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Dispatch #11 from Rwanda
"Journalism is very hard."
That seemed to be this week's revelation. That's what one student told me as he returned from a shoot
where he could find nobody to speak to him on camera. His sentiments were echoed by all of the students two
days later when we met as a group to take a look at their first TV assignments.
It had been a difficult week for all of us. I found it hard not to give in to the students and extend
deadlines or to be more sympathetic. Instead, I just drove them on even when they came to me on the verge
of tears or simply ready to give up completely. But, apparently with some encouragement and their persistence, it worked.
Friday at 9 a.m. had been their deadline. Up to this point, deadlines had not been respected, so I was somewhat dubious when I showed up to class shortly after 9. Only about half of the students were there, but all of their assignments were done! I couldn't
believe it. This was the second time this week the students had completely shocked me.
Earlier in the week I had the first scheduled class in several weeks with the second year students.
Technically, we had already met for all of our requisite hours, but our last class meeting just before I left to Kampala left us all frustrated and definitely not on a high note. There had been problems editing, so none of the groups had finished their
assignments. I told them I would arrange a couple more meetings with them when I returned from Kampala and
Kigali. So when I showed up Wednesday afternoon for class and found most of them in the edit suite working
I was hopeful. My hope quickly turned to shock and then outright joy when I realized they had just about finished putting the entire show together!
My hope had been that each group had simply finished their stories and then together as a group we would
put the stories together to create a show. These kids were way ahead of me and had taken the initiative and
almost finished the whole show. I was stunned. I was filled with tremendous pride. Finally, after three months, it seemed as if it was all coming together. The students' mood was so upbeat and clearly they felt a sense of accomplishment. I was so totally blown away.
We watched the show and critiqued it. We talked about a few things they could do to improve it. They had
clearly learned so much, not least of all how important teamwork is in television. As I told them how proud I was, I couldn't stop the tears that welled up. I was just so in awe of these kids.
For the past three months the students had constantly been coming to me telling me about the latest "big problem." The "problems" were not unique to these students, they were problems common to students everywhere - not enough time, not enough equipment, people wouldn't talk to them on camera or simply didn't show up - problems I had become accustomed to
hearing about over the five years I'd been teaching. I finally told them that a) these weren't problems, but challenges, and b) these "problems" weren't unique to them but that they were a part of journalism and they simply had a find of dealing with them. And so they did.
So in the end it was a week where it seemed that all the lightbulbs went on at the same time. It was so very gratifying to see that I was making, what I hope will be, a lasting impression.
The week had other highlights as well. Monday I went to Kigali to work with one of the radio reporters as he covered the constitutional referendum. He had just finished interviewing President Kagame and was totally pumped and ready to go. I hopped into the truck with him, another reporter and the driver and off we went to our first polling station of the day.
The polls had opened at 7am. The dusty red school yard was filled with thousands of people waiting in tens of lines in the hot African sun, women with babies strapped to their backs trying to afford some protection from the sun with their umbrellas, kids running around selling salty, roasted ground nuts or bread to people as they waited. I went into one of the polling stations. There were what looked like 3 piles of wooden crates thrown together haphazardly. It took me a moment to realize these were the polls.
The ballots had two options: "yego" (yes) beside a picture of an open book (suggesting the constitution) and "oya" (no) with a shaded-in box next to it (suggesting what, exactly, I'm still not sure). People voted with their thumbs, placing their thumb first
onto an inkpad and then making a thumbprint in the box they wanted. Several Rwandans proudly commented to me how efficient this "low tech" voting was and how they would have none of the "high tech" problems encountered in Florida.
We asked several people how long they had waited to vote. At this particular station, most waited at least two hours to leave their thumbprints, and for many it was their first time to vote as the Rwandan population is quite young.
The other thing that struck me this week was how hard reality hits every now and then. It's like you're trudging along, doing your thing every day and you still notice the bare feet, the people carrying everything from bundles of firewood to half a dozen
chairs to couches or sheets of plywood on their heads. I still find it amazing how they move things - 100 lb. sacks of coal on the backs of bicycles or on their heads, rustic, wooden wheelbarrows bearing everything from lumber to any other goods that need to be transported somehow. Or how someone will walk by me carrying half a dozen upside-down chickens dangling by
their feet - and yes, they're still alive.
So, I guess while I still watch in awe as I walk down the streets, sometimes the absolute poverty just hits
you square in the face. Friday night as I sat to have a beer, one of the waitresses asked me what I thought of life in Rwanda. I answered and said that I thought it was extremely difficult for the Rwandans. For me, I explained, it was great - I had a nice roof over my head, enough money to eat every day and I knew I had a way out. Most of these people will never have the
means to leave, even if they wanted. Even getting to Kigali for many of them (a 2-hour bus ride) is unattainable. And then Saturday morning as I was in town running my errands, doing a bit of shopping, people kept coming up to me trying to sell a bag of
green beans or oranges as if their life depended on it, or simply begging for money. Most of the time I can deal with it, but there are times when I find it excruciating.
And then I also wonder how I will readjust to life in wasteful, fat, wealthy North America where people (including myself) have more shoes than they know what to do with, and couldn't balance even a book on their heads if their life depended on it. It will be odd to
be surrounded by people with white skin speaking English, to turn on the taps and have hot running water 24 hours a day, to be able to throw my clothes in a washing machine, to go to the store and get bread or anything else I might want whenever I want, to turn on the computer and be immediately connected to the internet and to speak to my significant other face to face. I could go on and on. But I'm also extremely aware of the things that I'll miss. I know, I still have 5 weeks left, but I'm acutely aware of the fact
that my adventure is quickly drawing to a close.
What will I miss? Waking up in the middle of the night to the call of the muezzin, waking again early in the morning to the sound of the birds and the sight of the mist rolling into the valley below, the friendship and camaraderie of all the people I've met
here, the smiles of surprise when I greet a Rwandan in kinyarwanda, the short walk into town, the simplicity and the rhythm of my life here (even though at times it seems so fraught with difficulties), the bleating of the goats and the lowing of the cows as they walk on the path below the hotel, the exhilarating rides on the back of a taxi-velo (bicycle taxi) and the myriad adventures of every day life in a small town in equatorial Africa.
Miss you all,
Michelle
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