Rwanda’s K–12 Education: when clear direction becomes stronger than resources

When we talk about Rwanda, we usually do not talk about education. We talk about the horrific genocide, rapid economic growth, the safest capital in Africa, the “Singapore of Africa.” Yet increasingly another topic appears in education experts’ texts and travel accounts: schools. Not as just a topic, but as one of the key instruments of state reconstruction after the 1994 genocide. That is why I very much wanted to go to Rwanda and visit schools – to see and feel for myself what is actually happening there.

At the outset I want to emphasize something that must be understood: Rwanda’s education system is not democratic, and I have no illusions about that. There is no school autonomy, no public debate about curricula, assessment, exams, and so on – and of course no real possibility to disagree, argue, or experiment. The system is highly centralized, decisions are made quickly from the top, and education is understood as a matter of national security and unity.

After the 1994 genocide, things such as pluralism of narratives, politicization of ethnic identity, and conflict itself were perceived as existential threats, therefore education became a tool for shaping unity, civic loyalty, and a shared national identity. This, of course, is far from a liberal democratic concept of education, but in Rwanda’s historical context it is somewhat understandable and justifiable.

On the other hand – and this is what interested me – Rwanda’s K–12 system today is one of the most coherent in East Africa. Not perfect, not without tensions, but remarkably consistent. And it is precisely this consistency that invites comparison not only with neighboring African countries but also with some European systems.

Education as part of state architecture

Rwanda’s education system is clearly structured according to the 6–3–3 model: six years of primary education, three of lower secondary, and three of upper secondary. This is not merely an administrative scheme. It is embedded as the backbone of the state, in which basic education has deliberately been extended to nine years through the so-called 9-Year Basic Education policy.

This means the state publicly and consistently declares: at least nine years of schooling is the norm for all children, regardless of region or social status. Press coverage and analyses by international organizations often emphasize that this policy in Rwanda was not symbolic – it was accompanied by school infrastructure expansion, especially in rural areas, and clear administrative pressure on municipalities.

When I visit schools, I often go to international schools working under the International Baccalaureate program – for example, I visited one during a trip to Ghana. Rwanda also has such schools, but here I wanted specifically to visit rural schools that receive most of the investment attention. I was lucky: with help from a local person, doors opened that otherwise – due to language barriers and uncertainty about who I was and what I was writing – might not have opened. I visited three schools in three regions: northwest (near the borders with Uganda and the DRC), southwest (near Burundi and the DRC), and east (near Tanzania). Unlike in some neighboring countries, such as Uganda or Tanzania, where compulsory education often “dissolves” at transition stages, Rwanda chose one clear message: basic education is not a discussion, it is a state obligation. That is why primary and lower secondary education interested me most.

Because resources are insufficient to constantly print materials, the walls of Rwandan schools are painted with what matters most. In every school – the school’s vision and mission, often values and rules to be followed. Finally – academic information (honestly, some drawings/illustrations were so nice that I wanted them in Queen Morta School!).

In schools without running water, rainwater is used – collection containers stand by the drainage pipes.

Schools – like Rwanda in general – are extraordinarily clean, not a single piece of trash. In classrooms the simple desks are not always in rows – teachers try and look for other seating arrangements.

I liked that one school even had a garden where children grow plants and vegetables typical of the region. I asked the principal why – after all, Rwanda still has a fairly agrarian lifestyle and everyone has gardens – but he answered that not everyone knows everything, and besides, it helps children learn to work together toward a common goal. Bravo!

A language decision that was painful – and deliberate

One of Rwanda’s most discussed decisions internationally is the shift to English as the main language of instruction from 2008. It was a sudden political decision immediately criticized: teachers were not prepared, textbooks were lacking (sound familiar?), and children often spoke only Kinyarwanda at home. Before the genocide the main non-Kinyarwanda language was French, but now – from conversations I had – the younger generation no longer wants to speak French; they want English. And yet Rwanda – despite the noise about insufficient preparation – did not reverse the decision. From what I heard, today – 18 years later – most say the decision was right.

This is also a good lesson for policymakers: if we have arguments WHY we do something, we should not change decisions because of noise – we should implement them systematically and patiently until the first results appear. After all, we know reform results usually begin to show after about 10–12 years.

Interviews with teachers and principals published in The Guardian, BBC Africa, and Education Development Trust reports often mention the same paradox: at first there was chaos, but over time the system “settled.” English became not only a teaching tool but also an instrument for integration into the East African region, higher education, and the international labor market. To me, such consistency and systematic implementation is the key to success.

By comparison, Tanzania still has structural tension between Swahili in primary and English in secondary education. Uganda has more flexibility but less unified direction. Rwanda chose a risky path – but followed it through to the end.

This decision raises many pedagogical questions, but from a systemic perspective it demonstrates something often lacking even in Europe: political courage to stick to a decision longer than one electoral term.

Competency-based education – not a slogan but a structure

In 2015 Rwanda officially approved a competency-based curriculum framework and began implementation in schools in the 2016–2017 academic year. The model includes not only academic knowledge but also skills, values, attitudes, and civic competencies. Lithuania, of course, speaks about the same – competency-based education.

In international education forums Rwanda is often cited as a country that formally implemented what Europe often only discusses. In many European countries competencies exist as recommendations or strategy documents, but in Rwanda they are clearly described in national documents and linked to assessment and teacher training. Does it work? People say – in various ways. But the most interesting thing is optimism. In Lithuania I almost everywhere hear criticism and complaints, but in Rwanda everyone I spoke with said they are proud of and happy about the changes in the education system. Of course, I always wonder what people would say behind closed doors if we were close friends, but at least the first impression – people believe in and trust the reform.

Naturally, press and academic articles contain criticism about implementation quality, teacher preparation, and lack of resources. But the discussion is not about “do we need competencies” – it is about how to implement them better. In my eyes, that is a sign of a mature system.

Technology: less romance, more pragmatism

Rwanda’s participation in the One Laptop per Child program is often cited as a symbolic example of systemic technology use. Although OLPC projects in other countries were criticized as superficial, in Rwanda they were integrated into a broader digital competence strategy. For example, in the first school I visited after lessons ended, lower secondary students were sitting with computers by a Wi-Fi station studying.

Journalists and researchers often describe the same scene: children in rural schools with laptops, teachers learning together with them, and a system that does not treat technology as a miracle but as a tool. Unsurprisingly, in all schools they most wanted to show me computer classrooms and STEM labs. The rooms themselves are so simple that many Lithuanian teachers would probably refuse to work in them – yet they contain the essentials needed for successful learning.

Gender equality – not a program but a norm

UNESCO and World Bank data show that in Rwanda girls’ and boys’ participation in primary education is nearly equal, and in some years girls’ completion rates are even higher. In the press this is often linked to broader national policy – women’s participation in politics, the public sector, and social life. In one school a young girl grabbed my hand – not yet speaking English – and guided me from class to class (later I learned she was a teacher’s daughter!), while my guide repeatedly emphasized that gender equality in Rwanda is not slogans but reality (and he did not hesitate to criticize neighboring countries, especially the DRC). The most interesting thing was understanding that here the topic is treated as a state standard, not a project. Sometimes it even felt slightly overdone – but as an ambassador of #StrongGirls, still better overdone than performative.

What does Rwanda do better than some European systems?

Perhaps the most important lesson for Europe is not a specific reform or methodology. Speaking about infrastructure – as I said – many Lithuanian teachers, seeing the classrooms or outdoor toilets (all schools had only those), would say it is impossible to work in such conditions. The classrooms would not impress: simple boards, simple desks (like from films of the last century), no air conditioning. In Lithuania it is now almost a matter of pride to show how “cool” facilities are. And that is good – environment IS the third teacher, especially where much of the year is cold and dark (Rwanda has plenty of warmth and sun!). HOWEVER we must remember this is wonderful but not the essence when we speak about educational quality. The essence is the ability to maintain long-term direction.

European education systems – because we can afford it – are often rich in ideas, research, pilots, and initiatives, but poorer in implementation discipline: almost every year there is something new everyone rushes into, and two years later it is forgotten among countless initiatives. Rwanda, with far fewer resources, demonstrates what could be called a “systemic muscle”: the ability to choose a direction and follow it for decades. It helps that the teaching profession in Rwanda is respected and valued, and there is no shortage of children – the average woman has 3.7 children! Honestly, that stood out strongly – there are many children everywhere. Rural schools are huge, and children are everywhere. And these children – as my guide said – are “free range.” After school they sit by roadsides, play in groups, and very visibly work and help in the household: herd animals, carry water, collect firewood, help in markets, care for younger siblings. The youngest child I saw carrying a baby in a sling was maybe 7–8 years old! For us this would be unimaginable, but there a group of children played and one had a younger sibling tied to them. And somehow, they probably won’t talk about trauma from helping their parents care for the household. In short – a different world entirely.

This does not mean Rwanda has no problems. Language policy remains tense. Teacher training is a challenge. And these are only a few issues – there are more. But these are problems within a functioning system, not a system constantly rewriting itself.

Conclusion

Rwanda’s K–12 education – for the reasons described and our own context – is not a model to copy. In general, I constantly repeat that NO model should be copied because there is NO perfect system. But it is a mirror for Europe – and for Lithuania. A mirror that asks:

Can we agree on an educational direction for longer than one political term?

Sometimes countries that never had the luxury of drifting remind us what truly matters in education.