My Life on a Rwandan University Campus: Lecturer Style

I must confess to you that when I found out that my placement was 2.5 hours outside of the capital city, Kigali, I was devastated. But when I arrived in Rwanda and told different people I would be living in Gisenyi, everyone told me how lucky I was. Seven months into my grant period here, I truly have come to know and love my small town on the border of Congo. The energy, the vibrant colors, the imam’s sounds from the town mosque, the stunning view of Lake Kivu just outside my door, the sounds of the students from my window passing by, the avocado-bearing tree that drops its fruits in the dead of the night on the roof of my house. I truly lucked out.

The last time I lived on a college campus was in 2010, the year I graduated. When I arrived to Rwanda Tourism University College, my host institution for my nine months as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant, I had low expectations (a skill you have to develop when travelling).  I knew that I would be provided a house on the campus, furnished with the few amenities, I needed. So I was really just showing up as Bintu, and with all of my many clothes and shoes and bintunecessities in three suitcases, a hand luggage, and an oversized personal item.

I was ushered to a cute little house on the campus just behind the main lecture hall and administrative offices and attached to the boys hostel behind me. They couldn’t have created a more comfortable home for me. As it is my first time living alone, I needed something cozy, and I was given just that. The home has almost a grandmother’s feel and everyone who visits catches that vibe.  It’s like a studio house, made for one single lady like me or a couple who doesn’t need to be separated my much space ;) It’s a one bedroom, decently sized room with a bathroom attached.

I have a big sink, which believe me is a big deal when you are washing fufu pots. A refrigerator that didn’t work for the first months, although the top freezer part functions readily. And the same refrigerator doesn’t work again. No microwave, which I don’t find myself missing either; I have found creative ways to reheat food. But also going to the market and thinking of what I can finesse on the stove with limited ingredients is fun too.

The fact that I live on campus means I need less than five minutes to get to class. This also means that students are always knocking on my door. Most times they are just stopping by to say hi. Other times, they are coming to ask questions. During exam time they are coming to file their complaints about discrepancies and beg for pardons on zeros assigned when caught cheating. Overall, living on campus as their lecturer allows for integration into the school community. I really have made a home here and always feel that sense of comfort when I walk back on the campus.  I usually leave my windows and front door open to catch the nice breeze, but mostly to invite positive energy into my home and make my students feel welcome. This is not a requirement, but as I am here on a cultural exchange, one thing I want to share is my openness.   

my awesome first year students came to say Hi after their evening class

ran into my Hotel and Restaurant Management students on my back home from town

Lights are out by 10, not sure if that’s a rule or if every student on this campus closes their eyes at 10 pm. That’s when the gate closes and students are not allowed to leave or enter after that time. I am an exception.

Campus life is still fun, even from a Lecturer’s perspective. Stay tuned.

Setting the Tone: On Teaching My First Course in Rwanda

The American girl in me was antsy because I certainly did not want to make a bad impression by being late on my first day. My director wanted to personally introduce me to the class I would be teaching.  When we finally arrived, some of the class was waiting outside while others trickled in one at a time. The Director instructed them to go and get chairs for the classroom so that they could sit. This was new to me and was just a quick reminder that I had to be prepared for things to be a bit different.  Don’t get me wrong---students are students everywhere and are always subject to being hot mess; that doesn’t change. However, there was a new set of challenges presented to me on that day. Even though we had been forewarned of the challenges we might face in the classroom, it doesn’t become real until you enter the classroom. I was ready to enter the battlefield of white dust, also known as chalkboards and chalk, but fortunately, we have whiteboards at my school. We were told that the likelihood of having books to work with was slim to none. Thus, I prepared a lesson plan with tiers in case I needed to escalate or de-escalate depending on their levels. Thankfully, I hit it right on the nose.

While some students missed the customary first day of class speeches, on the second day more showed up of course and when I asked why they were absent, some had the usual college-kid-i-had-a-problem-clears-throat-excuse. Others, and most, had real life excuses, like being chronically sick, or having to take care of a parent, or issues with their passports since many cross the border from Goma town in the neighboring Democratic Republic of Congo. Even though I had planned to be a bit firmer than I usually am because of the closeness in our ages, I had to readjust my approach because of the nature of the challenges.

Not too long into the course, I asked them to write a biographical essay so that I could learn even more about their lives, while gauging their level of writing fluency and assessing what holes we would need to focus on during the course of the module. As my eyes perused their notebooks in the way that teachers do the infamous casual teacher stroll, I read snippets of their essays. No matter what the structure of the sentence was or what grammar lacked, the message was clear: that some of my students were without parents because of a terrible event that many of us only remember because of a film. Even though I studied African politics and conflicts extensively during undergraduate, there is never really any talk or advice that can prepare you for the feeling that engulfs you when you read, in an essay, that it took you 10 seconds to explain, that your students do not have parents because they were tragically killed in 1994. Some referred to the year 1994 that has a clear connotation in this cultural context and others wrote out the word ‘genocide.’ The word is the same in French and English; no matter the grammatical errors, that word and that reality are clear.

I encouraged them to talk, but I also expressed to them that they do not have to share anything they do not wish to share.  In the two weeks, however, they have been open with me and our classroom has the warm embrace of a family at a dinner table. I have looked forward to sharing ideas with them every day and to challenging them to speak even when they are feeling self-conscience about language errors.  We have bonded over lessons, conversations about each other, debates on hot topics, and have laughed at jokes that occur while learning. They are my first class in Rwanda and probably the smallest group I will ever have in a module, so they will always have a special place in my heart. Even more, something about this group made me feel like not only their lecturer, but also, a nurturer, friend, and sister. I can imagine that they see a piece of me in them, as I see a piece of them in me.

Their humble demeanors, shy smiles, eagerness to learn will be etched in my heart.  I am grateful that they let me in and allowed me to impart just an ounce of knowledge on their already brilliant minds. 

Preparing their arguments for a group debate on technology

The boys and their lecturer

One of my three special girls :) #girlpower #powergirls 

:) Business Information Technology Year 2 Students

Outspoken and passionate about everything he does

The next social entrepreneur---more on this later :) #girlpower #powergirls

A leader amongst leaders

Turn to your partner and talk because language is produced and not memorized!

That moment when your point is so critical

When she talks, we ALL listen

The Honorable himself

Because pictures are necessary

Break time and we still want to be together!

*This blog (Bee's Backseat) is not an official Fulbright Program site.  The views expressed on this site are entirely those of its author and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, the U.S. Department of State or any of its partner organizations.

Vibrant Livin', Lovin' Via Argentina

The seat of cute little coffee shops, authentic cuisine from immigrant populations, and happy hour/lunch specials with boards luring customers in for deals. It is reminiscent of my favorite US city, (outside of my home city), Miami. The boards on the storefront telling you about today’s special or their restaurant’s specialty, the old men with big bellies smoking Cuban cigars, the young professionals enjoying a drink after a “hard day’s work,” the soccer fanatics watching Panama versus X, the wanderers like me. All of those things make Via Argentina an exciting place and my newest home in Panama City. It’s poppin’. 

arepas will be the death of my shape, lol.

sugar daddy belly

I can remember living in a space that I dreaded. That was back in college at Towson Run Apartments. Not sure if it was the time in my life and what the space represented, or if it was merely just the space that I had an issue with. But I seriously remember how scared I was to be there, especially alone. Something about that place just didn’t sit right with me then. I have learned in my life that my home, place of residence and certain rooms inspire different things for me. So forever neighborhoods, apartments, homes, flowers, plants, spaces, rooms, ambiance will always be something I take into deep consideration as I travel from place to place.

One year ago when I moved to Panama (le sigh…it’s been over a year already), I had noooo idea where I would live. I imagined living a little more low-key than I actually did; I had no expectation of living in a high rise in the city. In fact I thought I might just get a room in some older melon-painted apartment building and not have wi-fi, and not be in touch with my friends and family. When I arrived to Panama however, I saw that my living would be a little more uppity than I expected. Not exactly bougie, but just more than I anticipated.

I canvassed my new co-workers about areas that were close to my job in Paitilla. They told me I could live in San Francisco, Obarrio, Bella Vista, and a few other little pockets. I visited two apartments in San Francisco and one place in Cangrejo, which is a part of Bella Vista. Although people had informed me that El Cangrejo was a cool place to live because it was highly populated by foreigners, I desired to live amongst Panamanians, so I opted to for a room in an apartment with a nice view in San Francisco. (This failed because San Francisco was highly residential and there were few spaces for interaction with Panamanians or the local community.)

As time went on I began to spend more and more time at my friend’s apartment in Cangrejo. (Yes, the same Cangrejo that I once turned my nose down on because too many foreigners lived there, lol.)

And just like your typical boy/girl next-door love story, (the kind where you meet the guy and don’t like him at first because he is not your type), I fell in love---madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love with Via Argentina. I vowed to find a place there to live within my budget. I searched in November. I sort of searched in December. Couldn’t do it in January. Forgot about it in February. Revisited the idea in March. Couldn’t afford it in April. Got too comfortable in May. Moved out in June. Summer in the DMV. Returned in August. Went back on the search and…

can you see the glow of love? :)

A year later, I am now one of the expats living, and I mean living that street. I am motivated by the hustle and bustle of the trendy area. I meet and chat with people that I run into as a I stroll.  I feel empowered by the fact that I can just walk outside of my building to Fruteria Mimi and buy one avocado, one plantain, coconut water, and a piece of chocolate all for $3.00. Gone are the days where I would be lugging my week’s groceries from the neighborhood grocery store, sweat dripping, dreading the fact that if I forgot something I would have to walk back. Gone are the days where I would postulate taking a taxi back to my apartment after grocery shopping but end up walking. Now my days are filled with ideas about what I want to eat daily---and the best part of it, I can literally just hurry down the steps and go to the Fruteria or Casa de Carne if I need something that goes beyond the scope of your local mini market.

For the days when I don’t feel like cooking a full meal for myself, [which the frequency of these days has been increasing steadily], I can float down Via Argentina and peruse the menus while I wait for my palate to jump at the idea of a particular taste. On lazy days, I opt for an imported Hass avocado and a French baguette. J

Flip flops, $5.00, ID in-hand, I breeze down Via Argentina in my flowy skirts. Midriffs, braids caressing my waistline, I feel liberated; feels good to be the new girl on the block.