children are a few weeks old. People come to the ceremony with a name and offer them to the family. The parents then choose one of the offered names to give to their child. The ceremony usually includes dancing and singing and is often done in conjunction with a baptism or christening. The meaning of this name is suppose to be representative of some part of the child’s future character. There are no last names here, just the Kinyarwanda name given during the ceremony and usually a French name as well.

When Katy was doing training for Peace Corps, they were assigned to local families for the 3 months they were in Nyanza to visit with and to get to know. At the end of their time there, they had a naming ceremony for them. When Katy and I are out and about town and people ask us what are names are, everyone has a hard time saying mine. Katy usually gives her Kinyarwanda name (UMUHOZA, which means “one who comforts”…she loves to give hugs). It’s a huge hit when she gives them this name instead of her muzungu one. One day after saying my name three or four times to someone and still getting a puzzled look, I commented to Katy that I wish I had a Kinyarwanda name like she did. She told me she’d work on it for me.

Katy also teaches S2B, so she talked to them about getting me a Kinyarwanda name. Apparently they came up with a list of about 15 and then voted on them. The one that got over half of the votes was UMURERWA (pronounced u-moo-rlare-gwa). This means “one who is well-educated” but really doesn’t translate quite as directly as that. It’s more like one who has been brought up well, whose parents have taught them a lot, and who is well-behaved and disciplined.

The students had decorated their room (It’s amazing what they can do with wildflowers, fabric and paper) and they had Katy and I sit down behind the ornamented teacher’s desk. A few of them had prepared some speeches for me (Rwandans are all about the speeches) and then I was serenaded by a student singing a song by Meddy, a Rwandan pop singer. After she was finished, she solemnly explained to me that the song was about a man who cheated on his girlfriend and was begging for forgiveness. Then there were more speeches and I was pulled up to join the students in a Rwandan cultural dance. To end, I was asked to give a speech to tell how I felt about my new name.

Not only am I pleased to have a new Kinyarwanda name to give when I meet people, I’m also pleased to have such enthusiastic, welcoming students…

…I’ve enjoyed wearing my new name for the past three months. Now, when the ticket man at the bus stop sees me coming, he smiles, waves and starts filling out the ticket with my name…UMURERWA.

The Art of Rwandan Cooking

If the first few weeks in Rwanda were an adjustment for me food wise, then the first few weeks in Rwaza were near starvation. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic for the situation, but I was surviving on food that I had brought from home and crackers and peanut butter and there were several days where my stomach was shouting “feed me” the whole day through. Most of this was because I had no cooking utensils, no mode of heat production, and no access to food. There are no stores up here (well, we realized later that there is one where you can buy oil, toilet paper, fanta, and tomato paste.) and you have to go into Musanze to get to a good market. Since I didn’t know how to get into town for a week or two after arriving, I had to endure many less than passable meals. But now that I have a hot plate, a pot, a pan, and a decent stash of non-perishable food items, I’m on my way to becoming a Rwandan Rachel Ray.

One of my former roommates had a passion for food that tastes good and is also good for you. Another had an uncanny knack for taking whatever happened to be in the fridge, about to go bad, and turning it into something that you could serve to your mother-in-law. Thanks to the many hours in the kitchen with these girls (shout-out Sarah and Andrea!) I’ve been able to adjust to my cement room of a kitchen with relative ease and success. When I go visit my volunteer friends who live in town, with buffets, restaurants and tea hubs nearby, I often get asked “what do you eat up there?!”

After a lot of exploration, Katy and I have got a pretty good system going for middle class food gathering. Veggies and fruit from the market in Musanze will stay good for about a week, and as we each make a trip into town about twice a month, we manage to limit our “American reserves” days to a minimum. Potatoes stay good for a lot longer, so fries or boiled potatoes are always a stand-by.

We also have a fruit and egg man. We never manage to catch his name when we ask for it and even after preparing in advance with a few minutes of noses to our Kinyarwanda dictionaries, he never seems to have any idea of what we are saying. It’s a mutual feeling. He comes about once a week, but we can never be sure what day he’ll show up or what he’ll bring. At the moment we least suspect it, we’ll be hunted down by a student or fellow teacher telling us that our egg man is here. And sure enough, right behind the messenger is our friend, bent over under the weight of the twine bag filled with fruit and eggs. Usually he brings us a dozen eggs, a pineapple or two and some passion fruit. Occasionally we’ll get some bananas. Even though we’re experts now at negotiating, quantity, quality, and prices at the market, with our fruit guy it’s another story. Usually we just end up handing him some money and he’ll make a pile of things that he’ll give us for that amount, with us shaking our heads or nodding at each piece before he adds it to the pile.

Most days I eat lunch with the teachers in the staff room which is beans and either rice, sweet potatoes, or umugali (a tasteless corn meal mush the consistency of mashed potatoes). But all other meals are up to me since there’s no place to go buy a meal up here on the mountain. Using what I can get here with a few things I brought from home, I’ve figured out some pretty good meals:

Omelettes: you can throw an egg or two over just about any kind of vegetable and it’ll taste good. My favorite is sautéed onions and boiled potatoes in an omlette. Parmesan cheese makes it taste even better.

Pasta: Tomato paste, water and oregano with peppers, tomatoes and onions make a good spaghetti sauce, and for lazy days when I’m feeling frivolous, I just eat tuna with pasta.

Soup: Lentil soup is the best, thanks to some soup packets from the good ‘ole US of A, I don’t have to use the seasoning packets they sell at the market here.

Pancakes/chapatti: I adjusted a pancake recipe so I can use powdered milk and honey instead of liquid milk and sugar and they taste like they do at home! If I’ve recently gotten a package in the mail, I can even make chocolate chip pancakes! Chapattis I make with flour, baking powder and water. I fry them in oil and eat them with honey or jam…mmm. (Honey is produced all over Rwanda). I usually add oatmeal or wheat flour to my pancakes and fry bread to make it a little healthier and more filling.

Popcorn/fries: They sell popcorn in cans here and I go through a can a week. I make it like I do at home in a pan and then shake it up in parmesan cheese and ranch dressing seasoning mix (thanks mom!). I do the same thing to my fries.

Tropical fruit salad: There’s a fruit here that’s called a Japanese plum aka a tree tomato. They’re really sour and have a strong flavor, but I found out from the Sisters that they’re full of iron and really good for you. They suggested mixing it with banana. So I tried and it’s phenomenal. The sweet mini-bananas neutralize the sour tree tomatoes. I add in whatever other fruit (pineapple, passion fruit, oranges) I have around that’s about to go bad and it makes a good fruit salad.

Other than that you can always sauté veggies or pull out a packet of ramen noodles. And in the words of Katy “Lwry’s seasoning salt makes everything taste good.” So that is what I eat up here. But even so, the sight of Vision 2020 buffet in Musanze and the prospect of a ready-to-eat meal is always welcome.

Kids do the darndest things

Walking around the classroom today while my students were taking a quiz, I noticed a few things that reminded me of when I was in middle school and made me realize that kids are just kids no matter where you are. So here are a few funny moments from the classroom:

When I was in elementary school and middle school, it was always hard to hold onto your writing utensils. They would get dropped on the floor, left on someone else's desk, lost in the depths of your desk. But, there was always one pencil that you tried to hold onto. The thing to do was see how small you could get it before you lost it. The ultimate goal was to get it all the way down to the nub so that it couldn't be sharpened anymore. I never made it that far, but I remember admiring other people's pencils which were reduced to metal eraser holder and tip. It was never easy to write with pencils this short, but that wasn't the point (no pun intended).

In Rwanda, no one uses pencil. I have never once seen a teacher writing lesson plans in pencil and the bane of my teaching existence is grading homework and quizzes done in pen (some of the papers I get make me feel like I'm interpreting a Picasso painting not grading polynomial homework). However, I noticed two students writing their quiz with a pen nub. They had obviously been chewing on their pens and the plastic had cracked. So they were clutching an inch and a half of a pen tip with part of an ink tube sticking out of it. I further noticed that they both had whole pens sitting next to them on their desks. So apparently it's fun here too to write with a fraction of a writing utensil.

In one of my other classes, I walked by a desk and had to do a double take because I thought that there was a cigarette sitting in the pencil groove. In fact, it was an unused piece of chalk. Someone had taken a pen to it and drawn a cigarette label on it. I almost burst out laughing.

In this same class, I was about to leave one day after class, when I glanced down at the teacher desk. The sunlight was hitting the surface just the right way and I could see that my name and Katy's name had been scratched onto the wood. There is graffiti all over the student's desks and chairs. Names are written on the best chairs to claim them for the less charitable students. I guess they figured they'd claim the teacher's desk for Katy and me.

Another day, to prepare for a quiz, I had the class come up with a list of topics that we had discussed that would be on the quiz. Then I instructed them to pair up and write their own problems for each of the topics. They would then trade with another pair of students to solve the others' set of problems. Two of the brightest girls in the class didn't understand the instructions and thought that they were suppose to write one problem with all of the topics included in it. By the time I came around to see how they were doing, they were far enough in that I decided to let them go and see what they came up with.

When the time came to trade papers with someone else, they handed me what they had done. It was one problem, covering an entire page, filled with fractions within fractions within fractions, repeating decimals, terminating decimals, and every kind of mathematical operation known to 7^th graders. The girl I handed it to was another bright student and usually very chatty. But one look at that paper and her jaw dropped. She looked back at me, her wide eyes saying "you can't be serious!!!" I couldn't help myself. I burst out in laughter…and just kept laughing. Every time I tried to stop, the image of her face and the colossal problem made me break into a new fit of giggles. The whole class stopped what they were doing to smirk at their teacher, doubled over with laughter. Rwandans are not at all expressive and rarely let their emotions show, so this was entertainment. I'm sure none of them had ever seen anyone laugh this hard before.

After recovering, I solved the problem in my notebook and could tell that the writers had thought it out well. The students were still staring at me and I tried to explain by showing them the problem. But when I got an unsympathetic response, just more gaping, I grinned and assigned it for homework.

Happy Birthday Teacher

One of the first weeks of class, one of my sweet S1 girls asked when my birthday was. I told her and the whole class smiled and nodded in response. Then, on Monday, two days before my birthday at the end of class as I was about to leave, S1 asked if I would come to answer questions for them later in the week. (I have been going up to their classroom about once a week to give them a chance to ask questions individually). I proposed coming the next afternoon. "No, teacher, it is not possible, there is someone else coming that day." I thought that this was a bit strange since I had rarely seen another teacher come back to the school that late, but I proposed coming Thursday instead. "No teacher, Thursday is not good. You should come Wednesday." Well, I don't teach on Wednesday and was going into town in the evening, when they wanted me to come, so I told them I could come during the lunch break. "OK teacher, that is good because we need your help."

The next day, one of the girls came up to me and reminded me "Teacher, you are going to come tomorrow? We have MANY, MANY questions about math. It is VERY difficult." At the time, we were learning about adding and subtracting fractions which is never pleasant so I believed her. On Wednesday, my birthday, when I finished lunch with the teachers, I walked down to the S1 classroom. When I opened the door, I was immediately surrounded by my students shouting and throwing copious amount of confetti on my head (made from shredded old homework assignments). I was handed a large bouquet of flowers and several small ones were put in my hair. I was ushered to the front of the classroom while they sang a song to me. Then a few girls came up and did some Rwandan cultural dancing. To their delight, I attempted to join them. Afterwards, in typical Rwandan fashion, came a speech. The head of class came up and expressed her profound desire that I have a wonderful day of my birth. They were very proud of themselves that they had been so sneaky to ask for my birthday at the beginning of the year and then surprise me by remembering. I had to admit; I was very impressed and said so in the response speech I gave. Then, they asked me to sing a song for them. Unlike Rwandans who have the same singing ability as me (next to none), I just cannot bring myself to sing in public. So I tried to stall. "I don't know what song to sing."

"Teacher, do you know any Usher?"

"No."

"What about Kanye West?"

"No."

"What about Neyo?"

"No."

"Do you know Father Abraham had many sons?"

"…yes, I do know that one."

So, the class joined me in singing Father Abraham had many sons.

I left with a handful of flowers, homemade cards and various things made out of paper. My hair was covered in confetti and paper flowers and as I walked back to my house, I left a trail of confetti. Every year, at my house, my family has a competition to see who will get the most birthday cards. We put them up on the mantle to keep track of them. Every year, it's either my Mom or Dad that wins. But if I was home, I would definitely win this year. I wouldn't be able to fit all of my cards on the mantle. Here are some of the comments that were in my cards:

-"My good teacher or my dear friend or my homey. The first I salute you and God be with you everywhere you go…and when I was mature, I will come to American to see eye to eye." (Then she included a list of American singers: -Jackson Durrly, Chris Brown, Lil Wayne, T.I, Rihanna, Alicia Keys.)

-"God bless you my love, you explain math very very good."

-"I love you, I will never forget you in my lif."

-"Have a good day and I see you, you become a good wife for your husband."

-"you are so beautiful to the body and to the heart."

-"I will never forget you because you know to teach mathematics and I want to go in your country for visit my uncle."

-"We love you because of your characteristics. I think, our country Rwanda is very good. We wish you to have a good life in Rwanda, even if you will return in USA."

-"teacher, I told you don't forget this card post is your card for your day of birth."

All in all, it's a birthday I won't forget. If only everyone could be so lucky to have such warm birthday greetings!

Some of the fabric I got at the market. Devena, the daughter of the neighbor's housewoman. We were building card houses and then knocking them down with matchbox cars. Katy with Devena and her younger sister Kevena. Me with Father Charles at Remera, a retreat center just north of Rwaza.

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.

This Rwandan Life

I bring you, my life of teaching in Rwanda in three acts:

Act I : In the Classroom.

There are three terms to the school year here. We just started the second one which will go until the end of July. Then we have a three week break before third term starts. The third term ends at the beginning of November. After that there is a two month vacation until the start of the next year. I am teaching two classes of mathematics: S1A and S2B. These are first and second year secondary students, which is about the equivalent of 7^th and 8^th grade. A few weeks before the end of first term I was asked to take a section of S2 physics, so now I am also teaching physics for 3 hours every week. S1 and S2 have 6 hours of math a week, so that puts me at 15 hours of classroom teaching. At first I was a little disappointed not to be teaching higher levels of math, but then I realized that the level 4,5,6 students still have most of their math and science classes in French. Levels 1,2,3 are the first in Rwanda to be taking all of their classes in English. It's really quite amazing that they are doing as well as they are when they are learning in a language in which they are barely proficient. On top of that, many of their teachers are barely proficient in it. But the Rwanda resolve to speak English is a strong one and the effort they put in is producing results.

The students have scheduled study times (they have their entire day scheduled, from the time the morning bell is rung at 5:30am until lights out at 10:30pm.) A few times a week I will go up to the classrooms during the study times and answer individual questions and do problems on the board. I try to answer questions in class, but I've found that it takes a really long time for the students to form the question they want to ask and actually spit it out when they are trying to think in English. They are also all very eager to ask questions, so I usually have to put a cap on the question asking time in class. Going up to help after school usually works out well because they ask away what they want to and it gives me a better idea of what they understand and what they need more work on.

Sometimes I also go visit one of the S5 classrooms. They stopped me one day to ask me to come help with a question on their math homework since they knew I was a math teacher. Their question was about graphing a function. It was a pretty complicated problem and something that I hadn't done in awhile so I went and got my graphing calculator. That upped my popularity by about 200%. Yes its true, I live in a place where having a graphing calculator and knowing how to use it is infinitely cool. Since then, the S5 students flag me down occasionally to ask for help or to see if I can bring my calculator for them to use. They do some very detailed graphing and work with involved problems, so a graphing calculator comes in handy. I am hoping to work on getting some old graphing calculators from the States to give them and then show them how to use them while I'm here. (If anyone has one they'd like to donate or wants to do some asking around for me, let me know.)

 

Act II: In the Staff Room.

Since many of the students have to take all of their classes in English, that means that the teachers have to teach in English. But they are starting at the same point that the students are with the added disadvantage of being older and having less of a capacity for learning new languages. This is why the country had a month of mass intensive English training at the beginning of the year, putting off the start of the school year. I can't imagine writing lessons in a foreign language and then having to teach it in that same language, but somehow the teachers here do it. It helps that the standard teaching method here is "chalk-and-talk" (write on the board and explain what you just wrote while the students copy down what's on the board into their notebooks.) But even so, many of the teachers spend twice as long on their lessons so that they can give them in English. Some of them sit down with a dictionary or at the staff computer to look up the words that they need.

To help with this, Katy and I try to give informal lessons whenever possible. On Wednesday afternoons we hang out in the staff room for an hour or two and sometimes give a lesson on administrative or classroom vocabulary. Other times we look over lesson plans for other teachers to make sure that they are using the correct terms in English. Sister Martha, the headmistress, teaches a religion class and I read her notes into a recorder so that she can play it back and work on her pronunciation. Most teachers do fairly well with writing down what they need, but their speaking skills are much poorer. We are constantly being asked by the teachers to teach them how to speak better. For me, not having much training in teaching speaking skills, I've found that the best aid for this is to just talk with them. With some of the teachers it is difficult to strike up a conversation other than the standard greetings and questions, but a few I've been able to talk with a little more. Yesterday I talked with Dominique, another math teacher, about geography and weather for about an hour and a half. He also studied geography at University and I was curious about what causes the rainy seasons here so he explained it to me. Afterwards I realized that that was a perfect lesson in English speaking for him.

Act III: Around Town.

Many of the people that we see in the community also are earnestly looking to learn English. It's hard to help most people who ask for it (on a typical outing to buy groceries and sit and drink a cup of tea, I'll get asked by one or two strangers to teach them English.) But there are a few people that I have regular contact with that I teach a few words each time I see them. The tailor in Mukinga is working on his tailoring vocabulary, Alexandre, my moto driver is working on his moto driving vocab. and the woman who owns my favorite convenience store is learning greetings.

The reason for the English learning craze is Vision 2020, a set of goals written after the genocide for the country to meet before the year 2020. The project is meant to strengthen the economy and boost Rwanda into competition in the global market. Technology advancement and bilingualism (English and Kinyarwanda) being the most important goals of the project. These goals are visible everywhere you look here. Billboards give friendly reminders, advertisements are made on the radio and it's hard to go anywhere without running into a business named Vision 2020. In Musanze, the nearest town to me, there is a Vision 2020 Tailor, a Vision 2020 foodstuff store, and a Vision 2020 buffet (the best in town). If I ever get my haircut here, chances are it will be at a Vision 2020 Saloon. (Don't know how the extra "o" got added, but whoever did it first started a trend because there are no salons, only saloons. And haircutting is no small market here, Saloons are to Rwanda as Starbucks are to Seattle.) It's pretty astounding actually how the country is communally putting forth such a great effort, or at the very least, wants to put forth a great effort to meet these goals. It makes us, as volunteers, feel useful. Which is always a good feeling.