Last Day in Rwanda

Finally made it back to Nashville after a 48-hour day.  I'll get to that story next time.  In the meantime, here's the recap of our last day in Rwanda.

Ellen LOVES the Inside Afrika Boutique Hotel.

On Wednesday afternoon, we returned triumphantly to Kigali and the the Inside Afrika Boutique Hotel.  The hotel manager, who was also named Eric and also ridiculously helpful and friendly, saw us getting out of the car.  "You look knackered!" (Footnote 1) he said.  We were knackered, after having spent roughly 20 of the previous 36 hours in a car, and the other 16 at genocide memorials or sleeping on stoneish slabs.  After a couple hours of relaxing, we decided to spend our last night in Kigali at a place we knew we would love-- Heaven.

I think I explained once that Heaven is an American-owned restaurant that is, in the owner's words, "still a labor of love, not yet profit."  The idea behind it was not only to provide high-quality food (a rarity in Kigali--"you wouldn't believe how high people's tolerance for bad food is," Josh also said) but also jobs for Rwandese people (2) and a demonstration of high standards in food preparation and cleanliness.  All of the food served originates locally and thus helps support hundreds of small farmers.  Additionally, there is an art gallery inside and next to the restaurant featuring work from local artisans.  We'll get to that in a second.  

Ellen and I had just sat down and ordered our food when my phone rang.  It was Eric 1, our guide who just wanted to see if he could stop by and say goodbye to us.  I really can't get over how kind everyone we dealt with in Rwanda was.  They aren't overbearing or outwardly gregarious (except Benon), but simply kind.  Of course we invited him to join us, which he did for a few minutes.  It was good to get to give him a hug before we left.

Before dinner, Ellen and I had looked at the art gallery--we always like to look at art while we're on vacation--and we saw a piece that we both loved.  We decided after dinner that we were going to buy it.  We figured we'd have to ship it home, but instead Josh told us that they'd just take it off the frame, roll it up, and we could carry it.  That seemed a little worrisome, but okay.  So a team of two Heaven employees began the task of detaching this canvas from its wood frame, popping out tacks all over the floor.  Meanwhile, another one pulled me aside and said that the artist was a friend of his and had asked that, when the piece sold, he be allowed to talk to the buyer.  "Uh, sure," I said, totally confident that I could pawn this potentially awkward conversation off onto Ellen.

Ellen on the phone with artist Emmanuel Nkungwa.

I was right.  A few minutes later, the same waiter walked back over, cell phone in hand.  "It's him," he said.  "He should talk to my wife," I said, and pointed at Ellen.  "The artist wants to talk to you."  This particular painting, it seems, is very special to the artist (whose name is Emmanuel) though he didn't go into details why.  Though it is not by any means a depressing painting, its figures are somewhat reminiscent of some of the figures at the Kigali Genocide Memorial.  When Ellen mentioned that, Emmanuel seemed impressed at her connection.  I suppose he was satisfied that his piece is going to a good home.

By the time Ellen hung up, the other staff members had rolled up our piece.  So we walked home, feeling a little Renaissancey with our canvas in hand.

I woke up a little nervous on Thursday-- that was the day we were going to visit some Rwandese schools.  This, in itself, is not too nerve-wracking for me, but Benon had hinted that I might be asked to speak to the students, or even teach something.  He was vague and unsure, so I spent some time in the morning thinking about what I would tell the staff at the American Embassy should some sort of horrible international incident occur.  The first school we were going to was Benon's own alma mater, the Kagarama School, so there was a decent chance I would embarrass not only my country but also my new friend.  He said that we would be visiting a class of Senior 6 history students (seniors in high school).

When we arrived, we were greeted by the school's headmaster, who was soft-spoken (3) and pleasant.  The school itself, like all Rwandese schools we drove by, was a series of small barracks-looking buildings.  The headmaster walked us past several buildings until we reached one that was marked "HEG" for History-Economics-Geography.  By the time Rwandese students reach secondary school, they choose a curriculum that is centered around three subjects.  Based on the way the buildings were labeled at the two schools we visited, I would guess that about 80-90% of students choose a science or math route (4) such as BMC (Biology-Math-Chemistry) or PMC (Physics-Math-Chemistry), as encouraged by their president Paul Kagame. (5) 

We were greeted by Mr. Davis, the teacher of the history class we intended to observe, with a familiar mix of suspicion and annoyance.  As a teacher whose class often welcomes observers, I know the feeling.  He said that he was only going over tests, and not doing anything particularly noteworthy.  We pleaded with him that we only wanted to observe and nothing more, and he reluctantly agreed to allow us into his classroom, which was essentially a blank space-- a blackboard on the wall at either end, and 40-50 uniformed students crammed in between.  The students stared at us with the same suspinnoyance that Mr. Davis exuded, and we sat uncomfortably down in the three available chairs spread out among the students.

Mr. Davis's history class

Mr. Davis began going over the test, which was a stunningly analogous to one of my own Western Civ tests.  He talked about how to properly construct an essay-- with an introduction, examples, and a conclusion.  He talked about how the students needed to use their examples to prove an opinion, which could be different for each of them.  His speech was an echo of the refrains I harp on all year with my students.  I can't explain how I felt, exactly-- just... good.

The main question the students had been asked was "Discuss the contributions of East African Long Distance Trade to the people of East Africa."  The ensuing conversation could not have been more fascinating: as the students volunteered their answers, it brought up discussions of European colonialism and imperialism, of the mingling of cultures between Africa and the Middle East, of slavery and the slave trade, of how East African civilization developed in the last three centuries.  Somehow they even began discussing the genocide and what happens when people act without thinking.  I was glued--not only was it a clinic in Socratic teaching, but I got to sit and listen to the African perspective on some of the most difficult issues to deal with in World History. (6)  Plus, Mr. Davis was both intentionally and unintentionally funny-- in explaining the development of Swahili, which has both Bantu and Arabic origins, he noted that "if you give me and an Asian woman a week together, by the end of the week, you can believe that we'll be communicating."  He also had a unique accent in which he ended almost every plural word with a "zee" sound, so his sentences came out like "dey would trayeed de slavuhzee, de skinuhzee, the ive-oree..."  I enjoyed the class thoroughly.

Disappearance of "Matthew," appearance of "Mr. Haber"

As the 10:30 break approached, Benon leaned over to me and said "when it's time for the break, I'll introduce you, and you can answer some questions."  Yikes.  As usual, though, Benon eased any possible tension, introducing Ellen and me to the class with his usual charm and offering the students to ask about schools or life in the USA.  Unsurprisingly, once the ice was broken, they asked great questions-- how classes compare, what I think the value of history is, what students in the US learn about Africa.  One particularly sharp student named Monique targeted Ellen for her questions, asking how she became a primary school teacher.  Most impressive, I think, was that those students sat, engaged and respectful, through about fifteen minutes of their break without squirming or shuffling around.  Not sure my students could've pulled that off.

Ellen and Monique

After we walked out, Ellen struck up a conversation with Monique.  We had brought some small gifts in case we were able to get to a school-- pens and pencils, mainly-- but we weren't sure how to distribute them or to whom.  Ellen offered them to Monique, who immediately told her that she ran an organization to help underprivileged students at the school, and would be glad to give them out.  Karma strikes again.

While Ellen spoke with Monique, I chatted with Mr. Davis.  Our conversation reminded me that teachers around the world all speak the same language-- underpaid, conflicts with colleagues, administrations or curricula, problem students.  The difference, as always, is the scale; Mr. Davis said that many teachers in Rwanda are literally starving because their pay is so low. 

After meeting with the headmaster one more time to exchange contact information, we left to have lunch.  Benon took us to a pizza place where I once again failed at my weeklong quest to clean my plate.  You know that old cliche about how there are starving people in Africa who would LOVE to have that leftover pizza?  Well, it's true, and it's really hard to get out of your mind when you actually see them.  Thankfully, Benon got us off the guilt hook and took our leftovers home. 

The FAWE computer lab

A few hundred souvenirs later, and we were on our way to our second school, the FAWE School for Girls.  FAWE is an organization focused on girls' education in Africa, and the FAWE school is generally considered one of, if not the, best school in Kigali. (7) We were greeted there also by the headmaster, a woman named Jolly who at first seemed a little underwhelmed by our visit.  We sat in her office for a few minutes while she gave forced answers to our increasingly forced questions; she must be the only headmaster in the world who doesn't particularly enjoy talking about her school.  Finally we asked if she wouldn't mind giving us a tour, and she began to open up.  She showed us the school's computer lab, an impressive facility, and the school's chemistry lab.  She also showed us the school's library, which is filled with what appear to be donated American textbooks.  Ellen noted, and Jolly confirmed, their sad paucity of reading-for-pleasure books that would appeal to teenage girls.  The novels they did have tended to be of the Tom Clancy variety-- not the type I see a lot of high school girls toting around at USN. (8) 

FAWE girls have their own lab coats! USN kids would be so jealous.

As the tour ended, Jolly transformed into a totally different person, to the point that she was essentially inviting Ellen and me to bring our students to visit FAWE, and to stay in their dorms there.  We may have to take her up on that someday.

After FAWE, Ellen went ahead and bought the last few souvenirs left in Rwanda, and we went back to the Inside Afrika Boutique Hotel to get our things together.  The hotel's owner, Gisele, brought us some fresh mango juice for the road.  Eric 1 had offered to arrange for our transportation to the airport, which we were glad to accept.  What we didn't realize until right before we left was that he had one of his colleagues, Lucien, give us a FREE ride to the airport.  Then Lucien returned to the airport twenty minutes after dropping us off to give us our precious painting that we had unknowingly left in his car. (9)  Then Benon met us at the airport, just to say goodbye. (10)  It was like every person we encountered was trying to fit in just one more act of kindness before we left.

It's hard to describe the ambiguous feelings I had leaving Rwanda-- the closest analogy I can come up with was the feeling I used to have as a kid on the last day of camp.  Some fluid combination of incredible satisfaction at what I had just experienced and incredible wistfulness about the people and places I was leaving.  Ellen and I almost always leave foreign countries feeling like we want to come back, but usually it's because of some museum that was closed or a sight that was lessened by bad weather.  Mostly, though, I just want to go back to Rwanda to be with the people there again.  That feels like a better reason.

Notes:
(1) Eric 2 spent seven years in London, so he speaks "English."  Knackered means "like you got hit by a lorry."
(2) We've learned that, for some reason, an effort is being made to use the word "Rwandese" instead of "Rwandan."  No explanation yet.
(3) Even more than most, which means that you basically had to be slow dancing cheek-to-cheek to hear him. 
(4) Two schools, maybe 20 buildings, only one with an H on it.
(5) If you've ever watched the State of the Union address, you've probably heard an American president say that we need to devote more educational resources to science and technology.  As a history teacher, this always makes me cringe a little.  But the Rwandese are seriously pursuing what their president asks of them, and they talk about it with great pride.  Incidentally, almost anything you read about Rwanda describes it as a dynamic place progressing rapidly toward prosperity.  Based on what we saw, this is absolutely true-- to call Rwanda a "developing" country is not a euphemism, and it seems to be developing according to a well-thought out plan based on promoting education, infrastructure and foreign investment.  Basically, everywhere we went--but especially in Kigali--there was a visible effort underway toward improving roads and schools.  I'm not a venture capitalist or a diplomat, but I would think that the right way to become a player in world affairs would be to construct better roads and better schools.  Everything else follows from them.
(6) The discussion was, by the way, not at all biased or resentful.  Mr. Davis's students had an admirably nuanced (and totally accurate, based on what I know) understanding of the roles played by Africans, Europeans, and Asians in the development of East Africa.
(7) FAWE is totally devoted to science and technology; no history classes to see there. 
(8) We've already poisoned Rwanda's children with Silly Bands; could Twilight be next?
(9) Karma strikes yet again-- we happened to be waiting in the lobby for Benon, otherwise Lucien never would have found us.  
(10) I have no idea how he got there; he doesn't have a car.