Muzungu

Today was the first day of classes, and I am out of my head exhausted. Again? Again.

I never really fully grasped the fact that teaching, as The Man says, is truly a performance art. I danced, leapt, and sang through 4 hours of math class, just so that my students would feel excited and interested in what I had to say. That is a long, long time to be energetic and engaging.

The first class was terrified, and you could tell. They were pretty silent. So I went around to see if they'd talk to me about things about themselves for a while. It was difficult - they barely spoke above a whisper, even when standing up. I just kept trying to encourage them, and little by little they came out a little bit. But not a lot. The second class I taught was a lot more excited and open. They still spoke softly, but many of them had some courage. Apparently, a large amount of the second class had an initial year at the school before, so they are more confident and used to the school. I told them who I was and they cheered. That was a boost. Both classes I had to speak super slowely. Suuuppppeeerrrr slooooooooooowllyyyyyyy....with con-so-nan-ts.



I had the classes take placement exams today for a while, because I have absolutely no idea where they are in math. It's a pretty mixed bag of knowledge, so I think I might just start from the very bottom so I can make sure everyone gets on a level playing field. But it might be easier than I had thought. We'll see what happens once I teach them math for once. I am pretty much winging it for the moment. I have a feeling I will be winging it a bit all the time.

One tackle I know I will face is the complacently clueless demeanor of the students. I have no idea what they don't know and do know, and they're not going to readily supply me with that information. All class I would stop everything and ask people to raise their hand if they don't understand. I don't know another way right now. I hope I'll figure it out soon.

I think my school should have a nap room for the teachers during their break times.

I have one classmate from the Bahamas, Denise, who is really wonderful, and we get along famously so far. She is laid back and funny, and very inviting. We have been having a few heart-to-hearts about our situations, raison d'etre's, and other things. I enjoy talking and hanging out with her - I hope we can spend more time out of class together. I really like all of the teachers with whom I work so far. Everyone is fun, talkative, and intelligent. I love that. I work with 2 Ugandans and a Bahaman; most people can't say that.

I forgot to mention that today was the first time in my life I rode a motorcycle, called motos here. Apparently I wake up and go to work too early to use the public transportation here, so I have to use the motos to get to work, since they're basically the version of taxicabs here. I was pretty terrified during the ride. I had this massive, vibrating machine jostling me around on a vehicle that was going down a windy hill road far too quickly - how could I not be terrified?? I am so glad Scovea came with me on another moto so I could ape her actions and movements on my moto. I clung on for dear life with the grip of death the entire trip. I now know one Kinyarwandan word: Buhoro means SLOW!

After work I had to wait an hour (an hour?!) for the KBS bus to get back to my house. Denise waited with me, as she wanted to go to the market (Kimironko Market) to get some produce before heading home. The motos crowded around the white girl (that's me) for about an hour, trying to persuade us to use them to get to Kimironko. I kept saying, "KBS", thinking they'd understand that I was waiting for the bus like all of the other Rwandans around me. They would just laugh at me and talk to each other in Kinyarwandan, as if I wasn't there in front of them. I heard the word, "muzungu" a lot today. Muzungu means, essentially, "foreigner". But the connotations include money wealth, white skin usually, English language, and a certain outsider respect. Though I have no wealth (I make the equivalent to a Rwandan), I am a muzungu. The bus finally came, and even on the bus people checked out the only white person on it. I was charged 50 fRw extra for my trip.

I've never been so aware of my skin color in my entire life - not even in India did I feel so obviously placed out.

So we went to the market, and again I was a muzungu with my Bahaman buddy. While she's black and probably would have been able to get by just fine in the market because of that, I was there with backpack in tow, and therefore we became an attraction. I was clutching onto my backpack while we were surrounded on all sides by people who wanted our business. Boys came up to beg me to hire them to hold my bags (No). Men came over to get us to buy their vegetables and fruit (No). And women watched us and talked about "Muzungu" from afar, as they watched their stands. I am used to living in NYC, where it is so easy to be invisible and get on with daily life without being haggled normally. Now, I'm in a place where I will never, never be invisible. I will always be the muzungu that people surround and focus their efforts on. I don't know how I feel about it, and I'm thinking I won't get used to it.

I had a Fanta with my housemate and her friend, and we chatted about normal, daily life. And about Rwanda. And about The Man. I talk about him a lot.