School

The walls of the biology classroom had some charts hung on them, but there was very little else to indicate it was a science laboratory.  But I was the one about to have the education, and it didn't require teaching aids. 


Overhead a broken ceiling, smashed by soldiers searching for children hiding in the roof, remained unmended 18 years after the Genocide. Empty wooden desks and a blackboard reminded me it was the school holidays, despite the swarm of teenagers outside. I was on a tour of a school  with the Headmaster to learn about facilities and curriculum, when we were accosted by a soldier. 


My answers to the second interrogation of the day were getting better,  I remembered to use the word 'misssionary' and to hide my camera. The Headmaster was visible frightened and kept repeating "Missionary, missionary" "London, London" two words which have currency here. With 95% of the population active church goers, there is still much mission work going on. A concept I thought had all but died out, is alive and flourishing and accepted as normal.  It was easier to stomach the word than the gun, so I played along.


Three weeks previously, long after my visit had been arranged, the school had been requisitioned by the government for a compulsory 'citizenship' programme for teenagers. Under heavily armed guard these youngsters learned to be Rwandans rather than Hutus or tutsi, about the community work for the good of the country and implicitly that power comes through the gun. 


It doesn't matter how much biology, mathematics or chemistry you learn, if an enquiring mind is stamped out by the authorities, how can anyone become a good citizen?