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Posts Tagged ‘Conscious Change’

Teaching Basic English to Vulnerable Women

Thursday, March 24, 2011

On Fridays we explain independent clauses, but on Mondays and Thursdays we taught (until recently) an entirely different kind of English class.  We traveled to Gisozi, the site of one GG project started by Evariste in 2008.  The Community Vocational Training School teaches tailoring to vulnerable women (widows, orphans, and prostitutes), and in October we attended the graduation of this year’s class of 24 women, many of whom are using this marketable skill to leave prostitution or free themselves from dependence on an abusive husband.  At the reception, we were drinking Fanta and eating bread when some of the women asked Evariste if we could teach them English.

Rwandans celebrate most occassions (at least weddings, graduations, & birthdays in our experience) by sharing Fanta and some bread. On the left is Evariste, who founded CVTS after being trained by GG and receiving seed-funding for the project. On the right is our Country Director Marlene, and the far left is a graduate who no one realized sneaked into the picture :) 

 

A few days later, Christina and I said yes.  Although we receive at least two requests per day for English lessons (taxi drivers, shopkeepers, and teammates are all eager to keep pace after the country’s 2008 shift from French to English), we decided that this class fit with our project because it could improve the graduates’ employability.  If a tailor can speak enough English to take measurements of and negotiate with tourists and ex-pats, she or he will be quite popular.  (Everyone knows Josephine, the go-to English-speaker in our market.)  So, we agreed to a month-long class, thinking that was enough time to teach some occupational English.

Teaching women who have never been to school is not as difficult as I anticipated.  It took a long time for the one or two illiterate girls to copy from the board, letter by letter, and the general pace was pretty slow, but most of them grasped the concepts the first time around.  They are very eager learners.  They took notes on everything, and somehow, between sewing, cooking, and caring for their families, they always found time to do the homework.  No one complained about writing on their laps while perched on wooden stools and chairs that collapse without warning.  For good lighting, they dragged the one-legged blackboard out onto the front porch of the school.  We hadn’t quite figured out yet how to prop it up and on the first day of school, it may or may not have careened forward onto me mid-explanation of ‘I am’.  A blackboard falling from the sky was a first in all my school experience, but some things are apparently international: the know-it-alls sit in front, the shy ones never raise their hands, and there was a class clown, Josiane.  Looking back, I’m impressed she let that blackboard incident slide… by the end all someone has to do was accidentally say “I am a boy,” and she had the female offender collapsed in giggles.  The laughter would die down until someone piped up, “Are you a boy?” and we all deteriorated again.  Our classroom management skills may be lacking, but it’s ok—they’d mastered interrogatives!

We teach an English class twice per week to vulnerable women who learned to sew as a way to a better life. With basic English, they will (hopefully!) get more clients and have a better chance of landing a steady job with a cooperative. Our classroom was outside on the porch of the sewing school, since there is no electricity inside. The blackboard is missing a leg, chairs often collapse, and neighborhood children eavedrop outside. 

In Search of Obama in Rwanda

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Each day we drive in a rented minibus to the rural village of Byimana about 1.5 hours outside of Kigali.  The scenery is stunning.  The road meanders around tall, terraced hills.  Women and children walk along mountain paths with yellow jerry cans on their heads.   Toddlers who catch our eye wave from the roadside.  The hills are an alternating fabric of banana trees and slanted, emerald farmland.

Today we passed by a local market on market day.  Usually we see the empty skeleton of the market and can only imagine what fills the area below the crooked grass roofs marking each stall. But today, the grass field was awash with women perched between mounds of tomatoes, bananas, oranges, potatoes, avocados, mangoes.  Serpentine walls of colored fabric separated the produce from the clothing sections. Higher on the hill, men and women attended grass mats filled with household goods.

But I was in search of Obama.

Now I must take a step back and try to describe the extraordinary fabric that Rwandan women typically wear wrapped around their waist. VERITABLE REAL WAX is stamped along the edges.  Prints of flowers, images and swirls of color – orange, blue, yellow, burgundy, green – make each one a work of art.  I’ve also seen prints with images as odd as New York City skylines.  A friend is coveting fabric made with the faces of African leaders – Mandela, Kagame, Mugabe.  She’s making a quilt.  But nothing is as amazing to me as the Obama fabric – round images of Obama’s likeness plastered across an African print background.   I am determined to find some.

Every stall we went to, Gyslaine asked if they had Obama.  Some had seen some on Tuesday, others said I could find him in the center of Kigali.  A few had him last week, but he was already gone.   So my search for Obama will continue this weekend.  I know he’s here in Rwanda.  It’s only a matter of time before I find him.

A small miracle

Monday, June 14, 2010

Today was my first day of training for our 2010 Academy for Conscious Change.  I was actually really nervous for the first time in a while.  But it was not because of my new group of participants, but more because I had a large group of Americans observing, which is not usually the case.  I will be curious about what they think as we get deeper into the course.

We have an amazing group of Rwandan participants – 34 women and 3 men representing 8 different teams working on a range of issues from domestic violence to malnutrition.  All seem deeply committed to their social issue and open minded enough to let a crazy “muzungu” get them to do a bit of Qigong and then lie down on the floor for a round of coherent breathwork.  They giggled and kept one eye open (and on me) even during the meditations, but they were willing to participate and I am ever so grateful for it.

We ended the day with homework that encouraged each individual to notice the little miracles happening around them.  As we clarified what that meant, one woman offered her example of what she thought that might mean from what she had experienced that day.  She told us that she originally thought foreigners were stiff, inflexible and formal.  But when she saw us lying on the floor too and when Laya, one of our staff from San Francisco gave her a kiss on the cheek to greet her, she felt that moment to be a miracle.  As my Program Officer Gyslaine translated for us, I got chills.  The woman explained, it was a miracle not just because we were friendly, but we were willing to touch them and get close to them and get down on the ground with them and just be with them.


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