{"id":104467,"date":"2025-07-01T12:14:06","date_gmt":"2025-07-01T12:14:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.africa-press.net\/rwanda\/all-news\/building-a-more-inclusive-rwanda-through-handcrafts"},"modified":"2025-07-01T12:27:37","modified_gmt":"2025-07-01T12:27:37","slug":"building-a-more-inclusive-rwanda-through-handcrafts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.africa-press.net\/rwanda\/photo\/building-a-more-inclusive-rwanda-through-handcrafts","title":{"rendered":"Building a More Inclusive Rwanda Through Handcrafts"},"content":{"rendered":"

Africa-Press – Rwanda. <\/strong><\/span>Gisele Emerusenge\u2019s journey into sign language began as a quiet calling\u2014one that would grow into a lifelong mission to bridge the gap between the hearing and the deaf.<\/p>\n

Born in Burundi in 1993, her family returned to Rwanda after the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. Rwanda is the only home she has ever truly known, and it\u2019s where her passion for interpretation and disability inclusion took root.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople often ask me how I got into this field,\u201d Emerusenge says. \u201cI\u2019ve been asked so many times that I decided to write a book about it. It\u2019s called My Hands Talk\u2014because that\u2019s really how it all began.\u201d<\/p>\n

From playground curiosity to self-taught interpreter<\/b><\/p>\n

Emerusenge didn\u2019t grow up with aspirations of becoming a professional interpreter. As a stubborn Primary Three child, she merely wanted a secret language. She vividly recalls watching Scouts use the sign language alphabet at school and mimicking their moves with her siblings.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just wanted to be able to cheat in class or communicate with my siblings without adults knowing what we were saying,\u201d<\/p>\n

Sign language interpreter Emerusenge during the interview with The New Times in Kigali on June 25, 2025. Photo by Willy Mucyo<\/p>\n

Then, an unexpected bond shifted her from curiosity to commitment. A new student moved into her neighborhood\u2014another Gisele, who was deaf. They bonded, and the younger Gisele began teaching Emerusenge real signs, expanding her knowledge beyond the basics.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe taught me signs. And I never stopped using them,\u201d<\/p>\n

By the time Emerusenge reached secondary school, teachers and classmates relied on her to interpret lessons, especially in scientific subjects like chemistry and physics, for deaf students. Despite no formal training, she became their voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI found myself interpreting, not because I was trained, but because no one else could,\u201d<\/p>\n

By 2011, at age 19, she was already earning money from this work\u2014an informal profession turned calling, despite her enrolling at university to study Procurement and Logistics.<\/p>\n

Gisele Emerusenge, a sign language interpreter gives a course during a training session at American Center in Kigali. Courtesy<\/p>\n

A career of necessity that needs more attention<\/b><\/p>\n

Rwanda offered little formal support for sign language interpretation. During Emerusenge\u2019s formative years, there were no university programs in special needs education or interpretation.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was no university for sign language interpretation,\u201d she shares. \u201cI had to teach myself and learn from the deaf community. Most people didn\u2019t even know what inclusion meant,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Her field experience included interpreting in hospitals, schools, and courtrooms\u2014without official training or significant institutional support.<\/p>\n

Around 2018, she finally enrolled in a postgraduate program in Community-Based Rehabilitation, focusing on disability inclusion, to strengthen her expertise.<\/p>\n

Despite personal advancement, she remains candid about systemic shortcomings in terms of scaling sign language to those who need it.<\/p>\n

\u201cMany deaf Rwandans don\u2019t know sign language. They\u2019ve never had the chance to go to school. There are few schools for the deaf, and most are private\u2014many families can\u2019t afford them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gisele Emerusenge speaks to The New Times reporter on how she she joined sign language interpreting.<\/p>\n

Breaking hearts and barriers<\/b><\/p>\n

Some moments in Emerusenge\u2019s career strike at the heart of inclusion failures. One such incident occurred in 2014, when she was called to a major Kigali hospital to interpret for a deaf patient with HIV\/AIDS. The patient had initially taken medication, then stopped\u2014likely because she believed she was cured.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe didn\u2019t know sign language. She lived alone. She didn\u2019t understand what HIV was or why she had to take medicine for the rest of her life. I tried everything\u2014pictures, gestures\u2014but I couldn\u2019t fully reach her. That broke me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The experience underscored the everyday tragedies caused by communication breakdowns in health, educational, and legal systems.<\/p>\n

Emerusenge interprets during Disabled Women in Africa workshop in Kigali on June 4<\/p>\n

An interpreter turned advocate<\/b><\/p>\n

At the heart of Emerusenge\u2019s professional tension is the ethical dilemma: interpreter or advocate?<\/p>\n

Emerusenge recalls a pivotal courtroom instance when she realized a deaf suspect under her watch had not understood the charges against him. Bound by interpreter neutrality but compelled by justice, Emerusenge interrupted the proceedings.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had to ask the judge if I could speak. I explained what it means to be deaf, how the suspect didn\u2019t understand the charges. That day, I crossed a line\u2014but it felt right,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Her intervention led to a re-evaluation of the defendant\u2019s case, and he was eventually acquitted\u2014after four years of wrongful imprisonment and facing a 12-year sentence.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s one of the moments I\u2019m most proud of. That\u2019s when I knew my work could actually change someone\u2019s life,\u201d she points out.<\/p>\n

Each success is a step forward\u2014but barriers remain<\/b><\/p>\n

Over the last decade, Rwanda has made formal strides: special needs education now exists, a dictionary for sign language launched in December 2023, and interpreters are sought after in NGOs and media.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least we have something now. We\u2019re not where we were in 2009,\u201d she notes.<\/p>\n

Nonetheless, major gaps persist. Many service providers\u2014teachers, doctors, law enforcement\u2014still don\u2019t learn sign language. Schools lack trained interpreters. Deaf children are often excluded from early childhood language development.<\/p>\n

Emerusenge during interpretation services at the celebration of the US independance day in Kigali in 2024<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s like raising a child without ever teaching them to speak. Their intellect isn\u2019t limited\u2014they just lack access to communication,\u201d Emerusenge says.<\/p>\n

Building change, one hand at a time<\/b><\/p>\n

Emerusenge remains determined and active to make a difference. She co-founded Rwanda\u2019s national sign language interpreters\u2019 association.<\/p>\n

She is involved in hosting a continental conference for African interpreters later this year.<\/p>\n

She is raising public awareness about corporate inclusion. She is also training teachers who feel guilty for not knowing how to communicate with deaf students.<\/p>\n

One such teacher volunteered to pay her own fees just to learn basic sign language.<\/p>\n

\u201cTeachers come to me and say, \u2018I felt guilty being in class with a deaf student and not knowing how to communicate.\u2019 NGOs send their staff for training\u2014they want inclusive workplaces,\u201d revealed Emerusenge.<\/p>\n

Emerusenge sees the task ahead as both systemic and urgent. Her vision includes formalizing sign language in national education\u2014starting with Teacher Training Colleges, embedding accessibility across health and justice sectors, and raising awareness that interpretation is not an extra, but a right, bridging a clear communication barrier.<\/p>\n

She is still writing My Hands Talk, part memoir and part manifesto, meant to raise public consciousness about deaf inclusion and language rights.<\/p>\n

\u201cSign language is not charity,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s justice.\u201d<\/p>\n

Over nearly 15 years, Emerusenge has interpreted in every imaginable setting\u2014playground, classroom, hospital, court.<\/p>\n

A life interpreted, a nation listening<\/b><\/p>\n

Over nearly 15 years, Emerusenge has interpreted in every imaginable setting\u2014playground, classroom, hospital, court. She\u2019s seen the difference that accessible communication can make, and she\u2019s acutely aware of the human casualties when access fails.<\/p>\n

Her career has become a mirror for Rwanda\u2019s progress and its ongoing challenges: from a country with no sign language, no inclusive education, and no official interpreter training\u2014to one with national policy, trained professionals, and access infrastructure being slowly built.<\/p>\n

\u201cGosh, look how far we\u2019ve come\u2014and how far we still must go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emerusenge\u2019s journey embodies both mercy and mission: uniting hands, voices, and policies in a movement that one day hopes to make inclusion invisible\u2014because it is just how society should work.<\/p>\n

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