Notes From the Land of a Thousand Hills

Manusha Janakiram

Three weeks ago, these words meant practically nothing to 24 working journalists based in Kigali. They might even have looked at me and asked in Kinyarwanda, “None se?”

Three weeks ago, I would have looked back at them blankly since I wouldn’t have understood what the question meant.

But after three weeks of 3-hr night classes it became clear, much to my excitement, that all of them had learned what those words meant.

From stifled giggles and eyebrows arched in surprise at my first attempt in Kinyarwanda to nods of understanding, they too recognized that I, their radio teacher, also was learning. (For the record, “none se” means “so what?”)

It seems to me teaching always works that way. I leave Kigali having learned, be it in different ways, just as much as I taught, if not more.

There have been constraints along the way. Equipment, attendance, language have all posed their challenges without a doubt.

Today as I recounted some of those challenges to a family friend, he asked me what had made the deepest impression on me.

I couldn’t answer the question at the time, but I think my answer would have gone something like this:

My experience here has been short. But it affirmed my understanding that journalism is a public service.

Here in Kigali, the journalists in my class worked a full day, often traveling hours on assignment, only to then must up enough energy to attend a 3-hour night class. Many of them work seven days a week. The money isn’t great. Freedom of the press is in its infancy. Yet their passion doesn’t waver and their commitment was clear.

I would be lying if I lead you to believe that all of them were A-students or that they all could perform their newly acquired skills flawlessly and on deadline. Not all of them can do that.

Not yet anyway.