Recently, I attended a friend's wedding. As is customary in Rwandan culture, there was a moment for imisango, when elders and other guests exchange pleasantries, share wisdom and memories, acknowledge existing ties between families, and offer good wishes to the newlyweds.

But as I looked around the room, something disturbed me.

At several tables, people were not listening to what was being said. Some were engaged in their own conversations, while others were deeply absorbed in their smartphones. The elders were speaking, but many people were somewhere else—lost in their screens.

I found myself asking: What has happened to our attention?

A few days later, I had another experience. I was at a medical facility, waiting for my turn to see the doctor. People arrived and joined the queue. In the past, such a situation might naturally have created an opportunity to greet one another, exchange a few words or simply observe what was happening around us.

Instead, many immediately reached for their phones. People sitting next to one another were physically together but mentally somewhere else. Some did not even greet those joining the queue.

Then came another experience that brought the matter closer to home.

A young couple recently visited me. After the greetings and customary pleasantries, we sat down. Almost immediately, the husband reached for his phone. The wife did the same.

And there I remained—with their two-year-old child. I remember asking myself: "What is this?"

It was not a question about whether smartphones are good or bad. It was a question about what they are gradually doing to some of our most basic human interactions.

There was a time when information came to us at appointed times. A family might gather around a radio for the evening news. Later, television became another window to the outside world. A programme ended, the radio or television was switched off, and people returned to conversation, reading, prayer or sleep.

Today, information does not wait for us. It follows us.

The smartphone has become our radio, television, newspaper, library, marketplace, classroom and social gathering place—all contained in one small device.

Messages arrive while we are eating. Notifications interrupt conversations. Short videos lead to other short videos. News competes with entertainment, while advertisements compete with personal messages. Everybody seems to be competing for our attention.

This is what I would call "nuisance information". Not necessarily information that is false or useless, but an endless stream of content that interrupts our concentration and competes with real life.

Rwanda is not immune to this phenomenon. As our country rapidly embraces digital transformation, the issue deserves serious attention.

Technology has brought enormous opportunities. A smartphone can give a student access to educational materials, connect a farmer to markets, help an entrepreneur reach customers and give citizens access to services and knowledge that previous generations could hardly have imagined.

The question, therefore, is not whether Rwanda should become digital.

We should.

The question is: What kind of society are we becoming as we embrace digital technology? The concern is particularly important for our young people.

A child accustomed to constant digital stimulation may find silence uncomfortable. A teenager may struggle to read something lengthy without checking a notification. A young person may consume hundreds of pieces of information in a day without necessarily developing the patience to understand any of them deeply.

And there is another danger: confusing information with knowledge.

Knowing what is trending does not necessarily mean knowing what is important. Seeing thousands of opinions does not necessarily make us informed. Watching hundreds of short videos does not necessarily make us knowledgeable.

Knowledge requires attention. Wisdom requires reflection.

Our culture has traditionally valued listening. Imisango is more than a ceremonial practice. It represents a society in which people listen to elders, learn from experience and recognise the importance of human presence.

What happens to such a culture when people are physically present but mentally somewhere else?

This is where the family becomes particularly important.

We need to teach our children not simply how to use technology, but how to control it. Families can establish simple disciplines: no phones during meals, no phones during important conversations, limited screen use before bedtime and periods when the entire family deliberately disconnects.

But parents must lead by example. We cannot tell children to put down their phones while we continue checking messages when they are talking to us.

Schools also have a role. Digital literacy should not merely mean knowing how to operate a device. Young people need to learn how to distinguish fact from opinion, recognise manipulation, question what they see online and understand that popularity does not automatically equal truth or value.

And perhaps we need to rediscover the value of silence.

A young person should be able to sit quietly, read a book, pray, walk, converse with another person or simply observe the world without feeling compelled to reach for a screen.

For Christian families, this has an even deeper dimension. Scripture says, "Be transformed by the renewing of your mind" (Romans 12:2). In an age when thousands of messages compete daily to shape that mind, we should ask ourselves: Who—or what—is disciplining our children's minds?

The solution is not to reject technology. It is to put technology in its proper place.

Perhaps the greatest digital skill we need to teach our children is not how to switch on a smartphone, but when to switch it off.

Because there are moments when the person sitting beside you is more important than the person calling you on your phone.

There are words from an elder that deserve to be heard.There is a stranger in a queue who deserves a greeting. There is a spouse who deserves attention.

And there is a two-year-old child sitting beside us, quietly learning what it means to be human.

In Rwanda's journey into the digital age, perhaps our challenge is not simply to become a more connected society.

It is to ensure that, while connected to the whole world, we do not become disconnected from one another.

The writer is a veteran journalist