About the Partnership
Why Teach Journalism in Rwanda
Our Teachers »
Get Involved
Support This Project
Our contributors
NUR School of Journalism
and Communication
 
 
   
 


Andy Clarke,
Senior Coordinating Producer for Radio
and Television News,
CBC


Andy Clarke's Notes From the Field

May 2, 2006 — Make do . . . no problem

It's hard to believe there's just over a week remaining in our time in Butare. I'm going to miss this place immensely. This morning offers up another reason why. As I think I've mentioned before, this isn't a place for best-made plans. I had booked a place on campus called "American Corner". It's got six computers in it, all of them equipped with a digital sound editing system that the students are going to use to put together their radio stories – the final class project. Despite offering a course called "Radio Production Techniques", the journalism school doesn't have its own computers with its own editing software, so you've got to scrounge around for places on campus where you can actually do radio production.

American Corner is about it. But when the Corner opened up this morning, only five of the computers were working. Then, it turned out that for some reason, that we still can't quite fathom, only two of the five would allow us to dump tape from a minidisk or cassette recorder into the editing system. I found a third computer that we could use, but it still left us with 25 students looking to put together their stories on half the number of computers I had expected.

But one of the good things about things rarely going as planned here, is that people are tremendously adaptable. It was a thing to behold, watching the students band together to make a morning that was in danger of going off the rails, work. While I dumped my plan to give a quick overview of the software to go off in search of more computers, those students who had worked with the software before took the lead. They showed those who weren't familiar with the system how to quickly and successfully dump their sound, and begin the process of putting their piece together. Others decided that they would scrounge for other spots to do their work, and a number of them headed over to Radio Salus on the other side of town. It's normally pretty quiet in the morning. Once they were done, many of them headed back to campus to see if anyone else needed help dumping their tape, and to tell them they knew of a spot where it could be done.

Then, the guy who's in charge of American Corner at the moment, Lambert, agreed to give us access to the computers (which are in high, high demand around here) for another morning this week.

And yet another student is giving up some of his free time this evening as we attempt to figure out why more of the computers in American Corner aren't working the way they should.

All this means, that despite the hurdles we faced this morning, it feels right now like everything is in hand. Four of the students have completed their stories, and I think most of the others have enough of a start on them that the Friday at noon deadline for completing them is entirely realistic.

These guys know how to make-do, and they do so with a grace and patience I'm not sure I'd have in similar circumstances.

^Top

April 28, 2006 — Time to muse

Random musings as I sit in the Rwanda Initiative office on a Friday morning. A steady stream of students has been dropping by to talk about the radio stories they will put together next week as part of the final class project. Finding enough equipment to have 25 students gather their tape, and then put the stories together, has been a bit of a struggle, but I think we've got it organized now. I'm quite pleased with the quality of the stories the students have come up with. There are issues around storytelling, and writing for a number of the students, but I have to remember that I'm asking many of these kids to write their story in their third language. But they all know what a good story is, even the ones who struggled to come up with one as part of the initial assignment. When you meet with them one on one to talk about turning their idea into a good radio story, they catch on very quickly to what you're talking about.

Meanwhile, as I wait for the next student to arrive, the mind wanders…

Rwanda is called the land of a thousand hills, but take a drive two hours in any direction from Butare, and it strikes you that a thousand is a severe underestimation. It takes at least two hours to travel the 124 kilometres from Butare to Kigali. Much of that trip involves the driver of whatever vehicle you're in building up enough speed on the downhill to make it to the top of the next uphill without having to go through a gear-grinding downshift.

Land of the giant, country-wide roller coaster, is not quite as romantic though, as land of a thousand hills.

Completely anecdotally – the number one small business in Rwanda? Hair salons. Number two? Portrait studios. When we got off the bus in Kibuye a couple of weekends ago, and were walking to our hotel, there was one block of businesses where almost every shop was either one or the other. I guess in a way they kind of support each other, but whether it's deliberate or not, this is one place where there's really no excuse for a bad hair day.

Rwandans have a reputation for being reserved. Not entirely my experience. But it still comes as something of a shock when you're sitting on a bus, and suddenly somebody nearby starts singing along – in full voice – to a song being played on the radio. It's happened twice while we've been traveling, and both times the song the singer belted out was a religious one, full of praise for Jesus. And they really have belted it out – loud and proud, and without a trace of self-consciousness.

This is a country which loves its soccer, or football, if you will. And not only ITS football – that is the homegrown Rwandan league variety — but English football as well. Walk into a bar late Saturday or Sunday afternoon, when there's a English premier league game on the telly, and you'll be hard pressed to get a seat where you can see the game. The English team of choice? Again, completely anecdotally, but it seems to be Arsenal. I've seen enough team jerseys around town to make up a full starting eleven, plus a few reserves.

I'll end the musings here. A couple of more students have arrived to talk shop. More later…

^Top

April 25, 2006 — Rules

I think it would be easy to idealize this African experience. There is so much about it that is wonderful and inspiring. There are many times where you feel like maybe you are making a difference. Where you can see a light go on in a student's head, and that student thinking, "okay I can use this. This will be helpful to me as I go forward in a career in journalism."

There is much work to be done in what the development sector calls "capacity building" in Rwanda's journalism community. In my own small way, I'm hoping the course I'm teaching, and the course outline I leave behind will help to build that capacity — to make not only quality journalism, but quality journalism teaching, a more consistent reality in Rwanda. It's heady stuff for a guy who's passion for his day job has been severely tried and tested over the course of the past year or so.

But within all that has been great and positive about this experience so far, there are also many realities that sometimes knock the stuffing out of you. Things that go beyond the minor inconveniences like the fact that I am writing this in the dark — a not uncommon occurrence here in Butare, where the power goes out almost every evening for maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe more. And it really is almost every evening.

No big deal though really. Just put on the old headlamp, and you're set for the evening ahead.

Or the fact, that almost everywhere you go, the fact that you're a muzungu means you'll be asked for money. Little kids run up to you demanding, "Donnez moi, l'argent". If you shake your head no, they'll tell you "pour manger". Or they ask for amafaranga, the Kinyarwanda word I have come to know best. It means money.

But again...no big deal, a small thing to deal with, and given the reality of the wealth we possess compared to the average Rwandan, completely understandable.

It's things like the rules here, and how much they matter, and how hard it is to get anyone to bend them that can sometimes make you shake you head in wonder.

For instance I paid the phone bill for our house in the Taba neighbourhood of Butare earlier today. To do so I had to make a trip to the offices in Butare of Rwandatel, the national phone company.

There you ask whether there's a bill to be paid for a particular phone — the one in our house. Rwandatel doesn't send out bills, or deliver them to the houses which have phones — you have to go to their offices and ask if there is a bill that is ready to be paid. If it is, you can't pay it at their offices. Instead, you have to cross the street to the bank, and stand in line there. Hour long lineups in banks in Rwanda are a not uncommon occurrence. I was lucky today. The lineup I was in took only twenty minutes to get to through. Then you pay the bill. Then you take the bill back across the street to Rwandatel. There you stand in another lineup to show the folks at the phone company, that yes indeed you've deposited money at the bank across the street, in order to pay the bill you were just in here to pick up. You make your way to the front of that line, and show the guy the receipt. He then makes his way through pages and pages of typewritten paper to find the page with your phone number on it, and write "paid in full" beside it. No computers here. It's all done using pen and oodles of paper. After all that, you're done.

Now I'm no expert on productivity, but there has to be a better way. Or another example. This coming weekend we'd like to go see the silverback gorillas in Volcanoes National Park. It's an expensive proposition, but we've been told that its worth the cost, and the effort to spend an hour in their presence.

We were also told that given our work at the university we would qualify for foreign residence rates for the trip to Volcanoes. That cuts the price of the trip in half, from about four hundred dollars American to two hundred dollars American.

So last Friday afternoon on our way through Kigali we stopped at the offices of Rwanda's national tourist agency. It's the only place in the country where you can get the necessary documentation that allows you to make the hike to see the gorillas.

In hand, we had letters on official university letterhead, saying we working there. It was meant to be enough to get us the foreign resident discount. But when we got there, there was something the matter with the letters. I'm still unclear about just what was wrong with them. But the woman behind the desk — Esther — was emphatic. The letters we had in hand, just would not do. They were good enough to get us the foreign resident rate for a trip to Akagera National Park, which we visited the following day, but under no circumstance were they good enough for the trip to Volcanoes. Finally after a number of phone calls, AND a trip to the tourism office by the director of the school of Journalism — the man who had signed the letters in the first place — who just so happened to be in Kigali that day, we thought we had the matter settled. But no, we would have to return the following week with a different letter. There was nothing the woman at the counter could do. These were the rules that had been laid down by the auditor, and they had to be followed. And, oh by the way, the new and improved letter can't be faxed. It must be delivered to the tourism office in Kigali in person. We're all thinking at this point that if we go to see the gorillas this weekend, chances are we'll be paying full price. Again, it strikes me, there must be a better way.

Our very good guide book tells us at one point that there are a number of investment opportunities in Rwanda. And there are. Everywhere you go, you can see entrepreneurial opportunites — simple ways to make a few bucks, and maybe help create a few jobs for the local population. A small example: Akagera National Park could use a small snack bar at its front entrance, a place where you could buy something to eat, and something to drink. But you sometimes wonder, given what you encounter here on a regular basis in terms of rules and regulations, and how they're applied, whether trying to create the opportunity would be worth the effort. More later...

^Top

April 20, 2006 — Story ideas

I think it's coming — that is, I think the teaching is beginning to take hold. Today's class actually started quite disappointingly. I had hoped to do an exercise on perspective, story development and story focus that involved a news conference with a cast of characters that the students would question and then try to put together a story out of. The twist is the story will change quite dramatically as each character comes forward to be questioned. You could put together a story at any point involving what you've heard so far, but if you did, you wouldn't have the complete story.

When class began at the appointed time however, there were only a handful of us in the room. I got the students in the class to text message — the communication method of choice in Butare — some of their fellow students and eventually half the class showed up. But by that point, I had decided to put aside the exercise until tomorrow. Remember what I was saying in an earlier blog about best made plans. Well I'm glad I laid them aside today, because I think we accomplished a lot with the group who did come to class.

We've been spending a lot of time this week on story development and story focus because it's the key to so much of what we do in radio — story and interview structure, the writing which tells the story, the way the story unfolds, the conflict that arises, and the way it's resolved. I asked my class on Monday to come to class the next day with a story idea that we could develop and come up with a focus for, and eventually turn into a full-fledged radio story. This being Africa, two students out of 25 came to class on Tuesday with their story ideas. Another half dozen brought them to class on Wednesday. But today almost everyone who eventually came to class brought with them a story idea with a focus attached. What we ended up doing was a morning of brainstorming on the stories that the students are working on, and will eventually produce. And there are some good ones. Eugene Kwibuka has a great story about some businesses in the busy Butare market refusing to pay tax because they face an uncertain future. Apparently the market is to be "rehabilitated", and many of the small business people who operate there now, are unsure whether they'll be allowed back in when the market is changed. They're looking for answers.

Maurice Twahirwa wants to tell the story of the university's women's volleyball team, and how they weren't able to play in an all-Africa tournament they were looking forward to competing in, because the dates of the tournament in Nigeria coincided with Rwanda's national mourning period marking the twelfth anniversary of the 1994 genocide. Both Bercar Nzabagerageza and Carine Umutoni have variations on a common complaint around here — lack of facilities. Bercar's involves a battle over access to computers on campus, Carine's involves the ongoing battle over access to the television in one of the student dorms on campus.

Sylvia Gasana has a great story about a student's who's set to graduate but can't get the jury members who are meant to assess his "memoire" — final class project — to meet to assess his work so that he can graduate. He's apparently at wit's end trying to get them together in the same room, and now has the university rector on the case.

Jean Paul Ntezimana is working on a story about cabbies angry that they're being ticketed by police for dropping off passengers in unmarked spots. The cabbies say that they're aren't nearly enough "official" drop off points for passengers, and they're not going to pay their fines until they get more.

And on it goes. I haven't yet got 25 story ideas from 25 students, but we're getting there, and hopefully next week we'll start to put the meat on the bones of some of these stories — that is, put them together as radio stories.

In an earlier blog, I talked about how I wanted to try and establish a weekly news program akin to Midweek on CKCU at Radio Salus, the radio station operated in conjunction with the university in Butare. It turns out that 17 of my students are already working at Salus, many of them are solely responsible for a half hour a week of programming, a responsibility that comes on top of the ones they already have as students. My goal now is to help as many of those students as possible improve what they put the air on Salus — to help improve the quality of the stories and the interviews they do on a weekly basis — and to imbue the others who aren't yet doing any radio work, with a passion for the possibilities that radio presents. We'll see in the next couple of weeks whether I'm up to the challenge. More later..

^Top

April 17, 2006 — In the classroom

Lucy and I taught our first classes this morning. I'm teaching a second year class called radio production techniques. I think my class went okay.Only 13 of the 25 students showed up, so that's something to be improved on. But I felt pretty good about what we'd accomplished at the end of our first session together.

I started by asking each of the members of the class about what it was that attracted them to journalism as a profession. Why did they want to become journalists? We drew up a list of words that many of them talked about in their answers: to inform, to educate, to find the truth, to entertain, to make people think, to tell them about something they don't know.

We took that list and attempted to figure out what that meant for the way we do radio journalism — how do we best go about doing those things in our programming. I was trying to lead them to the concept of the story, the narrative, and how important the story and the way we tell it, is in radio — how a well-told, ear-catching story can grab, and engage the listener — make them stop what they're doing, and pay attention to what they are listening to.

Many of the students in my class (17 in total by my count) do programming at Radio Salus — the campus/community radio station in Butare. They do programming on issues like gender, AIDS, agriculture, sports, and business. I think many of them are looking for practical ways they can improve on what they are doing in their programming. After struggling with some equipment issues, we listened to a particularly powerful example of something that I think works as both journalism, and as an example of a great radio story.

It's a story about a journalism class at Northwestern University in Illinois, and the work they did to get the conviction of a man wrongfully blamed for two murders overturned. We talked about why it worked as a piece of journalism, and then listened again to the elements that made it a compelling piece of radio journalism as well. I think a few lights went on as we went through the lesson, and talked about radio storytelling and what makes it special. But I guess tomorrow will really tell. If there are fewer than 13 people in the class, maybe my methods are madness, and I'll have to think things through again. More later…

^Top

April 16, 2006 — Road warriors

We were road warriors this weekend. Early Friday morning, we headed to Kibuye on the shores of Lake Kivu in western Rwanda. Our guide book suggested it was a beautiful spot frequented by middle class Rwandans looking to head to the shore on weekends. It also figures prominently in a movie we watched one night last week, called 100 Days. It tells the story of the genocide in Kibuye through the eyes of two Tutsi families. The son in one family and the daughter in the other are lovers. Much of the movie takes place in and around the Catholic church — located high on a hill overlooking the centre of Kibuye. More than 4000 people sought refuge during the early days of the genocide. On April 17th, 1994, the church was attacked by members of the local interhamwe. Within three hours, the people inside the church were dead.

We had gone to the truly moving genocide memorial at Murambi not far from Butare the afternoon before, and still searching for answers to questions about what happened and why over the course of 100 days beginning in April 1994, we decided Kibuye would be a good place to continue our education.

As we're finding out however, this is a country were the best made plans, are best laid aside, because little is likely to come off the way you'd planned.

We headed out on the highly recommended Volcano bus from Butare to Gitarama first thing Friday morning. That part of the trip came off without incident. However, we got off the bus in the wrong place in Gitarama, and after wandering off in the wrong direction, and almost starting a food riot among some kids, over some suckers Lucy had bought before leaving Butare, we finally found a bus that would take us the rest of the way. Even better, it was advertised as express service to Kibuye, about 90 minutes or so to the west.

But our bus was late, and as we waited, it became increasingly clear that — as our guidebook had suggested — Kibuye was a popular destination place come weekends. When the bus finally arrived, a few people got off, but they were quickly replaced by people in the crowd around us, many who darted past us to get a spot. Within seconds the bus was packed, and it was just the two — Lucy and myself — looking for a spot. But there was no spot to be found.

Now started the shouting and the recriminations. The bus driver was determined to find us a spot — he demanded that everyone on the bus produce their ticket to show that they belonged on this bus. No one would budge, nor would the driver back down. I began to get the feeling that the driver thought we were far more valued customers than we really were — I wanted to tell him that the chances of repeat business from us were slim and none. Instead, I asked for our money back. But the driver was more than reluctant to do so. And so the shouting continued, until finally one guy – the last guy to get on the bus — got off. Hilariously, the bus driver turned to the two of us beaming. He had found us a spot. One spot. For two fairly well fed people. Even more crazily, we hopped in. And thus began our trip to Kibuye — a trip where we had so little space, one of us had to breath in while the other breathed out. Well it wasn't quite that bad, but close.

Kibuye however, was worth the effort. It's in a stunningly beautiful spot. We had lunch at a hotel spectacularly placed along the shoreline, and then walked up to the church. Good Friday services were taking place, and so we walked around outside. We returned the next morning and spent a half hour sitting in contemplative silence inside trying to imagine the unimaginable horrors that had happened here almost exactly twelve years before.

We left Kibuye Saturday afternoon. About the trip back, I will say little except to offer this piece of advice. When you're taking a bus in Rwanda make sure you ask whether it's an express or not. If it's not, you might want to wait until the next one happens along. After a long night's sleep, it was back on the road this morning to Kigali to pick up Peter Bregg, a photojournalist from Maclean's who is here to teach a course beginning Monday. As I write this, we've just finished Sunday dinner with Peter, listening to some of his war stories from his years on the road. When you hear where he's been, and what he's been up to over the years, a couple of cramped trips to and from Kibuye seem like small potatoes indeed. More later.

^Top

April 13, 2006 — Born to be wild?

The day started with a bit of a downer this morning. Not only is it grey and wet here today, but Jovan, the driver provided by the university to get us around town has returned from a trip to Kampala . Now, Jovan seems like a great guy, and a good driver, but I'm kind of bummed by his return. It means my opportunities to climb on board the back of one of the ubiquitous moto-taxis that bomb around town will be limited. For like sixty cents, you can climb onboard one of these glorified mopeds and get from one end of town to the other in a couple of minutes flat. Not only that, Lucy tells me I look hot in the helmet provided by the driver for the adventure. The past couple of days, I've been looking for any opportunity to take a trip on one. "We have to get to the university, let's go". "Oh, we're low on Fanta, let me head into town and pick some up." "The phone's not working. Let me head into town to report that to the phone company."

But now, sadly, with Jovan's return I guess my born to be wild days are over.

^Top

April 12, 2005 — Genocide Memorial week

It's been a different kind of week here in Butare. We arrived at the National University on Monday to find that Lucy and I were not on the schedule to teach this week. Classes are being limited to the morning hours. In the afternoon, faculty and student alike have been attending what they're calling "conferences". They are part of a week of remembrance and mourning marking the twelfth anniversary of the 1994 genocide. A university that is a bustling and busy place most mornings, grows very quiet in the afternoon. On Monday afternoon we listened outside a conference taking place on the grounds of the university, and then later outside a gathering taking place in the centre of town. My Kinyarwandan is limited, but from talking with people on campus, we've gathered that the theme of the conferences is "never again" – how can we prevent what happened over 100 days beginning in April 1994 from ever happening again.

The conferences are part of an effort by the national government to put the ethnic differences, which have haunted this country since long before the 1994 genocide began, aside. Whether it's working or not, I don't know. It's something I want to find out more about as we get more comfortable with our hosts, and they get more comfortable with us. It struck me that the gathering in the centre of town on Monday afternoon had the feeling of a must-attend event. The crowd listening to the speaker at the front of the room was restless – many wandered in and out, and many seemed to have their attention focused elsewhere. But I'm not sure that has any greater meaning at all.

I'll tell you more as I find out more. Tomorrow we're going to a national memorial site near Butare at Murambi.

So with no classes to teach, we've been trying to make ourselves useful. We had a training session on Monday afternoon on the digital editing software that radio students at Radio Salus and at the university are using to put together their recorded pieces.

One of the things I want to instill in the second year students I'm scheduled to begin teaching next week is the importance of sound in radio journalism. I've brought some great examples from home that myself and others put together. But I want to make the students aware of the sound around them, and how important it can be in radio to take you to the place where the story is to be told. I spent a good chunk of yesterday gathering more sound from around town. There's no shortage of examples – from the rooster which greets the dawn not far from our bedroom — to the glorious singing by the congregation at Ste. Therese, the church down the road from our place, last evening – to the hustle and bustle of traffic passing through the centre of town at almost any point during the day – I've got more than enough examples.

Now if I can just master the recording level on the editing software we're using here, I'll be fine. There will be more opportunity to tinker this afternoon when we head back to Radio Salus to do some work, and meet with the station's interim director Aldo Havugimana.

But first comes lunch. I could get used to two hour break in the middle of the day that is standard here. I could also get used to the quality of the meals we've been eating thanks to our housekeeper Jean. Besides the great meals he's been providing for us at lunch and dinner, I'm relying on Jean to help me improve my French. Most people at the university slip into English as a courtesy when they hear my French.

There is no such luxury with Jean, as he speaks no English. I get the feeling that Jean looks forward to these sessions as comic relief. He seems like a terrific guy, but his eyes are among the saddest I've ever seen on another person – they are the eyes of someone who seemingly has seen much pain — you get the sense from him that life for he and his family (he has eight kids) is arduous. But when he laughs, and boy my French sure does seem to make him laugh, his face lights up in a way that makes gets me to laughing as well, and it's not long before either of us are looking for another another opportunity to talk. He took my cell phone number this morning, and I expect my phone to ring at any minute so that he can get his morning chuckle at my expense. I'll write again soon.

^Top

April 10, 2005 — Adventure on 'Lake Nairobi'

And, so we're here. The journey from Ottawa to Butare came off almost without a hitch. We had a small adventure in Nairobi. We arrived there Friday evening after close to 24 hours travel. We were booked into a hotel near the city centre – a chance for a good nights sleep before making the final leg of the journey to Kigali and on to Butare.

As we exited Jomo Kenyatta International Airport with our driver Elliot, it began to rain. Elliot told us that the rains had started just a week before after what he called the longest drought in human memory. As we drove towards the city centre, the rain began to pick up. Elliot grew quiet. He muttered a complaint about the drainage system, but neither Lucy nor I took any notice because it didn't seem any worse than what you experience in spots after a torrential rainfall at home (check out the corner of Maclaren and Kent sometime).

As we neared the centre of the city, traffic began to get very heavy. Elliot veered off to the right off the main road, and drove us expertly through a series of narrow, packed streets. The rain was coming down in buckets now, but we seemed to be making progress towards the city centre. At a couple of roundabouts, he looked to his left to check on the traffic situation. There were brake lights as far as the eye could see. Elliot continued driving straight. Finally, we came to a point where we could no longer go straight, and had to turn left. It was immediately clear that there wasn't much less traffic here than there had been at any other point, but we were seemingly committed, so we made the turn. And then we sat, and sat, and sat. In 15 minutes, we moved maybe 15 feet, if that.

As a man who made his living behind the wheel, Elliot seemed to take the delay personally — as an affront — that the route he had chosen should be so backed up. After 15 minutes, he turned the car around, and we headed back the way we had come. At the next roundabout we headed towards the city centre again, and almost immediately it became clear what was causing the traffic backup. There was flooding on the roadway unlike anything I'd ever seen before. There were vehicles stalled all over the place.

Entrepreneurial young men were making a quick buck pushing any number of cars through the lake that had developed along the road — a lake that was getting both broader and deeper by the minute. We slowly inched forward, but as we progressed so too did the level of the water. Soon it was past the bottom of the door of our Toyota. Then it began to leak in through the front of the vehicle. Within a couple of minutes the puddle at my feet was up to my ankles. We began to fear for our computer equipment we'd stuck in the trunk of the car. Still we inched forward – it was like Elliot was in a battle with the elements, and was refusing to give in. Despite cars stalling and smoking out around us, he continued forward. Finally we got to the other side of "Lake Nairobi". We made a quick check of our luggage in the back – it was dry as a bone – and headed for our hotel. What would take us 20 minutes early the next morning, took us more than an hour and twenty minutes the night before. Thanks to Elliot however, and his expert driving, we made it.

After that, everything was pretty straightforward. We arrived in Butare around noon Saturday and after a needed nap, Michelle Betz took us over to Radio Salus — the campus/community radio station that broadcasts to half the country geographically. There we met some of the students who are working there as part of a UNESCO project. One of the things both Lucy and I would like to do while we're here is build on some of the work that's come before us in terms of integrating the curriculum we'll be teaching in the classroom with the practical experience of putting something to air on Radio Salus. Both of us have had the idea of trying to put together a weekly news and interview program along the lines of Midweek that Carleton journalism students do at CKCU-FM as part of their class work. I'll tell you more as we go along about how that's going.

^Top

Postings

May 2 , 2006 —
Make do . . . no problem

April 28, 2006 —
Time to muse

April 25, 2006 —
Rules

April 20, 2006 —
Story ideas

April 17, 2006 —
In the classroom

April 16, 2006 —
Road warriors

April 13, 2006 —
Born to be wild?

April 12, 2006 —
Genocide Memorial week

April 10, 2006 —
Adventure on 'Lake Nairobi'

 

 

 

 
    © 2006 Carleton University School of Journalism and Communication DESIGN: SMDESIGN