It was one of the best moments and experiences of my life to study in an inclusive school that provided the quality education I had always wanted. For many years, I had yearned, searched, and struggled to find sponsorship, but finally my prayers were answered. With the advice and support of people around me, I received sponsorship from UCC.

My eyes began to open as I developed skills in reading, understanding feedback, and noticing details in writing. These abilities shaped me into a completely different person, someone, no one, not even my family, friends, or relatives, expected me to become. Gradually, I gained respect from others, but it was never complete. I still faced humiliation because of my deafness.

Despite this, I gathered my courage to continue my studies and refused to let worries make me weak. I believed that the best option was to keep moving forward and achieve the dreams I held in my heart. I was determined never to stop my education, even though poverty and the temptation of quick money something many of my friends and members of the deaf community pursued through small jobs or artistic work constantly surrounded me. I knew giving in would destroy my efforts and ruin my future. That is why I endured every challenge.

I learned that trying is always better than giving up, because success requires the best qualities a person can offer. Honestly, it was not easy. It was a painful and humiliating journey. My friends earned small amounts of money from casual work while I continued my studies with nothing in my pocket. At times, I felt invisible, almost like a dead person.

As the years passed, my problems only increased. Yet someone who believed in me reminded me that I had ability and enthusiasm. He urged me to stay strong and patient, teaching me that a patient person will overcome the weak and succeed. He encouraged me to hold tightly to my dreams, assuring me that in the years ahead, I would see the best results and become an example an inspiration to those who hurt me, those who doubted me because I am deaf, and those who failed to value others.

I wanted to prove to the deaf community, to parents, and to society that people with disabilities deserve respect and opportunities. And so I continued to shine, rising from the bottom to the top.

Let me begin where my journey truly started.

In 2015, I was ready to move on to secondary school after successfully passing the national Primary 6 examination. As the opening day approached, all the students sponsored by UCC gathered at the center to collect school materials, books, and fees for their next stage of education. I was there with two deaf sisters who had been my classmates since primary school. We were excited, believing we would soon begin our studies in Kigali, the capital of Rwanda.

One of the UCC staff members told us to be ready at 5:00 a.m. the next morning to travel to school. I packed my few belongings into a simple box because I didn’t have a school bag. My mother, though poor, helped me prepare and lovingly walked me part of the way. She had nothing to give me no money, no supplies but her warm heart and support gave me strength. I took a motorbike to the UCC center and arrived first, waiting for everyone else.

When the others arrived, I felt embarrassed. The two sisters had nice school bags, proper supplies, and were accompanied by their older sister, a university graduate. They looked well prepared and were escorted with care. I had no family with me, no bag, and only a small box of belongings. Still, I tried not to let it bother me.

We bought bus tickets heading toward the Northern Province on a road that continued toward Kigali. The journey to Kigali took about three hours. Once we arrived, we expected to take a taxi to a school somewhere in the city. In our minds, Kigali was where we would study. But to our surprise, we boarded another bus that headed toward the Southern Province instead.

As we traveled through thick forests, we looked at each other in confusion and fear. “What is this place? Where are we going?” one of us whispered. None of us knew. Anxiety filled the bus. We worried we were being taken to a different school than planned.

Eventually, we arrived in Muhanga District in the south. There, we stopped at a market to buy basic necessities like baskets, plates, spoons, and forks before continuing the journey. The road grew narrower and the surroundings more rural, with scattered houses, farmlands, and dense trees. Finally, we reached the school a Catholic-owned center nestled deep in the countryside.

The school compound had separate dormitories for boys and girls and a chapel nearby for daily prayers. But this was not the school we had been promised. Shocked and disappointed, we confronted the person who had brought us there.

“Why this place? We don’t like it. We didn’t choose this school. Why did you decide for us?” we pleaded in frustration and begged to be taken elsewhere. He simply told us to be patient, claiming we were only visiting and that he would return to take us to the real school. Later, we discovered this was a lie.

We waited for the other students to arrive at the dorm before classes began. Most came in the evening, including the Deaf students. They were new and unfamiliar to me because I had never met so many Deaf people from different places before. However, the boarding school gave me an opportunity to recognize and connect with them, and soon we started to build friendships.

Life in the boarding school was not easy. When I first arrived, I found myself surrounded by many unexpected people. As students arrived in the evening, we greeted each other using sign language our natural Deaf language. The dormitory was very large, filled with many beds, and each bed had an upper and lower part for two people.

The school had strict rules and policies that made freedom difficult. The discipline system was tough for everyone. Every morning at around 4:00 a.m., the Dean of Discipline would come to wake us up for bathing and preparing for classes. Even on weekends, we woke up early to prepare for prayers. After washing and dressing, we would have breakfast and then go to church around 9:00 a.m.

Honestly, it was not enjoyable for me, and I believe many others felt the same. Sometimes I felt like a prisoner in that school. I even thought about quitting and returning to a day school because I missed seeing different places after classes. I loved learning about new things, hearing news, and making friends. But in the boarding school, I felt trapped and cut off from the outside world.

When I was a day student in primary school, I loved gathering information, listening to people’s discussions, watching scenes and scenery, and picking up tips from others. But after joining the boarding school, I felt as though I had lost that freedom. Inside the boarding school, people often invented stories and spread them as if they were true, just to pass time. It was sometimes boring, though we also shared laughter over funny things.

Despite the challenges, most students were kind and caring. If someone had money, they often shared snacks or milk with others, especially with those who were sick or unable to eat the food cooked by the school. Sometimes the school did not consider everyone’s health conditions when preparing meals. Students who had medical notes from doctors were given special food, while others ate the normal meals.

I remember feeling a bit jealous when I saw someone eating special food it always looked delicious. I even tried to convince the supervisor to let me have a different meal, but he asked me if I had a doctor’s note saying I was not allowed to eat certain foods. Since I didn’t, I couldn’t lie, so I gave up and continued eating the same food as everyone else.

Here is the picture of school HVP GATAGARA STUDENTS.

At school, most students had money given to them by their parents or relatives because they were living in the dormitory. They needed it for basic things like buying milk, fruits, or snacks especially when they didn’t like the food served for lunch. Some students went through the proper process: they asked permission from the supervisor, who would give them a permission card for a certain number of days. Others, however, escaped secretly to buy snacks or milk because they feared their request might be denied.

For me, it was much harder. I didn’t bring any money from home. When I saw my classmates going out to buy milk or snacks, I started to feel left out and hungry. I decided to ask the supervisor if I could call my uncle to send me some money. But when I explained that I was hungry, the supervisor looked at me and asked, “How can you say you’re hungry when this school provides good food?”

I felt so embarrassed. Later, I realized that I needed to find a smarter way to ask. So I changed my approach and told the supervisor that I had a stomachache and a headache, and that I needed to call my family to send me money for milk and fruits. This time, he accepted. I called my uncle, and later I received the money.

From then on, I sometimes got permission to go out and buy milk, although not very often. Some of my roommates who also wanted to go out started looking for creative ways to get permission. One student suggested that we ask the supervisor to allow us to go running on Fridays. It worked sometimes.

Every week, students were divided into cleaning groups. Each male and female dorm had their own cleaning schedules. My group was responsible for cleaning in the mornings when everyone had gone to class. Honestly, it felt like torture for me. I didn’t like cleaning such large areas, especially because the washing situation was difficult. We had to bathe inside the bedroom using our own basins, and the water would flood the floor because there weren’t enough bathrooms for everyone.

It was awkward at first everyone bathing together in one big room. Some covered themselves shyly with their hands, while others didn’t mind at all, especially those who had been in the school for a long time. As a newcomer, I was very shy at first, always trying to find a hidden corner to bathe. But as time passed, I got used to it and overcame the embarrassment.

The boarding school was very quiet, almost like a prison. There was no noise like I was used to from outside life. When classes ended, I often sat on a desk outside the classroom door, just watching others play basketball, volleyball, or football. Some students walked around chatting, but the conversations sometimes became boring. I often wondered where I could go to relax or have fun.

Although it was an inclusive school, students usually stayed within their own groups. In the evenings or during free time, people gathered to chat in the dorms, outside, in the dining hall, or even at church depending on where their friends were. I noticed that some Deaf students only talked with other Deaf students who were intelligent, ignoring the ones who struggled more. Likewise, some hearing students only stayed with other hearing ones.

That didn’t feel right to me. I wanted to be friendly with everyone -Deaf, hearing, disabled, or without disable people. I believed that building relationships with all kinds of people was important for growing in love, skills, and teamwork.

Academically, the school was challenging. We had around twelve modules, and they were difficult to study because of their complexity. We followed the module schedule strictly. I was especially excited when I began learning computer studies. I was lucky to open my first email account, and soon after, I saw some classmates using Facebook. Out of curiosity, I decided to open my own account too. It was not easy at first, but little by little, I learned how to use it.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about Facebook, WhatsApp, or even email. During the school holidays, I found a free community center where everyone was allowed to use computers and access the internet freely. That’s where I opened my first email account and began exploring the online world for the very first time.

One of the first things I did was contact my long-lost friend Jana. I had kept her email address for nearly five years it was written in a letter she gave me before she left Rwanda. Finally, I gathered the courage to write to her. To my joy, she replied! She told me she was now married to Brano, a man I had met before in Rwanda when I was with her and our friend Anita. I was so surprised to learn that they had become husband and wife, and that they already had a baby boy who was just a few months old Adrien.

It was such great news, and from that day, we continued emailing each other often. Every time I went to that free internet center called VJN, located in Gisenyi I checked eagerly to see if Jana had replied to my message. I didn’t have a phone then, so that center was the only way I could keep in touch. Jana often shared stories about her new family, and I told her about my studies and how I was struggling but determined to keep going. She encouraged me to be patient and to endure, reminding me that success takes time.

I asked her about Anita, and she told me that they had grown apart after Jana got married. Anita now lived in the USA. When Jana got married in Slovakia, Anita attended the wedding but later returned to the USA to continue her studies, and they hadn’t spoken much since.

When the holidays ended, I had to return to boarding school. Before leaving, I started thinking about how to collect some money to avoid going hungry at school and maybe buy a small phone. I went to UCC, where I received a small amount for my school transport, but it wasn’t enough for extra needs. Then I visited my uncle in Musanze District, who gave me 5,000 Rwandan francs. Later, I went to another uncle in Kigali, who also gave me 5,000. I felt disappointed because it wasn’t much.

I decided to spend the money on a new luggage bag that cost 15,000 Rwandan francs. My old one was torn and had no lock, and I feared that someone might steal from it at school. But after buying it, I realized I had no money left for milk, fruit, or other food in case I got hungry.

When the second semester began, I returned to school with my new luggage. I continued studying, but I still didn’t feel comfortable there. Boarding school felt like a prison to me. I began thinking about asking my sponsor, Mr. Zachary, who was the founder of UCC, for permission to leave boarding school and join a day school instead.

When the next holiday came, I returned home to Rubavu. On Monday morning, I went to see Mr. Zachary at UCC. I was nervous that he might reject my request, but I decided to be brave. He asked how school was going, and I told him honestly that I didn’t feel happy there. I explained that I wanted to move to a day school where I could focus better on my studies without so many distractions. I also told him I found it difficult studying among many Deaf students.

He listened carefully. Instead of refusing, he advised me to stay in boarding school until I finished my final year, and then I could transfer to a day school. I felt so happy and relieved. I couldn’t wait for the day I’d study close to home, walking freely to and from school.

During that semester, I found peace in running. After class, I loved to run because it helped me feel calm and full of energy. The sports teacher asked me what sport I liked, and I told him I liked running and football, but running was my favorite. He encouraged me to join the upcoming national competition for students with disabilities.

Our school, G.S. HVP Gatagara, selected me as one of the runners and football players. Early one morning, we traveled to Kigali by school bus for the event held at Amahoro Stadium. It was exciting to see so many Deaf students from different schools and regions gathered together.

In the first race, I didn’t make it past the first round. But in the next, I came in first place and won a silver medal! It was my first medal ever, and I felt proud. At first, I thought the medal came with money. I asked someone how to collect the prize, and he laughed, saying, “No, that’s just a memory hang it on your wall to remember your success.” I was like, “Oh damn, I thought there was money inside!” We both laughed about it.

Later, I joined a fashion show at school. I had a partner a girl in the same class and together we practiced walking styles in the evenings and on weekends. When the show day came, guests from other schools, including some from Butare, attended. The performances included traditional dances, Afrobeat, and fashion modeling. It was an amazing day. We were later invited to perform at another school, and everyone was excited.

There was also another girl at the school whom I really liked. She was Burundian, a level above me, tall, beautiful, and very smart. She had a lovely smile and a great sense of humor. We became close friends, often helping each other with English. She always borrowed my dictionary and came to my class to ask about difficult words. Sometimes she even left her class and came to mine during lessons to ask the teacher, “Can I see Fabrice?” Then I’d help her understand the meaning of the words. I really liked her and always looked forward to seeing her.

But some of my classmates warned me that she might be pretending to like me that she only needed my help for her studies. They said she had done similar things before. I didn’t want to believe them, so I kept helping her.

One evening, near the end of the third term, I suddenly fell sick while resting in bed. My roommate quickly took me to the hospital inside the school compound. As I was being wheeled to the hospital, I looked around, hoping to see the girl I liked coming to check on me but she just stood there watching. That hurt me deeply.

I stayed in the school hospital for three days. I enjoyed being there because it was quiet, peaceful, and the food was much better than what we had in the dining hall. Patients often shared their food and milk with me because no one from school brought me any. When I saw a classmate bringing the usual school food, I whispered, “Oh no, please don’t!”

When I recovered a little, the doctor told me I could go back to school, but I didn’t want to. I liked the hospital more than the noisy dorms. Shortly after returning to school, I fell sick again. The doctor then gave me a choice: go to Butare District Hospital or call my family to take me to Kigali. I chose my family.

My uncles came and took me to CHUK Hospital in Kigali. On the first day, while I was at the pharmacy, I suddenly collapsed and had a seizure. I was rushed to the emergency room. My mother came all the way from Rubavu to care for me. At first, I didn’t feel comfortable seeing her because of the painful memories from the past, but she cared for me with love and patience, bringing food and staying by my side.

After four days, my uncle wanted me to return to school for final exams, but I didn’t want to go back. I prayed not to. Later, the teacher called and told him it wasn’t necessary my grades from the previous terms would be added together, and I had already passed. I was so happy when I heard the news from my classmates on Facebook. It felt like freedom.

Finally, I said goodbye to boarding school and I swore never to return.

A month later, when I was fully recovered and walking home, a motorcycle suddenly hit me. I fell to the ground and injured my arm and face. I fainted and was taken to Gisenyi Hospital. My mother was terrified and stressed, worried that after recovering from CHUK, I was now hurt again. I stayed in the hospital for a few days until I recovered.

That time in my life was full of challenges sickness, accidents, and loneliness but I learned endurance, courage, and strength. Each time I fell, I rose again, trusting that God would give me comfort and hope for a better future.

The following year, I finally transferred to a new day school something I had been desperate for since I wanted to leave the boarding school. The day school felt much better, even though I was the only deaf student among many hearing ones. There were no sign language interpreters, and no one knew sign language at all.

At first, everyone seemed scared to talk to me. Some students avoided sitting near me because of the mindset and rumors they had heard about people with disabilities especially deafness. Many believed false stories, saying that kiragi (a term meaning “dumb”) people could be violent or dangerous if provoked. Because of this, they were cautious and kept their distance.

In class, a few of my classmates would nervously ask, “May I sit here? I won’t bother you, I promise.” I smiled and told them not to be afraid that I was just like them, a human being who would never hurt anyone without reason. I tried to convince them to see that deaf people are kind, capable, and no different from others.

To help them understand me better, I wrote on the blackboard and asked if anyone wanted to learn some basic sign language. Many students said yes. I taught them how to greet each other and how to spell their names using the sign language alphabet. Some of them learned quickly and began communicating with me. Slowly, the fear turned into joy we became friends, chatting, laughing, and even cleaning the classroom together after lessons.

In the first semester, I ranked first in my class. Everyone was surprised, especially those who had known me from primary school where I used to be top of my class as well. However, in the second semester, I could not maintain my position. I started missing classes and struggled with absenteeism.

Life at home was very difficult. It was hard to stay focused when I was hungry. I needed money for school shoes, breakfast, and other basic needs. My family could not afford to provide lunch or dinner regularly. Sometimes, I lied to the school dean so I could leave early and meet someone who had promised to give me a little money. Other times, I followed other students and jumped over the school wall something I knew was wrong but felt forced to do.

I often felt guilty because I wanted to be honest and good. But when life becomes too hard, survival can push you to make choices you never imagined. Deep down, I knew that if life at home had been easier, I would never have lied or skipped class.

Here is my picture of 2020 in GASS

One day, while walking through the town where my school was located, I suddenly met my uncle someone I had never really known or shared any close bond with. I recognized him a little, but not completely. He had parked his car near the Deaf community art center. As I passed by, I noticed him staring at me. I stopped, turned back, and walked toward him, confused but curious.

He began speaking, but I couldn’t understand, so I took out my phone and texted him:

“I can’t hear you. Please write here or on paper.”

He looked surprised that I could read and write. Then he asked, typing on my phone, “Is that you, Fabrice?”

I nodded and replied, “Yes.”

He asked how my mother was doing, and I told him she was fine and at home. Then he asked if I could guide him to our village so he could visit her. I agreed. Before going home, he invited me to sit in his car, and we first went to La Corniche Hotel to eat.

While we ate, he asked me many questions:
“How did you learn English? Where did you study? Who is sponsoring your education?”

I told him that I was in secondary school, in level two, and that the UCC (Ubumwe Community Center) had sponsored me since primary school. He was amazed. He said he had never known anything about my progress since I became deaf. He had only heard things that I behaved like a mad person, that I would have no future, and that I was uneducated.

After lunch, we drove to my home in the village. My mother was surprised and happy to see him. They sat and talked while I went to my room to get my school report cards from primary school. I showed him that I had been in first place every semester in Primary 4 and 5, and second place in Primary 6. He was impressed and gave my mother some money before we left.

Later, we went to pick up his children from the hotel his son and daughter, whom I had never seen before. Then we picked up his wife from a grocery store and all went together to Serena Hotel by Lake Kivu. His children went swimming while I sat with my uncle, chatting.

He wasn’t completely satisfied yet. He kept asking more about my studies how I managed to go to school, how I got sponsorship, how I could understand English, and how my mother supported me. I told him everything, including the struggles I went through. He promised to help me continue my studies and told me never to give up. He said, “If you ever need anything, call me.”

That made me so happy he was the first uncle I had ever felt I could depend on. Later that evening, we all went to a restaurant by the lake to eat fish before he dropped me home.

After that day, I sometimes texted him to ask for small help, like money to buy school shoes. He sent it through mobile money it was the first time in my life I had ever received money on my phone.

The following year, I joined Senior 3. The school required all students aged 16 or above to have a national ID card. I was already 18, but I didn’t have one. When I went to the sector office to check, I discovered that I wasn’t registered at all only my mother and sister were in the records. I couldn’t understand why. Everyone in the village knew me, so how could my name be missing?

Fortunately, I managed to register through school, since ID was needed for the national exams. After some months, I finally received my first national ID card but my birth year was uncertain. I had to guess, using memories of times when my uncle had written my age somewhere.

When registration for the national exams began, every student had to submit their parents’ names, contacts, and their Primary 6 results. I submitted only my mother’s name and phone number since I didn’t know my father’s details.

We also had to choose departments for Senior 4. I chose two options: MCB (Mathematics, Chemistry, and Biology) and Tourism. My dream was to study MCB because I wanted to become a doctor to prove that being deaf didn’t mean being incapable. I wanted to show people that deaf people deserve respect, rights, and inclusion.

But studying MCB was very hard. I had no sign language interpreter, and teachers taught only by speaking. I struggled a lot to understand mathematics, chemistry, and biology, though I was good in English and some basic subjects. I studied late into the night, revising in silence, determined to succeed.

When the national exam approached, I asked my uncle for some money to buy food so I could study properly, and he sent it. After the exams, I finally rested it had been an exhausting journey.

When the results were released in November, I placed fourth in my school. However, I didn’t score high enough in mathematics, chemistry, and biology to qualify for MCB. The government instead placed me in the MEG (Mathematics, English, and Geography) combination, but I didn’t like it.

Frederick, from UCC, suggested that I switch to Construction studies in TVET. He tried to convince me that construction would be better and that I could become a supervisor for UCC projects. But my heart refused. I loved education, and if I couldn’t study MCB, I preferred Tourism instead.

Frederick said, “How will you communicate with people in Tourism? It’s a waste of time if you have to write everything.”
I replied through writing that communication is possible in many ways but he still refused.

Even though it was painful, I stood by my dream. I wanted to study something that matched my passion, not just something others chose for me.

After completing my previous studies, my uncle — who had been helping me with school support — advised me to study computer science. He said it would help me find a job in the future. I was very happy and immediately started looking for a school that offered computer studies.

The first place I went was Gisenyi Adventist Secondary School (GASS) — a private school that I had always dreamed of attending. It was the most beautiful and expensive school I had ever seen, full of smart, well-dressed students from wealthy families. I had admired that school since I was in Senior 2 and 3, always hoping one day to study there.

When I arrived, I went to the dean’s office to ask about admission. The dean looked at me curiously and asked,

“You want to study here? But you are deaf. How will you manage? You can’t hear or speak, and this school doesn’t have sign language interpreters. We also teach hard subjects here.”

I looked at him and replied calmly,

“I understand your concern, sir. But being deaf doesn’t mean I’m incapable. I’ve studied in schools without interpreters before, and I’ve passed very well. I believe in myself. I can do hard things that others think are impossible. Please trust me and give me a chance.”

The dean was silent for a moment. Then he nodded and said,

“Okay, I’ll give you the admission paper. Let’s see what you can do.”

He handed me the form, and I carried it straight to UCC (Ubumwe Community Center), which was sponsoring my education.

My first mistake was not asking my uncle what kind of computer studies he meant. Without knowing, I chose the Mathematics, Computer Science, and Economics (MCE) combination. I brought the admission paper back to UCC, and they gave me everything I needed school fees, uniform money, and books. I returned to GASS, paid the accountant, and officially became a student there.

I was overjoyed it was like a dream come true. But once again, I was the only deaf student among all the hearing students.

On my first day in class, the teacher asked everyone to introduce themselves. When it was my turn, I politely asked the teacher if I could write my introduction on the chalkboard instead. The teacher was shocked.

“Wait, this class has a deaf student? How will I teach you?” he said, looking confused.

The students came from different districts, most of them boarders, and many were Adventists. Luckily, I recognized a few faces some had studied with me before in primary and secondary school.

One girl, in particular, became my closest friend. We had studied together in Primary 6 at Umubano I School, and she still remembered some basic sign language. She was kind, calm, and very positive beautiful both inside and out. She often sat beside me and helped me interpret lessons the best she could.

Even though I was deaf and learning was hard, I didn’t give up. Out of about 70 students, I often ranked between 7th and 10th place in the class. Many were surprised and began to respect me.

Still, some students were afraid to talk to me at first. They didn’t understand deafness. Some even believed old rumors that deaf people could be violent or dangerous. So, one day, I wrote on the board:

“Please don’t be afraid. Deaf people are just like you. We can’t hear, but we can think, learn, and love. Let’s be friends.”

I also asked if anyone wanted to learn sign language. Many said yes, so I taught them basic greetings and the alphabet. Soon, they started communicating with me in sign language, and the fear slowly turned into joy and friendship.

Every Tuesday, the whole school went to church to listen to sermons. I didn’t like going because I couldn’t hear anything. I preferred to stay in class and study quietly. But sometimes the dean checked all classes to make sure no one stayed behind.

When he found me, he asked,

“Why don’t you go to the church service?”

I wrote back,

“There’s no interpreter. I can’t understand what’s being said.”

The dean looked sorry and said,

“Okay, you can stay. No problem.”

Once, he even tried to assign a student to interpret for me in church, but the student admitted they didn’t know sign language either. I didn’t like using paper to communicate in church, so I stopped going.

The school was far from my home. Classes started at 7:30 a.m., so I usually woke up between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m. and walked for an hour or more, I always struggled during the rain and under the hot sun. Sometimes I would rush home from school whenever I noticed signs of rain, and other times I had to stop walking because the sun was too strong. Walking home under the burning sun often made me feel weak and covered in sweat. When I had some money for transport, I paid for a motorcycle ride instead, but it wasn’t always possible. Life was not easy, but I kept my heart focused on education.

When I reached Senior 5, I continued to perform well. Communicating with hearing students remained difficult many ignored me, not because they hated me, but because they didn’t know how to talk to a deaf person. Sometimes I missed important announcements or assignments. Teachers or the dean would later ask why I hadn’t done something, and I’d explain that no one had told me. Some teachers understood and forgave me, but others being punished they’re well informed and knowing the real reason.

Honestly, I hated being treated that way not being informed or corrected properly just because I was deaf. I wanted fairness, not pity.

Often after class, I walked to UCC around 3:00 p.m. to find someone who could help me interpret lessons or explain difficult subjects. The UCC teachers were kind, though sometimes the topics were too complex to translate easily.

GASS closed at 2:30 p.m., and students went home to eat because the school didn’t serve meals for day students. Only boarders ate at school. In the evening, around 6:00 p.m., boarders had compulsory study sessions. Day students like me could return if we wanted to revise and I often did when I had the energy or when I wanted a quiet place to study.

Even though life there was not easy, I felt proud, proud to be in such a beautiful school, proud to prove to everyone that being deaf does not mean being weak or incapable.

Here is my picture of 2020 in GASS.

When I entered school, I faced many sad experiences in my class. I remember the long wooden desk that could seat two or three students. Whenever someone wanted to sit next to me, they would politely ask for permission. I wondered, “Why are they asking permission as if the desk belongs to me?” This is a school, we all come to study. There is no difference between us. I told them they didn’t need to treat a Deaf person with an unusual kind of politeness, especially if they did not treat their hearing classmates the same way.

Some students were afraid to sit beside me or even joke with me the way they joked with others. This fear came from false or exaggerated rumors that Deaf people are always angry or violent. Because of that mindset, some students avoided me. When they saw a Deaf person approaching, they would run away or suddenly go quiet as if holding their breath. I realized that this was ignorance, a poor mindset, and a deep misunderstanding.

In school, I often heard students warning others: “Don’t sit with the dumb or deaf boy. Don’t disturb him; he might beat you.” When others heard that, they would jump from their seats, run away, or shout. I was not pleased with these attitudes toward Deaf people. I wanted to tell them that Deaf people are human beings, created just the same as everyone else. The only difference is that we cannot hear, or we have limited hearing. But we come to school for the same purpose to get an education. Some Deaf students may struggle or drop out due to poverty or lack of interest, but hearing students also face the same challenges. So where is the difference between us Deaf and hearing? We all have emotions. We all get happy, sad, angry, or excited. It’s natural.

I wanted to explain all this to my classmates, but communication was difficult. I couldn’t speak clearly, and they didn’t know sign language. I wished I could share my thoughts with them at the end of class.

Hearing students were even afraid to ask a Deaf person to join group tasks, such as classroom cleaning. Some teachers and students didn’t include me on the cleaning list because they thought I shouldn’t be asked to do anything. If there was an accident, they became extremely frightened and apologized quickly, as if I might hurt them.

Some teachers had the same mindset. They thought Deaf students were different. They pitied me. If I came late to school, when the supervisor was blocking the gate and punishing others, they let me enter without a question. In class, the teacher would punish hearing students for being late, but not me. I forced myself to kneel or clean with the others because I did not want pity. I did not want to be treated as special or different.

Social inclusion means that society should not exclude Deaf people. Sharing ideas and participating equally helps build understanding and well-being. In my community, social inclusion was very weak. During Umuganda (community work), local leaders never asked me to participate. They let me walk past without stopping me. When they realized I was Deaf, they would say, “Oh, he is Deaf,” and allow me to pass freely. I hated the way they said “Oh,” as if I could not do the same work as others. So I started forcing myself to join Umuganda and community meetings, even though there was no interpreter. I wanted to show that Deaf people can work and be responsible, that we deserve equal respect and rights. In Rwanda, people participate in Umuganda (Community Work) because it is a national program that promotes unity, development, and shared responsibility. Umuganda takes place on the last Saturday of every month, and community members come together to work on activities that benefit everyone. These activities include cleaning public spaces, repairing roads, building homes for vulnerable families, planting trees, and improving schools or health centers.

People participate in Umuganda because:

• It is a civic duty – Every adult is expected to contribute to national development through community work.

• It strengthens unity and social cohesion – Working together helps build relationships and trust among neighbors.

• It supports local development – The work done helps improve the environment, public infrastructure, and overall wellbeing of the community.

• It promotes discipline and responsibility – Participating teaches people the value of teamwork and commitment to the nation.

• It is guided by government policy – The Government of Rwanda encourages all citizens to take part as a way of promoting self-reliance and collective progress.

• Overall, Umuganda is an important part of Rwanda’s culture and development, helping communities stay clean, safe, and united.

When I became more educated, I wanted to promote this kind of inclusion both in my community and in school. I didn’t want teachers to treat me as an exception. When I made a mistake, I wanted the same correction they gave to hearing students. Some teachers would say, “Oh, it’s okay because you cannot hear,” and gently pat my back. But I told them, “Teacher, I make mistakes just like everyone else. What is the difference?”

Over time, I chose to show kindness so others could see that I am easy to approach, friendly, loving, and capable of communication. I used sign language, speech, and writing. Slowly, my classmates stopped fearing me. They tried communicating using the alphabet or writing notes. Some became interested in learning sign language and asked me to teach them. I happily taught them for free in class. A few classmates even helped interpret simple things using writing or the blackboard. Their effort touched my heart. That was the inclusion I had always wished for.

In this photo, the Ambassador of Pakistan invited more youth to participate in the interview, and I had the opportunity to take part yesterday, 18th November 2025. Many young people were gathered for the interviews, which were conducted mostly in a debate style. I was truly excited to join them, and I invited my personal interpreter so he could assist me. Some people were surprised when they saw me communicating with my interpreter in sign language perhaps they did not expect it but that did not stop me. I knew I was there for the interview just like everyone else.

When I stood beside the Ambassador, I introduced myself. He asked me questions about my education, and I explained that I am a bachelor’s degree student pursuing Public Administration and Local Governance. He then asked questions related to public administration, and I answered confidently without hesitation. He was impressed, congratulated me, and told me that I had given a perfect answer.

I submitted my résumé, CV, and a letter for review. This was a great achievement for me to participate in such an important meeting with honorable people. Despite being Deaf, I have nothing to fear when doing what others assume is only for hearing people. Communication barriers do not define my ability.

I proved that disability does not mean impossibility. We are capable, and sometimes we even perform better. Many people may struggle with questions that I answered well, and that is normal everyone has different strengths and levels of understanding. I do not judge who might fail or succeed; I believe that opportunities reward those who put in effort and determination. The world needs to change its beliefs, building trust and understanding instead of judging what is possible or impossible. I believe in myself and in others, and I pursue everything with passion.