Views from a train

It’s been a year since my South African train journey and this week, I found myself on another train journey.  This time it was back home in the UK where I am having a holiday.  It was snowing and I was heading north to visit my friend and see my god-daughter’s school play. 

Needless to say, it was a very different journey, but it was interesting for different reasons...it began with beautiful snow covered fields and early morning winter skies of pale blue and grey with tinges of pink and yellow from a weak wintry sun.  Snow eventually disappeared, to be replaced by shades of brown, yellow, green, orange and golden straw stalks with a watery blue sky back drop.  Water pooled in the bare, ploughed fields from recent downpours.  We passed roads and motorways and industrial estates and towns with endless rows of houses.  A hay-bale castle sat amid a bare field.  Stations old and new were passed through with ranks of cars lined up in adjacent car parks.  At each stop heaters would blow hot air to protect us from the arctic blasts.  Every stop we were reminded to mind the gap, or the step, or the slippery platform. 

We passed pylons and cables and power stations and sub-stations.  We passed fields of sheep and cows (concrete and real).  Roads and paths and bridges criss-crossed the countryside.  People were out walking dogs and sheltering next to straggly hedgerows as they navigated the wind-blown fields and open spaces.  Horses and canals and water treatment plants and static caravan sites and sports fields and houses old and new and pubs and churches with spires peeking above the tree tops all passed by the window.  You could see for miles...but not a single banana tree in sight, or a loaded bicycle, or a goat being walked to market.  No children lined the route to wave as we passed.  No one wanted to start up a conversation with me.  No one told the driver he was going too fast, or too slow.  We travelled together in isolation.

Lady in waiting

There are many times in Rwanda where I feel as though I am doing little more than waiting.  Take today for instance.  I had been out training for the best part of the day.  For most of the morning, Jen and I had been gazing at the approaching dark clouds and commenting upon how soon it would rain.  We were waiting for that rain for many hours.  Towards the end of the day, I was starting to flag – as one does after a day of activity and when experiencing a post irindazi and fanta slump.  Then the heavens opened.  It absolutely threw it down for the best part of an hour.  We could no longer talk to the participants as the noise of heavy rain on a tin roof really makes that impossible.  Thankfully we had them all working on a group work activity and they could continue doing their sentence jumbles as the rain exploded off the ground and roof outside.  But then the activity, and the training session finished.  We were now – all of us – waiting for the rain to end.  There was no chance of going anywhere, and my moto would certainly not be able to get through that rain.  So we waited.

I feel like I am always waiting...for a bus to arrive, for a bus to leave...for the bus to get there.  Waiting for the electricity to return or the water to come back on.  Waiting for the rain to come and replenish the parched soil and make my garden grow once more.  Waiting for the rain to stop so I can get home or continue with my day.  Waiting for the fire to light and then waiting for it to be hot enough to cook on.  Waiting for the roads to dry after a heavy burst of rain so that the bikes and buses are able to make their way through the water-logged clay.  Waiting for a meeting to begin or another to end.  Waiting for the dawn to come and bring more light after a long night.  Waiting for the internet to load up a page or the connection to resume.  Waiting for a parcel to arrive.  Waiting for change at the market as coins and notes are passed between traders.  Waiting for food to arrive when eating away from home.  Waiting for the water to heat so I can have a wash.  Waiting for the washing to dry when it is raining constantly outside.  But, that’s life here.  People are patient, rarely demanding and after all, what’s the point in getting cross and shouting...it doesn’t speed things up.  Not even a little bit.

 

Est-Fest weekend

This weekend began when Judy arrived at Kibungo bus-park on Friday evening.  We walked back to the house and caught up on news and then decided that rather than go to an aerobics class, we would go for a beer and some food.  So off we went to St Joseph’s to sit in the garden, outside the aerobics class, and eat and drink.  After this we returned to the house to do some final preparation on our costumes for the next day.  This was aided greatly by the bottle of wine Judy had brought with her and soon we were knee deep in rice sacks and markers and Judy was beginning to turn herself the nice shade of smurf blue that she would nurture for the weekend.

The next morning we got up early to go for a run.  We began running along a track at the back of some of the houses, getting much encouragement and bewildered stares as we went.  We then decided to head down into one of the valleys north of the town.  So off we went, plunging down a very steep and narrow, but well-worn track.  After a few minutes we bumped into the inevitable crowd of children.  They joined us, of course and were screeching with laughter.  They were all barefoot and sure footed.  We ran for 5 minutes or so and they seemed like they were going to stay with us.  I wanted to double-check we would be able to cross the valley floor and come up on the other side, so we asked the kids, and they confirmed there was a road at the other side.  It appeared they were coming with us.  So, on we ran.  They began some kind of chant as we ran – the answer to which was “yay!”.  Judy and I did, of course, join in.  The children were all quite young, and probably none of them was older than 11 or 12.  The leader of the pack had a pair of sunglasses.  A lens was missing but he carried on.

There was one very small boy running near me.  He was maybe 5 years old.  He seemed to be the scape goat and kept on getting shoved into hedges and whacked in the face by the others in their efforts to pass him.  He was incredibly determined and each time he picked himself up and carried on running.  As we ran we continued to be encouraged by people working on the fields in the valley.  It was also possible to hear their laughter echoing around the valley.  We came to a point in our run where there was a narrow ditch to cross.  The agile children all did this with ease, but the small boy was last and he just missed the opposite bank and slid down into a load of mud, dropping precious coins from his pocket.  He picked up the money but looked quite forlorn and as though he may eventually give in to some tears of frustration.  Seeing this, our group leader came over and took him by the hand and ran along with him.  At the next ditch, he took off his sunglasses and put them on a clump of grass.  He sat the other boy down and began to wash his legs and feet to get the dirt off.  And then we were off.  A minimum of fuss, but really caring!

Heading back up the other side of the valley was very hard work (for me) and I had to beg for mercy and walk for a while.  We continued uphill for quite some time and every so often we would run a bit and then walk a bit.  We came to a junction at one point and our group of runners turned and said goodbye and went off in another direction, waving as they went.  It was so nice to run with them and they seemed to enjoy it but they really made our day!

Once we managed to get home and had a wash we went to the market for shopping.  This was the usual fun of chatting to people and doing a little haggling.  We were quite weighed down with bags on our return and I had bought a large cooking pot.  About 5mins from my house we met a group of three girls.  They said good morning and then one opened her arms wide and hugged each of us.  Her two friends followed.  Before I knew it, she had taken the pot from my arms and it was on her head and she insisted on carrying it for me.  I told her she didn’t have to, but given the two other bags I had on my shoulders, I was quite pleased.  I spent some time trying to talk to them about where they were going.  They had a fairly long walk home ahead of them, so when we reached my house we thanked them very much, wished them a safe journey and sent them off with some bananas we had got at the market.  

Playing "melange" in front of the snake slaying
lady with my nice outfit on!

As for the rest of the day...it was a whirl of food preparation and final touches for the Est-Fest party that Jen and I were hosting.  Several helpers arrived to help with food prep and we made a lovely Thai curry and some snacks such as salsa and humus to have with chapattis.  By about 6pm we had many party-goers in the house and everyone had been great sports and had made a rice sack outfit.  We all looked ridiculous, but it felt quite normal at the time.  I managed to wear my bridal outfit all night, although I did lose my veil at some point.  It looked like it had snowed in the house due to the amount of rice sack bits on the floor and this has taken some cleaning up.  In fact, I think I will be finding bits of rice sack until the day I leave.  We had dancing and eating and drinking and game playing and lots of laughter and merriment.  There was also a local artist there who had brought some of his paintings with him, so a few of us bought some of his work, knowing the money was going to a very good cause and the orphans KB worked with would benefit.  It was a really nice evening and a great way to say goodbye to Jen, who will sadly be leaving in a month. 

Physical Education - Rwandan Style

Over the last year of visiting schools, I have witnessed a few sports activities.  It is certainly a little different here...there are no fancy gymnasiums or changing facilities.  The outside areas of schools are not carefully organised with running tracks and netball courts and football fields and cricket greens which are lovingly tended throughout the hot dry months.  No, you will nearly always find a field.  But it will be bumpy and uneven. It will most likely have a volleyball net across it and sometimes you even see football goal posts fashioned out of local materials.  Many children bring their own ball to school.  These are made by inflating a condom and then wrapping banana leaves and twine around the outside to make it sturdy.

PE is not a subject on the curriculum. There is a lesson called COCA (which is basically cultural and physical education).  And during this, it is sometimes possible to see children doing sport.  They may also do crafts or singing.  When it comes to preparing for a PE lesson, there is no traipsing to the changing rooms to change into suitable attire for physical activity.  Children just do it in whatever they have worn to school (for girls – usually a blue dress and for boys – usually yellow/beige shorts and shirt).  Most children wear very simple plastic shoes.  These are often shed for the duration of this lesson with children preferring to run barefoot (I tried it – I was a baby about it and it hurt my feet too much).  Or – more bizarrely – children who run in their welly boots (well...it was raining in the morning, so that is what they have worn to school).  I have also seen children running whilst clutching their precious school bag to their chest – there is are certainly no changing room pegs to hang it up on.

Most recently, I have seen children in many schools preparing for a relay race (maybe there is going to be Sports Day soon?).  This has been great fun to watch.  The class are divided into two lines and stand at either end of the field.  The child at the top of the line is given a stick.  They must run up to the opposite end of the field, around the opposing team and back to the starting point where they hand over the stick/baton to the next student who repeats.  The teams run against each other and the excitement is immense – especially when a runner over-takes someone from the opposing team.  There is little difference at this time to any school around the world.  Children are jumping and cheering and screaming for their team to win.

In contrast to this I have seen some competitive sport between schools.  This seems to be rather more serious.  Teams arrive to the school in kit.  The example I was present at was on a day when I was meant to be observing lessons.  I had begun to do this in partnership with the Head Teacher.  During the second lesson he was very distracted by his mobile and had to leave to take some calls.  At the end of the lesson I discovered that this was because the opposition were on their way.  Once they arrived, lessons were cancelled and the entire school came out to cheer.  This did seem a little unfair for the opposition who had no cheering crowd, but it was very entertaining for me.  A group of students were on the volleyball pitch.  Everyone is crowded around the edge as the lines are drawn in the dust with a stick.  One crowd of girls is staring at me, rather than the game.  I am glad to know I still hold interest.  The team are wearing smart trainers and official gear.  They look quite the business.  The game is lively and at one point, our team begin making gestures on the ground to indicate that they are wiping the floor with the opposition.  The teachers whip up the crowd and there is singing and clapping and stomping.  We stand in clouds of dust.  The game is over and our win is celebrated with much whooping, stomping, cheering and dancing and we all head to the soccer field.  Want a good view?  Climb a tree.  Once again, a section of the crowd are content just to watch me, but I am not really doing anything of interest other than cheering on our team.  I am flanked on all sides by small, inquisitive people.  They dare each other to reach out and touch my skin.  My arm hair fascinates them.  They all ask the same questions; “What is your name?” (this most often comes out as “What is my name”), “How old are you?”, “Where are you from?”.  I answer these questions a hundred times and try asking a few of my own.  I get giggles in response.

We get back to the game.  The girls are playing football.  Our team are good, but the grass is so long I cannot see where the ball is half the time.  The crowd are still enjoying the sport and the opposition are doing their best amidst the screaming and cheering from our supporters.  Out of the dust clouds, my moto appears and it is home time.  I enjoyed watching the sport.  It is not so different to at home.  The technical gear may be less shiny and grand, but the atmosphere is great and everyone is enjoying it – and surely that should be what it is all about.

The Snake

Every night for the last week or so, there has been a power-cut that has begun at around 6pm and that has lasted for two and a half to three hours.  This is hugely inconvenient.  It gets dark in Rwanda at about 6pm and there is not much to do when it is dark.  My laptop battery only lasts for just over an hour so it never lasts for the duration of the power-cut.

On one particular night, I was amusing myself by spending the time making a version of a story about the jungle in order to display it in a classroom for children to read.  There I was, sat in the dark, surrounded by pens and rice sacks which I had spent considerable time cutting to the required banner shape.  I was pretty pleased with my handiwork and was almost finished.  I had my head torch strapped to my head so that I could see the work I was doing.

I got a feeling that something was touching my foot.  I moved my foot ever so slightly, assuming it was one of the many mosquitoes that take the opportunity of the dark to attack me.  However, it was still there.  I decided to look downwards and pointed the beam in the direction of the irritation.  And there, by my foot, was the rear end of a snake.  I have never been this close to a snake before.

I had no idea what to do.  I could feel a certain amount of panic rise in me.  But something was telling me I had to remain calm and be sensible.  Very carefully I stood up and pushed the chair back and stepped away from the snake.  I glanced around and could see that the majority of the snake had tunnelled under my pile of cut rice sacks.  I had no idea what size it was, but it tried to slither further under when I moved.

There was little else to do.  I needed a man to help.  I went outside to seek the help of Patrick.  I told him what I had seen.  He very quickly grabbed hold of a broom and came in to the room.  I showed him the offending article.  He told me we had to find the head.  I said I would help by removing the sacks.  Now, at this time, I could only see the end of the snake and as far as I could see it was not enormous.  It seemed fairly small in circumference and I had no idea how long it was.

On reflection, I am really quite glad that I did not know the identity of the snake.  Patrick told me it was very dangerous, but I am never sure how much is lost in translation.  When I moved the rice sacks, the snake did dart very quickly away from us.  But it went into a corner.  It was hissing.  Patrick quickly managed to pin it’s head down with the broom handle and tried to hit it with another.  The snake was writhing around and it was hard to pin him down.  I managed to remember I had a hammer and between the two of us, the snake received several blows to the head and was eventually stilled.

Patrick then scooped it up in the bowl I had found and I spent some time mopping the floor where the blood had been spilled.  Further analysis has revealed that the snake was a Black Mamba.  One of the fastest, and deadliest snakes in Africa.  It is easy to see how people die quite easily from a snake bite.  When I think of this, a shiver runs down my spine.  That snake was sat by my foot without me noticing.  Had it bitten me and released venom, I would have had about 20mins to get hold of some anti-venom.  Given that I am 2hrs from the main hospitals in Kigali and am a 10min drive from the local hospital - which may well not have anti-venom - I would have been stuffed.  But I am fine.  I have, however, spent most of my time in the house since this incident looking for snakes.  The good news is, I have not see any more.

Here's one I made earlier

On the days when I am not in school I am always busy with other aspects of my work.  One of the things I really enjoy, is making new resources which I can then show to teachers in order to give them some ideas of resources they might like to make.  As volunteers we share a lot of ideas and these often help me to think of ways I could adapt them to make something slightly different.  I have turned into a bit of a Mr Trebus and have a room with lots of “stuff” in it that could be used to make resources.  This means that I can show teachers resources which are made out of locally available materials and therefore, the making of materials is sustainable and not based on bringing equipment and material which cannot be quickly, easily and cheaply got hold of here.

The one thing we use most as education volunteers, is the rice sack.  You can do all sorts of things with a rice sack.  First you have to cut it to the required size.  This firstly involves cutting it to open it up.  Usually I chop the full rice sack in two and use it as two large pieces.  This is certainly good for making posters and word walls in classrooms.  However, smaller pieces can be used for making dominoes, flashcards, labels etc.  A whole (uncut) rice sack can also be fashioned into an item of dress up clothing – an outfit for a farmer, nurse, police officer for example.  Or even a skeleton (which you can later encourage students to add labels of bones to).  We try to make sure that the materials are not just didactic and that they can be used as interactively as possible with the students.  I have since made a rice sack map of Rwanda and with it I have a whole heap of flashcards each with a small piece of sticky tape on the back which can be fixed in the correct geographical location – to mark directions, towns, tourism hot spots, landforms etc.  Following a lesson planning session with a teacher who wanted to teach prepositions, I also have a rice sack poster with a plan of a village on it.  There is a small person (whom I like to call Eric) made out of cardboard with sticky tape on his back.  Eric can be moved around the village and the students can be asked to say where he is using the correct prepositions.  They can also do written exercises based on this by stating where certain places are in relation to others.

When not busy cutting up and melting rice sacks, I try to think of other things to do.  Lately I have been keen to make games.  Very few children here have seen board games, so I feel it is only fair to give them some idea of the fun you can have with these!  One rainy afternoon a fellow volunteer helped to make a version of “Twister”.  We did use a rice sack for this – we cut it open so it was a large area and drew around a tablemat to create the circles and then sat for an age colouring in with a crayon.  There was a powercut, so not much else to do.  Then, using a piece of cardboard and some bottle tops and string, we fashioned (well...actually Margaret did a fabulous job of fashioning) a spinner.  This game has now been played in several staffrooms and at training and slowly we are getting the teachers to realise it could be used for teaching colours, parts of the body and generally having a bit of fun (I am yet to discover the translation for “for fun”).

Another game I have made a version of is Scrabble.  You can’t get it here.  So I have made a version of it with a rice sack board and then made letters out of bottle tops.  The tops can either be sprayed white for ease of writing on them, or a piece of masking tape can be used to cover the bottle top before writing on them.  This is an excellent way to help students improve their vocabulary and it involves a little bit of maths.  I have since realised that a greater number of consonants would be required if this game were to be played using ikinyarwanda.

Bottle tops can also be collected and then strung together to make counting strings for younger students.  Keeping them on a string saves having to scrabble around on the floor picking them up from the darkest corners of a classroom when you are finished (you learn from experience).  But, they can also be covered or painted and then have monetary values written on them so that they can be used as money in role play games or in mathematics when children learn about money.

Old cardboard boxes can also be used to cut up and make into a variety of things.  Jen showed me how to make a clock face with movable hands – I remember having one of these as a child – so I have made some and given them to teachers, but have lately had teachers make their own version so that they can use them when they teach their students how to tell the time.  Cardboard pieces and string can be used to make matching games – pictures and words for example.  Pictures down one side of the cardboard and the vocabulary down the other side with a little slit next to each so you can slot the string in to match up the picture and word.  I have also added some for simple maths equations, countries and capital cities...the fun you can have!

Some foodstuff here arrives in lovely old fashioned tin cans. I have porridge for breakfast and this always comes in a tin – as does the milk powder.  These are excellent kept just for storage, but there are other things they can be used for.  Jen has demonstrated to me how they can have a piece of string threaded through their base and then stretched out and strung through a second can.  If the length of string is stretched taut (it needs to be about 5m) and you speak into one can, it is possible for a partner to put their ear against the other end and hear what you say.  A very old fashioned telephone device.  But it does demonstrate how sound waves can travel.

I rarely have them, but I have bought milk in Kigali a couple of times and kept the plastic 2l bottles the milk comes in.  This can be made in to a car of sorts.  The lids of Blueband margarine can be put on a skewer which is pushed through the bottle.  A piece of sting can be put through the cap of the milk bottle to make a pulling device.  This “car” needs a little refinement – I need to make sure the wheels don’t come off their skewer, but it works fairly well.

There are very few children’s story books in Rwanda.  There are currently plans to introduce more reading material, but, in the meantime I have employed my trusty rice sacks.  I have cut them into smaller pieces (and sealed the edges in a candle to melt them and stop them from fraying) and then I have created some versions of popular children’s books.  These are very popular in the schools I have used them and students have already begun to memorise some of the repeated lines.  It’s also been good fun to make the books, but the artwork can take some time (especially if you decide you must do a version of Elmer!).

Because plastic bags are not allowed in Rwanda, shopping is packaged in paper bags.  These are most often plain brown paper bags.  Some of these I use when sending parcels to people, but they can also make very effective hand puppets.  You just need to fold the top over to create a mouth and then decorate as you see fit and hey presto!  I have encouraged teachers to make use of these – especially in Social Studies lessons where they could be people from the local community or they could be used to address some of the difficult discussions that may be had in a lesson on conflict.

 

Now, I’ve always wanted to be a Blue Peter presenter, and a lecturer on my MSc course did once remark after a presentation I did that it was “a bit Blue Peter” (I’m pretty sure he meant professional), so if anyone from the BBC is out there and reading this...what do you think?

One year on

It is startling to realise that I have now completed one year in Rwanda.  At this time last year, this day felt like a very, very long way away.  The time has actually gone so fast.  It doesn’t seem so long ago that I was saying tearful goodbyes at the airport and arrived (very stressed after the journey) in Rwanda.  I remember looking at volunteers who had already been here for a year and being impressed at how they were still here and still smiling.

I can say quite honestly, that doing VSO and coming to Rwanda has been the best thing I ever decided to do.  It has not always been easy, but I think I have been happier in this past year than I can ever remember being.  There are daily challenges, such as lack of water and electricity and life without supermarkets, but there are also daily highlights – like having a conversation with a neighbour, seeing a teacher do something new, haggling at the market or admiring the moon and the stars at night.

I want to remain grateful for the ease of life in a developed country and for the opportunities I have had growing up and living in such a place, but I fear that once I am back in the cut and thrust world, I will soon forget the charms of my less hectic life and stop appreciating the things I have.  So here’s to the next year and whatever it brings.

And, finally, what have I learnt in the last year...?  Life should be pleasurable most of the time; if you are finding it dull and uninspiring, change it – you can steer your life in whichever direction you choose.  Money is not everything; it is entirely possible to live on very little money (but it can be limiting!).  When you are a long way from home, you realise just how important good friends and family really are.  Haggling over the price of fabric at the market or in Fabric Alley and going to visit the lovely, lovely sewing ladies is far more fun than a trip to Monsoon.  Speaking (or attempting to speak) the local language will be hard work but will bring enormous rewards.  Growing your own food is a rewarding and money saving activity.  It also means you can grow things that are not commonly produced in your country of residence.  A carb rich diet will never be good for my figure.  No teabags are ever as good as English teabags.  Fact.  However, Rwandan coffee is superb – buy some.  It is possible to live without a cooker/fridge/microwave/dishwasher/freezer/running water in your kitchen; I can still make scones, cakes and cookies without an oven.  A hot shower is a luxury and you should never forget it.  A bowl of Kellog’s Cornflakes and ice cold milk will always be one of the best meals going.  Never underestimate the versatility of a rice sack.  Life is too short for flat sheets and Blueband margarine.  Equatorial rain showers can make your entire outfit see-through in seconds.  Laugh and smile as much as possible; it’s contagious and makes you feel so much better about stuff.  Always give people a chance; who knows what will happen if you strike up a conversation with a stranger?  Nobody appreciates things which come to them too easily.

A week in the village (School’s out for summer!)

The summer holiday in Rwanda is usually for about three weeks in August.  However, this year there is a national census taking place and this census is being carried out by primary school teachers.  For the last few months they have undergone much training and this has intensified in recent weeks.  So the school holiday has been extended to almost double its normal length.  In most districts the lack of availability of teachers has meant no training is taking place, but my DEO and her SEOs decided we should give it a try.  And so began 3 weeks of training at 5 locations around the district.



Participants making resources
at Zaza TRC

Previous training I have run has been held at the District office, but it is difficult and expensive to ask teachers to travel here, so we decided we would go out to different bases so it was less difficult for the teachers.  We invited 3 teachers from every school and did a couple of days in each location focussing on Methodology.  This meant the second day was all about making resources from local materials, so it became a little bit “Blue Peter”!

For the first week, Jen came to stay with me so we could run the workshops together.  They went far better than we ever expected and we realised that the new DEO is a great woman and very organised.  We visited a couple of locations nearer to my house.  The second week was roughly half way so we stayed at our respective homes.  For the third week, I went to stay in Zaza – Jen’s village.  It is dry season here and water shortages are very common just now.


The view over Lake Mugesera

Like any good week in the country, it began with a visit to the local pottery.  Bear in mind we were at least an hour from the nearest tarmac road, so fairly remote...the walk to the local pottery took us about two and a half hours.  And it was very, very hot.  And, of course, very, very dusty.  It was a nice walk through the countryside and we went through lots of villages.  In one of them, a group of children were playing in their very own miniature “playhouse” version of their own mud house.  We tried to tell them it was great, but they just ran away screaming and laughing.


Several people came to ask us where we were going and joined us for short parts of our walk.  Eventually, Jen announced we were almost there.  We were so hot by this point that I was delighted.  It was 11:30 and the sun was high in the sky so there was no shade to be had anywhere.  We were directed down the correct path through the crops by a local man who wished us well on our way and arrived at the compound of the Freres of Nyange.  We went inside and one of them was sat under a shade in the courtyard.  He came to greet us and ushered us into a room.  We exchanged pleasantries and he explained everyone else was at mass – this being Sunday an’ all.  He offered us some refreshment and we gratefully accepted.  A few minutes later he arrived with two bottles of pineapple wine and a straw was sticking out of each one.  It was 11:30 on a Sunday and I had spent two hours trudging through the deep dust of Ngoma District, but what could I do...?  I drank it of course.  It would have been rude not to.

Our host kept popping in and out to make sure we were OK and he managed to contact the others to tell them visitors had arrived.  We spent some time looking at our surroundings and the religious pictures on the wall and enjoying the break from the heat of the sun.  By the time we had finished our wine (I have to admit I was quite giggly by this point), the other Freres turned up.  We greeted each other and had a chat for a short while.  Then they showed us around their pottery.  Jen tried out the potters wheel and we looked in their kiln and asked when they would next be firing it up.  Apparently they do it twice a year.  Then we went into a little room that had several pieces of their pottery and we both chose some bits to buy.  I bought a gigantic pottery mug, a lovely little casserole dish, and a vase.  After further conversation, we walked back out of the compound and in true Rwandan style, the Freres walked us along the road a little way.  We had to walk through their pineapple plantation (which was quite vast) and they explained that this is where they grow the pineapples for their wine.  At this point, two of the Freres who had disappeared for a few minutes reappeared with 3 enormous pineapples, which they gave to us as a gift.  Rwandan pineapples are DELICIOUS.  But we did now have to walk home weighed down by our pottery and pineapple and giddy on the effects of pineapple wine.  Such hardships!

We walked part way before giving in to the taxi bikes that kept offering us a lift.  We got a taxi bike for part of the journey and then walked a bit before having to stop at a bar for refreshment.  It was here that our friend Kate came to join us and we had some fantas and water and brochettes.  Eventually we felt galvanised to continue the journey back to Jen’s.  I have never looked such a site – I had a thick layer of orange dust coating my legs up to where my trousers began just below my knees.  I was filthy with grime!  The heat of the day was waning, so the remainder of the journey was not so unbearable.  And then it was home for more liquid refreshment and an evening of rest, ready to start our final week of workshops.

Participants get busy in Kibungo

We ran our next workshop in the Teacher Resource Centre at Zaza TTC and this was great.  It is always nice to be able to show teachers just what you can make out of locally available materials – cardboard, tins, string, paper, bottle tops...and of course...rice sacks!  The teachers made their own copies of the materials we showed them and were pleased to be able to take them home for their own classrooms.  We held another workshop out in one of the further sectors.  We got the sense that not many such events had taken place out here.  As with all the workshops, the teachers were lovely and it was a pleasure to be with them.

Collecting the precious rainwater
(tap in the background was not forthcoming!)

At the end of the first day, the heavens opened and a huge rainstorm began.  There was nothing to do but sit it out.  We could not continue the training as you could not hear anyone speak.  Jen and I were quite glad about the rain as we had just about run out of water supplies as we had been without running water for four days.  However, we were not at home so could not fill up our basins.  After about an hour and a half the storm subsided and we were able to leave as our moto drivers arrived.  We returned to Zaza and checked the tap – still no water!  Thankfully it rained again and we managed to get the basins out and fill them up.

To celebrate we had some waragi and tonic and cooked smores over the charcoal with the materials (Hersheys chocolate, Graham Crackers and marshmallows) Heena had left us before she returned to the States – they were good! 

Grrrrrrillas!

I have finally been to see the Mountain Gorillas of Rwanda.  Something I have been looking at doing for the last 10 years.  So, being a resident of Rwanda it seemed a shame not to take advantage of the half price permit fee.  Also, prices went up on 1^st June so we bought our permits before that in order to get them at the old rate.

We set off for Kinigi guesthouse outside the park the night before our trek was due and found ourselves just a few metres from the Park HQ and start of the trek.  We arrived at the Volcanoes National Park HQ before 7am.  There was a display of Intorre dancing taking place and the area was buzzing.  Treks up the volcanoes, visits to Golden Monkeys and visits to the Gorillas all set off from here.  We had our own driver in our group (thank you, Becky!) and we had heard we would need to attend a briefing for drivers.  This is also where groups are assigned, so we were keen to not miss it.  We had discussed our preference the night before and decided that an “easy” walk was not for us, but we were unsure if we were up for a “hard” walk, so we wanted a “moderate” group.  Of course, all this relies on the gorillas being in an easy or moderate distance of the Park HQ.

We managed to shove Becky into the scrum of drivers (mostly from safari companies – so well used to the protocol here) and from the quick fire Kinyarwanda we could hear and the look on her face, we realised we had no idea what was happening.  Drivers began gesticulating and Becky worked out this was to do with numbers, so she shoved four fingers in the air to indicate how many of us there were.  Each family of gorillas is assigned 8 people, so numbers are important.  The organiser looked at her and said “good group”   “No! No!” we cried – “That sounds bad – we are not good, we need an easy walk”.  All the other drivers laughed at us.  We were in the good group.  They assured us we would be OK and told us where to wait.  Then we were introduced to Francois, our guide for the day and he took us off for a briefing.

Francois has been doing this for 31yrs.  Before her death, he was friends with Dian Fossey for 5 years.  He is a very knowledgeable man and very entertaining.  He gave us a talk about the family we would visit – Titus.  A group of ten gorillas and they have a 3 month old baby in the group, which was recently named Desire at the gorilla naming ceremony held each year.  We were told the walk was maybe one or two hours. 

After a quick vehicle inspection (and much laughter from the male guides that this mad group of women was going to drive themselves), we were led off on a drive for about 20mins.  We then parked up on a hillside and began our walk.  At first we passed through terraced hillsides and by many homes.  At some of them, groups of children stopped to say hello and a few even had dance routines ready for us.  It was all quite festive.  There was a lot of conversation over the radio between Francois and the trackers up on the volcano.  After about 45mins we reached the base of the trackers and a couple of guards with guns joined our group.  We then crossed the wall into the jungle.  It was so dense!  Our guides had to slash the vegetation with a machete to make some semblance of a path and we pushed our way through.  There had been elephants and buffalo in the area, so we had to keep a watch out for them.  Further discussion with the trackers revealed the gorillas did not want to be found too easily and they seemed to be constantly on the move. 

Eventually, after more than 3 hours, we met a group of trackers in a clearing.  This was exciting!  It meant we were with 100m of the gorillas.  We had to leave all our bags with the trackers and were then led through a mass of vegetation and suddenly fell into a small clearing and there, right in front of us, just 2 metres away, was a family of gorillas.  I was surprised by how exciting and emotional this made me feel.  Francois quickly began to communicate with the silverback, who indicated he was ok with us being there and we were ushered into line formation along the edge of the clearing.  The gorillas were napping – so this is a good time to visit as they are not moving too much.  The Silverback continued to communicate with Francois and did a little bit of leaping around to show us how ferocious he could be then he sat down and made some happy noises.  We just watched.  Completely enthralled by these animals, who look so much like us.  The baby was clambering over his Mum.  Some of them just looked at us quizzically, others just stared through one open eye, before dozily closing it again and having another nap. 

After about 25mins, there was movement and the gorillas moved back into the undergrowth of the surrounding jungle.  We followed at a distance and it was at this point I found myself about a metre and a half from the silverback.  He was just munching on the foliage.  I started to video him and then, he decided to jump up and run towards me.  I tucked my head in and got as small as I could.  He wasn’t after me, he just ran the other side of the tree from where I was, but boy did he come close!  We continued to watch them move around – sometimes coming really close to us.

An hour with gorillas goes quickly, but it was a totally magical hour and was fascinating to sit and watch them in their habitat.  The stop watch chimed and the hour was up and we had to go.  The gorilla groups are only visited by a maximum of 8 people each day for a maximum of one hour.  The National Park appear to be conserving their environment well and the number of Mountain Gorillas has really grown in recent years.

For anyone thinking of doing it, I would whole-heartedly recommend it.  Not only was the hour we spent with the gorillas a memorable and beautiful one, but also the walk through the jungle was exciting and hard work – making the visit more rewarding.  Rwanda uses the money from gorilla visits to protect the environment they live in and it seems to be a really worthwhile thing to do.  It is a shame that most people who come as tourists to Rwanda only do so to fly in and rush up to Musanze for a one day visit before flying out again.  Rwanda has so much more to offer.  One of the best things about this country is the people.  To leave without having experienced the people of Rwanda is a sad thing.  My hope is, that one day soon, tourism will develop a little more in this country so more people are encouraged to travel around.  There are guest houses in every small town and the bus network is very good and quite cheap, so it would be an excellent place for any backpacker.

Celebrating good health

Recently, my night guard had experienced poor health and had been in the local hospital for some time.  Although not completely recovered, he is now back at home.  I had been visiting him when he was in the hospital and was always greatly humbled by the gratitude I received for this from his friends and family.  I consider Justin to be my friend, I care what happens to him and his family, so I wanted to visit.  Now that he is home I have not seen so much of him as he lives about 20km from the town.  However, I was invited to visit this week.  I accepted straight away.  I knew I would probably feel a little awkward as I assumed there would be friends and family gathered and it would be quite an occasion.  But I got more than I bargained for!

First of all, I was an hour late arriving.  I had struggled to get on a bus as all of the buses coming from Kigali in the direction of the Tanzanian border were full.  The local matatu was being repaired at the side of the lorry park and so it took a while to get on the bus.  Once on it, I had instructions to go to the village of Rukizi at the 114km marker on the road.  I got off in the village of Rukizi but discovered I was still some way from the house, so I began walking.  It was a really hot afternoon, so I took my time and drank in the scenery (trying not to focus too much on the tarmac road! – although even that had it’s charms.  It is the main road to Tanzania yet there were games of football and suchlike being played on it, clearing out of the way for the occasional heavy goods vehicle that passed).  As I approached the 114km marker, there were a few people waiting.  One of them greeted me by name – he was my welcome party.  I greeted the other two men and assumed they were waiting for a bus.  Turned out they were with us and one of them was Justin’s pastor.  We walked to the house and it was explained that Justin and “the others” would be a few minutes.  Justin’s cousin came out to greet me and took me inside the house.  We sat down on the benches, and then David, Justin’s eldest son (6), came out.  He ran over to me and gave me the biggest hug.  Then he sat right next to me and held my hand.  And that is where he stayed for the rest of my visit.  I have met him a couple of times before and he was very shy at first, so I was hugely flattered to be getting such love from him.

We sat attempting conversation – thankfully Justin’s cousin speaks some relatively good English.  Then Delphine, David’s sister came in.  She was doing her best not to come anywhere near me but did keep laughing at me.  She is quite spirited so it was enormously entertaining to watch her.  A doll appeared and we had some fun playing with her.  The local children had heard of my arrival and a reasonable crowd gathered at the door.  David wanted to know if I could photograph him and the doll, so that was an excellent opportunity to get my camera out – it’s so nice when people ask you to take photographs rather than you feel like you are being a nuisance by taking them.  After a serious photo shoot with David, Delphine, and Davina the Doll, David asked if he could dance.  So he did, and we photographed and videoed his moves.  He was hilarious.  A couple of the children watching at the door asked if they could perform, so they did.

Then David said he would like to come home with me, so we all had a laugh about that and discussed when he could come to visit.  He suggested I bought him some sweets instead.  This seemed like a fair deal, so we went to the shop next door and purchased 20 sweets for David, Delphine and the other children.  David and Delphine allowed themselves 5 each and then there were just enough to hand out to those that were there at the time.  We went back and sat around talking some more.

Then Justins’s wife, Emmeline arrived.  I have met her many times now on my visits to the hospital, so rather than greet with a handshake I always get a lovely hug from her.  She is a very beautiful, poised woman and always looks elegant.  It is also lovely to watch her with her children.  We did some more talking.  I had now been there for an hour and a half.  After two hours, and many more drips and drabs of people coming in, Justin arrived with another pastor he had been staying with.  They had been praying for him to try and make him better.

Justin certainly looked better.  He has put on most of the weight he lost in the hospital and he seems to be making a good recovery.  He is still not quite what he was, but is clearly on the way to good health.  He stopped at the door as the pastor and other friends said some prayers, then everyone came in and there was much hugging and shaking of hands.  Then, my interpreter told me we would pray.  This was Rwandan “freestyle” praying, where everyone just does their own prayer, out loud, at the same time.  Some of them shouted to make their message that little bit stronger and there were a good few hallelujahs and amens coming out of the throng.  I kept quiet and said my own little prayer in my head.

Following this, we had a hymn.  The singing was beautiful and it was amazing to hear how everyone just quickly chose a different harmony to sing and the range of clapping and banging all came together to make a lovely sound.  The song lasted a good 5mins and then there was some more praying.  The middle bit of my visit is a little blurred as there was a lot of praying, singing and talking.  At one point Justin and his pastor asked me to stand up and introduce myself.  After more prayers and songs and bible readings and sermons, everyone had a turn at introducing themselves and stated which Church they were from (it was fine that I was Catholic and everyone seemed OK that I “prayed at home” as I didn’t understand the Kinyarwanda service).

It was starting to get dusky outside, so I suggested to Justin’s cousin that I should think about leaving.  He went to discuss this with Emmeline, and the next thing I knew, big bowls of food were delivered to everyone in the room.  There must have been about 20 friends and family there, so this was no small thing.  There was even a piece of meat for everyone.  It was very tasty and I ate as much as I could.  David finished mine for me as he said it tasted better than his own (honestly – they were all identical!).  We drank tea and then it really was dark.  Dismas, Justin’s cousin rang his friend who had a bus to see if there would be another bus passing.  After about another 20mins and more serious praying now that we had full stomachs, I was hauled out of the house as the bus was stopped on the roadside for me.  I said my goodbyes to all my new friends and Emmeline took my hand and walked me to the bus.  There we parted with more hugs and handshakes and said we would meet again soon.

It was a really special afternoon.  It is not something I ever really envisioned I would end up doing.  To be invited into someone’s home is a great insight into life here and the people you meet on these occasions are always so warm and welcoming.  Despite my anxieties that I would be a spectacle, I felt very happy to be there and honoured that I was invited to celebrate the fact that Justin is now on his way to recovery.

Unexpected rain

Now that dry season is here, I have become reckless and have stopped carting my waterproof trousers around with me.  I knew this was probably foolish, but the heat is so great, that I could not believe I would need them.  Of course, this wild act meant that it did rain.  And it rained so heavily.  It seemed to come from nowhere.  Suddenly my moto driver was forced to pull over as we could not see in front of us.  We pulled over and sheltered under the eaves of a house.  The rain was pelting down with some force and the owner of the house came out and invited us to sit inside.

We were ushered into the gloom and sat on a seat inside.  He left and didn’t return.  My moto driver and I just sat there, waiting.  We could not have conversation as the rain was so hard, you couldn’t hear anything above it.  Within 15mins of arriving at the house, the huge oil barrel outside was over-flowing with the water that had come off the gutter and collected in it.  The owner of the house was having a conversation with his friend over the phone.  He really had to shout to make himself heard.  Once the conversation was finished, apart from the rain, it was really peaceful.  I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall.  Thinking of the luxury of it being OK to wait it out.  At home I would be stressed about the need to get to work.  Here, it is entirely acceptable to stop when the rain starts.  There is no way the roads were navigable in those conditions.

Then the children of the house began looking through the door to see who was there.  They gradually became more brave and started coming into the room before running back out, screaming.  This continued for about 20mins.  Then the moto driver encouraged the boys to come and talk to us.  They wouldn’t, of course.  But the older one was brave.  He started to read his school textbook.  He was naming all the pictures it contained.  His little brother soon joined in and they were showing me how many words they knew.  It was lovely to see children looking at books – even if they were school books.  Then they picked up a story book and had a “read” of that.  Although it was in English, so they seemed to make a story in Kinyarwanda.

Looking around the room, my eyes began to adjust to the gloom.  Our moto helmets were piled near a chair in the corner.  With the exception of a table and some chairs and a picture of the Holy Family, the room was bare.  And the floor was perfectly swept.

The continuing rain made me sleepy, almost like a lullaby.  The darkness was lit up by the occasional flash of bright orange lightening and was accompanied by loud cracks of thunder.  It sounded like the hills were being split apart and the house would shake with each one.

After we had been there for nearly an hour and the boys had become more brave, I asked them if I could read to them.  So they came and sat with me and we read the story about the hare and the moon.  I know they didn’t understand much but we tried to talk through the pictures and translate English to Kinyarwanda.  We were able to name all of the animals.  The boys were lovely and sat either side of me, listening and pointing at the pictures.  It is so unusual to see a house with printed material in it.  We had obviously been invited into the home of some progressive parents.  After 90mins the rain had begun to ease off, so my moto driver suggested we could leave.

We donned our helmets and got back on the moto.  Waved off by our new friends and some other children who had heard of our presence.  It was yet another of those special moments that exist here, where people kindly invite you in and make sure you are OK and expect nothing at all in return.