Multicultural Living

I’m learning that life in Rwanda is multicultural. I’m teaching at a college that invites multiculturalism. The rector is from Switzerland, so that in itself sets a tone and I am one of 5 lecturers from countries other than Rwanda. Add to that that there are 3 languages used – Kinyarwanda, French and English. Folks who know all three easily move from one to the other as is appropriate. Since I have a little French (from high school and college) and no Kinyarwanda, I’m limited.

All of this came into focus for me yesterday when I was invited, as part of the college community, to go with other lecturers to visit a colleague who just had a new baby. The practice is to visit about 2 weeks after the baby is born, to offer encouragement to the family. There were enough of us that we went the short distance in two cars. The conversation in the car was lively, but I didn’t understand much of it. When we arrived at the house, the Tanzanian lecturer, who has only been here 6 months, but who has lived in the States for 5 years, offered to translate for me. There are similarities between her native language of Swahili and Kinyarwanda but not everything is the same. As she translated, she struggled for a word now and then and someone else would offer a word in English, but is was more of a question than it was a statement. At two points, discussions ensued as to the correction of the words offered. It became a United Nations Council to get the right translation for the language-challenged American.

The visit consisted of our being greeted by the parents and the older brother (just 3 and very proud), accepting their hospitality of drinks and food and then each of us holding the child. Then we offered a prayer and a blessing for the family. There were closing remarks, a closing prayer and departure. I was invited to give the prayer for the child, which I did in English. The vice rector of the college gave the blessing in French and the school chaplain and the father of the child gave the closing remarks in Kinyarwanda. Then Faith, my translator, asked what the child’s name was. This instigated another lively discussion about varying traditions around naming children. Each culture has its own. I was reminded of being handed Cathy when she was just hours old and being told it was my responsibility, as her paternal grandmother, to name her. Here they wait to see the personality of the child before giving a name. That wait is usually 8 days, but it can be longer. The child I prayed for has not been named you.

Last evening, some of us who had gone to the blessing gathered at Faith’s home for dinner. She had invited me on Monday, so it was just God’s timing that we should be together again on the same day. This was a smaller group of just 3 families and me. Again lots of cultural comparisons were offered. Faith cooked food from her cultural tradition in Tanzania and we all compared foods. Faith’s family lived in the States for 5 years and their youngest son, Omega, age 4, was born there, although he speaks little English. Their first born son, Alpha, age 8, does very well in English and corrected his mother’s grammar at one point. Her husband is teaching English at a private school near PIASS. I was able to better communicate throughout dinner.

The end of the evening put the day into perspective. We were invited to participate in family worship. The hymn was in Swahili. The scripture was in English, read by Alpha, and the prayer was in Kinyarwanda, offered by the school’s Chaplain. We were all one in the Spirit, regardless of the languages and cultures from which we came. It was a powerful time.