Girls in School

In the office of a local public primary school, a school employee was looking over a chart comparing the number of girls and boys who had dropped out. It was divided by class so, from an outsider, things didn't look too bad: Perhaps one or two more girls than boys had dropped out in any given term in any given class. "Well, things are looking up," I said. He shook his head. "I have seen more girls than boys drop out," he told me. "Maybe 2010 was just a random good year." Even looking at 2010, there was statistical significance of more girls dropping out if all grades were combined.

A teacher was passing by with exams he was marking. "How are the students doing?" I asked. This particular teacher has excellent English that he has picked up over the years from random aid workers and volunteers who have made their way through Rubona. He's a chatty one so, like many chatty people, his spoken English is exceptionally well. He is almost American, except for his salary which is insanely low for what he his contributing: 24,000 franc a month, or around $40. Also un-American is his taste for bulky-yet-effeminate knit sweaters, the kind both genders in America grudgingly get as gifts from older relatives and then donate to goodwill, which can't sell them either. So goodwill charities and shops donate them to Africa, where they end up on English teachers in Rwanda with questionable style taste or an ironic, edgy style taste, depending in your perspective. And in this heat, it really is an aesthetic choice, not a necessity.

"How are the kids doing on their English exams?" I asked. I peered at the exams. "Are the girls doing well?" He proudly showed me his top student, who was a girl.

I asked where the son of the local bar owner was - I couldn't remember his name, but I was curious to know how he was doing on his exams. I hadn't spoken to him since first arriving, when the longer vacation time gave the boy more time to hang around the bar and talk. Back then, his accent made him sound like an New England prep school kid, which stands out in an area where most elementary school kids don't know much more than "Good morning" and "Fine, thankyou." A local Peace Corp volunteer (maybe the product of a New England prep school?) had taught him English, and he was young enough to pick up the accent. Nobody knew who I was talking about, so they started to call over every student who had really good English to come talk to me, though I told them, really, they didn't need to interrupt anyone's recess and game of handball. Handball has become a huge hit in the last few months since rubber balls one day started appearing in Rubona and breaking school windows.

One of the students had recently immigrated from Kenya. His mother, who was Rwandan, wanted to return. His English was excellent, as Kenya is where Rwanda hopes to be in the future with regards to English in school. His Swahili was fluent, of course, but his Kinyarwanda was struggling. "How are you doing in school?" the vice principal asked. "I am doing well in science and African history, but not on information connected to Rwanda." He explained that he could not remember all the different ministries that the other children knew perfectly well. "Also, I'm not doing so well in math." Oh, who ever is?

Next in line of the kids-dragged-away-from-recess-to-meet-me was the son of the bar owner. He was a bit less chipper than when I first met him. Maybe because his recess had been interrupted. Also, his English did not seem as well as before. Also, maybe because his recess had been interrupted.

To his right stood the top-ranking student, a slightly tall girl with slight features who also seemed to really want to go back to playing handball. I swear, that game is addictive. She was incredibly shy with her eyes downcast and did not understand what I or the vice-principal asked in English. Her top subject was mathematics which perhaps explains her talent for English grammar, even though she cannot speak it. "Do you want to study in a boarding school for secondary school?" the vice principal asked. She did not understand so we asked a lot of different variations of this question, and asked in increasingly slow paces and increasingly heightened annunciation. She finally showed her understanding with a simple answer: "Yes." We asked her where she wanted to study and she answered, as expected, "Kigali."

I hope her brilliance will make up for her extreme shyness. And I am happy that her teacher is a chatty one who has put the effort into learning fluent English over the years. Even though I am extremely unhappy that he is absurdly underpaid. And a smidgen unhappy with his questionable taste in sweaters.