Invest in Teachers – Transform Education
During my first couple of weeks in Burundi, I thought I’d never be able to make a difference.
In January 2024, I was sitting in a gloomy classroom of a technical secondary school in Gitega, Burundi’s political capital, and could barely see what was written on the notebook in front of me. It was a foggy morning, and there was no electricity in the room. Most of the kids who were sitting with me in the back were half-asleep. Some hadn’t had breakfast.
In front of the roughly 50 students there was a French teacher who talked in a monotonous voice about some obscure Belgian writer of the 19th century. Later on, he moved on to explaining an equally obscure grammatical case, the passé antérieur. Since I had never heard of it, I assumed that the last person to have ever used it, was that aforementioned Belgian writer.
When we walked out, he stopped talking for the first time in 50 minutes and asked a question: “So, how did you like the class?”
Since I didn’t really know what to respond, he said: “This new generation is so lazy. They don’t really speak French.”
“Yes”, I replied, “I guess, they don’t really get many opportunities to speak…”
“You’re absolutely right”, he said, missing my not-so-subtle reproach completely. “The government is doing everything to make French disappear!”
That day I got a glimpse of what I would be up against: teachers who feel so disempowered that the reasons for their students’ poor performance is everybody’s else’s fault – but not theirs. They are teaching exactly the way their own teachers used to teach them, and they can’t even fathom that there could be any other way.
In my eyes, there was a huge divide between what those students would want and need in the future, and what their teachers could give them. Simply because a conversation about this would be unthinkable.
French class at the Ecole Tecnique Omnis (ETO) in Gitega, January 2024.
During my first two weeks, I sat in on about 25 classes in four different schools in four different provinces. I wanted to gain a thorough understanding of the prevalent teaching practices. The German association Burundikids and their partner on the ground in Burundi, the Fondation Stamm, had established the contacts and provided transportation and housing.
Since I am a teacher for German as a foreign language, the original goal was to do workshops with the language teachers: French, English and Swahili. I’d thought that would be reasonable. For years I had been doing workshops with German teachers from all over the world. Surely, I thought, could I build on that prior experience.
But two things quickly became clear to me. First, the lessons were very uniform. I realized that when I asked to see other classes as well: math, religion, mechanical engineering, computer science, pharmacology, nursing etc. Essentially, all the teachers were doing the same: standing in front of the class and telling the kids what to do, what to think, what to write down, and what to learn by heart at home.
That insight was followed by the second: basically, nothing of the way I teach at home could be easily transferred to this part of the world. There is no technology here, usually not even electricity or internet. The furniture usually doesn’t allow for group work. There are barely any books or other materials and resources. And most importantly: the teachers here have never seen or experienced any other kind of teaching.
I remember sitting one night in my hotel room and thinking: How on earth am I supposed to help these people?
Observing a math class at the Ecole Technique de l’Education Environnementale (ETEE) in Ngozi Province, January 2024.
I went through different phases. When I arrived, there was obviously a lot of ignorance and arrogance. I’d worked with German teachers from all over the world, also with colleagues from Africa. Therefore, I’d assumed that I can just open my miracle toolbox and show these guys some magic tricks that would blow their minds.
Instead, I was thoroughly shocked. I had been unable to imagine that in 2024 there were students exposed to this kind of teaching in this kind of conditions. And above all: I had no idea how it would feel like. It was absolutely exhausting – for everyone involved.
However, after that initial shock and the ensuing desperation and helplessness, I felt a lot of respect. These teachers have the stature of lone warriors. They talk almost non-stop the whole day in front of 40 to 70 kids, the average teacher-to-student ratio across Burundi being approximately 1:55. Often, they have nothing more than a book and a piece of chalk, but bear the full responsibility of getting their students through the national exams. Only that provides the latter with the possibility of going on to university or having a tiny chance in the relentless job market – or get somehow out of the country, a dream that almost every Burundian harbors.
Once I started giving my own workshops, however, that respect turned into admiration. At one point, I got a heatstroke from teaching for 6 hours at 32°C (90°F) and 80% humidity at a school right on the shore of Lake Tanganyika. Another day at that school it rained so hard that the noise from the tin roof made it impossible to understand my own words – for over half an hour. Try to follow a lesson plan in those conditions.
View over Lake Tanganyika close to the École Polyvalente Carolus Magnus (EPCM) in Kajaga. The lake has been rising for years and is threatening numerous communities along its shores.
I was – and I am till this very day – baffled at how these teachers show up every day for their kids. Their discipline and endurance is impressive, and yet their salary hardly provides for a living. Once I spoke over dinner about money with 8 teachers in Ngozi in northern Burundi, and I realized that I make in one day what the 8 of them combined make per month.
These are moments where you can’t help but wonder about the inequalities and injustices in our world. Sure, I am a teacher of teachers, and I show these guys new things. And I am convinced that I am good at my job. But am I really 160 times better and more worth than they are?
With a GDP per capita of about 270$, Burundi is officially the poorest country in the world.
I don’t know what you do for a living, or where on this planet you live and work. But take a moment and think about the fact that there are people doing a very similar job to what you do, showing up every day, busting their asses – and at the end of the month barely have enough money to buy rice and vegetables for their family. And not because they are incompetent or lazy, but simply because they were born into a society that doesn’t value their time and effort the way mine and yours does.
Yet these people show dedication and care for their students that you rarely see in the so-called First World. Floribert Dundaguza, the headmaster of that school by the lake, told me how, in April 2015, he drove to school every day through a capital that, for weeks, was engulfed in political turmoil and violence. He was being shot at and harassed by police and military forces. Technically, the school was closed. But he went anyways, because “somebody had to be at the school in case a student showed up”.
Education is the only reliable way of improving our lives. This holds true in every part of the world, but in the most disadvantaged societies, the difference can be one of life and death. Finishing school often means securing a job that can provide for you and your family.
And while the ability to read and write is fundamental, education must encompass much more. If we want to reduce the imbalance in this world, we must empower the next generation everywhere to think independently and critically. We have to show them how to deal with uncertainty. Because let’s face it: the knowledge and the strategies of the present won’t work in the future. The speed of change has become breathtaking. Therefore, our kids need to find their own solutions. They need the skills to innovate, the ability to work collaboratively and approach challenges with a problem-solving mindset.
To develop that, however, teachers in Burundi need to do things differently. They need to be self-driven, creative, resourceful and engaging. They shouldn’t be afraid of breaking rules and the mold. They shouldn’t be afraid of being questioned by their students and invite them to do just that. They need to tell stories that spark their students' curiosity about the world. Stories that bring them closer to the materials from which the world is made – and not just the ones found in the curriculum.
Stories that teachers like Alexis tell.
After spending more than 3 months in all these schools and with all these teachers, getting to know them and hearing their extraordinary stories, I was on my way onto the next phase. And Alexis was the one pushing me over the line.
And that’s the phase I’m still in: hope.
Sunrise over the Mubarazi River in the center of Burundi.
I met Alexis at a school in Mugamba, some 50km southeast of Bujumbura, in the center of Burundi. A friend had put me in contact with him, so I went and sat in on his class.
He was working with the same official materials, the same lack of electricity, the same blackboard, the same classroom furniture – and the same tired students.
Yet almost everything was different.
As a teacher, Alexis was charismatic without being the inevitable center of the class. Clearly, everyone looked up to him, yet that respect was based in friendship, not fear. His students expressed themselves freely and were not afraid of taking risks and making mistakes. They were working together, thinking and creating together – and not just copying and learning by heart.
Alexis rekindled my belief in something I had always known to be true: a great teacher makes all the difference.
After his entertaining and inspiring class, we had lunch together. Over some rice, beans and okra, I inquired where he had found the inspiration for this teaching approach.
“Did you study abroad and get some fancy training at some top university?”, I asked him.
"You know," he replied calmly, "Burundian teachers rarely have the opportunity to leave the country. And most of the people that do get to leave, never come back. Knowledge transfer in this part of Africa has been like a river – always flowing in one direction: away.”
He recounted how, a few years earlier, he had been fortunate to witness an African American English teacher visiting Burundi. He described how that workshop, lasting just over half a day, profoundly changed his life.
“This guy, Darryl was his name, had answers to many of the doubts and questions I had about the way we teach here. He set something in motion.”
There is one thing to know about the public education in Burundi: it was once much closer to international standards than it is today.
In the West, we take it for granted that things are always improving, and that each generation enjoys a better life than the one before. However, this has not been the experience in Central Africa. After gaining independence in the 1960s, the region was ravaged by war, genocide, and corruption. As a result, the economy declined sharply – as did the quality of education. In the past decade especially, many talented people have left the country, driven away by political persecution and a lack of economic opportunities.
Yet traces of those grand old days can still be found in the system. To be honest, there is quite a solid base from which to build on. And just like a dormant gene, that potential just needs to be activated.
“Darryl did not just give a presentation and talked about teaching, as most people do. He taught us how to teach by the very way he was teaching us. With his help, all of the content I had learned at university started to make sense. After that, I started investigating and improving by myself.”
That is something that took me a while to understand: there is a huge divide between theory and the praxis of teaching in Burundi. All teachers there are well-versed in both classical and progressive theories. They have studied Rousseau, are familiar with Socrates' maieutic method, and are – on a theoretical level – familiar with the 21st century pedagogy of integration and student-centered teaching approaches. They can speak surprisingly long and eloquently about modern teaching – but unfortunately, they do none of it!
Their problem is simple: they have never seen or experienced first-hand dynamic, student-centered, process-oriented and value-based teaching.
And how can you do something when you don’t even know how if feels?
That is what I am trying to change.
Teacher Training at the École Tecnique Omnis (ETO) in Gitega, February 2025.
At my workshops in Burundi, I rip the tablecloths off the desks when I walk in. I don’t even bring my laptop, because normal teachers don’t have any either. Taking notes is forbidden, because I don’t want them to hide behind other people’s thoughts. I push these teachers and take them out of their comfort zone. I change the seating arrangement so that there is no center and nothing to stare at. They expect to go to the movies – and instead end up in a thinking space.
I want them to be part of a journey. That’s why we put our phones on airplane mode.
I make it impossible for them to zoom out or to sit idle. I want them to be fully present and to think for themselves. I want them to feel that everyone and their perspective matter.
I want them to understand that they matter.
Things will only change, if they change. Their country’s future goes literally through their hands. It’s time to step up and try something else.
I want them to leave the workshop feeling invigorated and inspired.
Because this is only the beginning.
Workshop with several university professors and about 30 future teachers at the École Normale Supérieure (ENS) in Bujumbura, February 2025.
During my 4 months in Burundi, more than 300 teachers have attended my workshops. I have worked with elementary schools, high schools and universities where future teachers are being trained.
In Burundi, there is almost no public money for teacher training. Once you leave university, you are on your own. In fact, teachers in public schools have to pay if they want additional training. Which, of course, nobody does. When you earn less than 100$ a month, and a liter of gas costs 3$ on the black market, you don’t spend money on a training that only improves the quality of your “product” – but doesn’t do anything to change your financial situation.
There are no free resources, no professional development programs, not even books teachers could consult. They swim by themselves in an empty aquarium.
Yet it’s hard to find people who care about this – in Burundi and abroad.
Of course, it is important to build schools and donate books and laptops. You can take pretty pictures of new school buildings and computer labs, and you can show exactly what the money was used for. Many communities in Burundi are extremely disadvantaged and lack even the most basic facilities and equipment. But if there are no qualified and inspiring teachers to guide students into the 21st century, all of these efforts won’t leave much of a mark.
And that’s why Alexis and I are working together now: to make a difference.
Alexis Arakaza, Ingo Schoenleber and Dr. Floribert Dundaguza (from the right) at lunch after a workshop at the École Polyvalente Carolus Magnus in Kajaga, February 2025.
Alexis is a rare find in Burundi. His quest to become a better teacher led him eventually to study at Vanderbilt University in Tennessee. As a Humphrey fellow he was enrolled in one-year program for English as a foreign Language, where he specialized in Social-Emotional Learning (SEL).
In 2022 he came back to Burundi to makes sure that students and teachers alike could benefit from what he learned abroad. In that sense, he’s a true patriot.
When we met, he had just founded an NGO called TIES – Together for Inclusive Education and Solutions. We share a deep passion for teaching. We want to improve both students’ and teachers’ lives. We want to bring them closer together. So that they share the responsibility for what happens in the classroom – and in the future.
Together, we want to do many more workshops and teacher trainings all over Burundi in the coming years. We want to train university staff and other trainers. We would like to organize conferences in order to create an active network of progressive teachers in Burundi.
My vision is that this network eventually becomes self-sustainable and carries itself forward.
Maybe that is how I’m supposed to help these people.
What about you?