Language

Language in Rwanda is absolutely fascinating. Everyone speaks the local language, Kinyarwanda, and most also speak, or at least understand, Swahili. French, which was the predominant language in the schools until the mid-1990s, is the most common Western language in the country, but since the new government came into power after the war of 1994 (the genocide is always referred to as "the war" or "the war of 1994), English has become an official language and is also taught in the schools. So for expatriates, none of whom it seems can speak a word of Kinyarwanda, it's best to first use French to communicate with someone, and only to use English if the person responds in English. However, there are always exceptions. For example, Rwandans who fled during the war to neighboring Anglophone countries like Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania most often speak more English than French, so using French will get you nowhere. Of course there is no way to know which language to speak until you begin a conversation.

Most of my conversations, whether with persons I know or with strangers, involve a combination of all three languages - Kinyarwanda, French and English. With coworkers, a conversation may go something like this:

Me: Maramutse! (Good morning!)
Rwandan coworker: Maramutse! Amakuru? (Good morning. How are you?)
Me: Nimeza. (I am fine.) How was your weekend?
Rwandan coworker: It was very good. How was yours?
Me: It was very good. Thank you.
Rwandan coworker: Good. Est-ce que vous avez le câble de mon ordinateur? (Do you have the cable for my computer?)
Me: Oui, mais ça ne fonctionne pas. Je vais acheter un nouveau en ville aujourd'hui. (Yes, but it does not work. I am going to buy a new one in town today.)
Rwandan coworker: Ah, merci. (Ah, thank you.)
Me: De rien. (You're welcome.) I'll bring it to you later.

The conversation is also mixed with taxi drivers, though French usually dominates these conversations:

Me: Bonjour. (Hello.)
Taxi driver: (Kinyarwandan grunt and nod of acknowledgement)
Me: Je voudrais aller à Kimihurura. (I want to go to Kimihurura.)
Taxi driver: Où en Kimihurura? (Where in Kimihurura?)
Me: Près de le restaurant Papyrus. Ou près de le restaurant Hellenique. (Near the restaurant Papyrus. Or near the restaurant Hellenique.)
Taxi driver: (Look of confusion.)
Me: The middle of the hill. (Kimihurura is a neighborhood of town situated on the side of a hill, so the price for a taxi depends on where you want to go on the hill.)
Taxi driver: The middle?
Me: The middle. Oui, le milieu de la colline. C'est combien? (Yes, the middle of the hill. How much is it?)
Taxi driver: Huit cents. (800.)
Me: Huit cent!? (800!?)
Taxi driver: Eight hundred.
Me: Oya. Non. C'est beaucoup. C'est cher! (No (in Kinyarwanda). No (in French). It is a lot. It is expensive!) (This is said loudly, skeptically and indignantly to show that I am not a tourist and refuse to pay the muzungu - white person - price.)
Me: Quatre cents. (400.)
Taxi driver: Non, seis cents. (No, 600.)
Me: Non. Toujours c'est quatre cents à Kimihurura. (No. It is always 400 to Kimihurura.) (This is also said skeptically and indignantly.)
Taxi driver: (Kinyarwandan head gesture to come)
Me: Quatre cents? (400?) (Checking that I am coming under the assumption of paying my price of 400 rather than his price of 600)
Taxi driver: (Kinyarwandan eyebrow raise of acknowledgement)
Me: Sawa, sawa. (Ok, it is fine.)

Conversations in the market usually require more Kinyarwanda on my part and are therefore even more mixed:

Me: (browsing thin, clear plastic bags filled with various powders) Qu'est-ce que c'est? (What is this?)
Rwandan woman: Farine. (Flour.)
Me: (shaking my head to say "no")
Rwandan woman: Qu'est-ce que vous cherchez? (What are you looking for?)
Me: Je cherche... (I am looking for...) (as I try to remember the French word for "sugar")
Rwandan woman: (holding up various bags to ask if any of them are what I'm looking for)
Me: Isukari! Nda shaka isukari. (Sugar! (remembering the Kinyarwanda word for "sugar") I am looking for sugar.)
Rwandan woman: Ah! (holding up a bag of sugar) Sept cents. (700.)
Me: Sept cents? Sawa. Murakoze. (700? Ok. Thank you.)
Rwandan woman: Murakoze nawe. (Thank you to you also.)

Although the combination of languages is usually amusing in most settings, it can be just as confusing. Take, for example, a conversation that happened this morning in my office:

American coworker: What does "ashante" mean in Kinyarwanda?
Me: I don't know.
Rwandan coworker: It means "to sing."
American coworker: "To sing"? But people say it all the time. By itself. Are you sure that's what it means?
Rwandan coworker: Yes, of course.
Another Rwandan coworker: No, it doesn't. "Ashante" is not a word in Kinyarwanda.
American coworker: What?
Me (with a light bulb appearing over my head, as in a cartoon): Wait, what word is it?
American coworker: "Ashante."
Me: Are you sure they're speaking Kinyarwanda?
American coworker: I think so.
Me: I think they're speaking French. The word is "enchanté."
American coworker: "Ashante" is a French word? What does it mean?
Me: No, it's "enchanté" and it means "delighted" or "it's a pleasure" or something like that. You say it when you first meet someone or when you respond to someone saying "thank you."
American coworker: Ohhhhh. That makes much more sense than "to sing."

And so the conversations go, with mixed languages and even more mixed understandings, so I continue to study and practice both French and Kinyarwanda.