French Class

Today I would post about the last book I read about the genocide, but I haven't exactly finished it. Oops. So instead I'm going to tell you about my French classes. I decided to take French because it is the second language in Rwanda. I know that I won't speak fluently, but I wanted to at least know how to say my name, age, etc. and to understand fairly well what people are saying.

I have this friend Grace that also wanted to take French at about the same time I did. We decided last September that we would sign up for classes and take them together. The problem is, we had to change our furlough to Sept-Dec instead of later. So I ended up not being able to do it and Grace couldn't do it either (she really could, but she missed me so much that she spent everyday crying, not able to leave her house... right, Grace?).

About a month ago I called Grace to invite her over for our craft night and she told me that that day had been her first day of French class. She said that she loved it and that I would like it too. So the next morning I went to the French place (the place in the picture) and signed up for class.

Now, we have class Monday through Thursday for 3 hours every morning. Yes, 3 hours. Good thing there's a coffee break and they have the best coffee machine in the whole world. There is seriously a line that winds around the whole lobby area just to get coffee.

I'm sad because Thursday is the last day of class. I'm not sad that, as I write, I should be studying for the final exam. I'm not sure if I'm sad or not about the fact that now, all the time, I have a bunch of random French words running through my head (like 60, what's your name?, I'm 18, I'm American, sorry, good morning, yes, no, teacher, party, coffee, 39, 13, 77... you get the picture). I'm sad that now I don't get to see Grace everyday.

Je t'aime Grace! See, I did learn something!