Bus window buys

You can buy pretty much anything out of a bus window in Rwanda.  Most commonly: airtime, water, juice, nuts, gum, biscuits or magazines (out of date).  Often; bibles, wallets, jewellery, second hand clothes.  Some of the stranger items for sale include a plastic pigeon (with moveable wings!), water pistols, (white) dolls, whistles,  vacuum packed dates and I even heard tell of a volunteer who managed to purchase a pair of Birkenstocks (second hand but barely worn) out the window!  Then there are the food stops.  Places where the bus stops at the side of the road and you can either jump off and do a speedy visit to a neighbouring shop, or you can just dangle out of the window and wait to be presented with an array of foods such as brochettes, plantains, boiled eggs, amandazi. It can be fun to watch some of the sales going on.  In many places, people sell drinks through the window.  Some people want cold drinks and so will be passed several bottles to feel them for temperature.  Sometimes they are not cold enough and you will see a young guy race off across the bus park towards a fridge to try and get a cold drink and race back with it before the bus departs.  Occasionally they only just make it and are delighted to have done so as they will have earned themselves a few more pence.  I wonder how many sales other vendors make – especially those who are selling second hand clothes.  “Oh! How wonderful!  I was just thinking this morning how much I needed a new pair of smart waist pleated work trousers.”  I tend to think of these things as more of a destination buy, not something I would pick up on a passing whim.  I guess the fruit, nuts, biscuits and tissues are much easier to flog but it’s all terribly convenient if you find your only set of headphones don’t work and suddenly, someone appears at the bus window.

Murabeho!

This post was written a couple of weeks ago – just before I left Rwanda.  I have not had much access to the internet so did not get around to posting.  I have some retrospective posts that I will try to add over the next weeks.

I hate saying goodbye, so my way of dealing it is that I imagine I will see everyone again soon.  I would like to think that I will come back to Rwanda at some point.  I just can’t quite believe that my time here is over.  I am looking around my bare room and the two cases ready to head for home.  It feels a little strange.

It has been a busy week.  Last weekend featured the VSO Rwanda Family Dinner to welcome new volunteers.  This was held in Kigali and for some of us it was also a nice opportunity to say goodbye.  The VSO community is a very special one and I have met many wonderful people here.  People are kind and supportive and I feel privileged to have known and worked with such a great group of people.

The week rolled on.  I had job interviews and final preparations for departure, such as my VSO exit interview.  Then on Wednesday I did my last day in school and had a really nice visit with the English teachers.  We spent a long time making visual aids and chatting as we did so. 

On Thursday, there was an important meeting at the District Office and then Amy (my replacement) arrived.  It was nice to have some company in the house and we have spent the few days together doing a handover.  On Friday we went to visit GS Gashanda – the first school I went to when I arrived.  We had a lovely morning meeting with teachers and visiting lessons and I got to say goodbye to all of the staff and students.  People said very nice things and there were many speeches.  I hope Amy keeps me informed of all the news from there!

Safari

Kibungo friends

Finally, today, I had a chance to say goodbye to some of the people who have been so kind to me whilst I have been here.  I invited my friends for lunch and we had a bit of a fanta party.  I spent the morning talking through things with Amy as we chopped vegetables and then we cooked a thai curry together on the charcoal stove.  Then the rain arrived and we knew the event would be a little delayed.  But people began to arrive.  First was Safari – he has been an excellent driver and always stops to greet me if we pass on the road.  I have bumped into him in Kigali too and he always makes sure I am well looked after and has been a good friend.  After this, Mama Blaire and Papa Blaire and Fabiola and Blaire arrived.  They are a lovely family and Mama Blaire has been a good friend to me.  We have laughed a lot – mostly at my attempts to communicate with her – and we have hugged a lot.  She is expecting a baby soon and I hope he arrives healthy and well.  Once everyone arrived, we had Elie (my Kinyarwanda teacher) and his wife, Pacifique; Patrick (my guard) – who is also Elie’s cousin (and an excellent catcher and killer of snakes and rats!); Justin, Emelline, David, Delphine and Phillippe.  It is sad to say goodbye to them and I hope we manage to keep in contact.  The children are growing up and are very lovely.  Delphine is hillarious and we spent a lot of time running around the garden. 

the giant back-pack

She is full of confidence.  One of the Head Teachers – Felicite - also came and my boss, Judith.  Moses and Amy were also there.  We ate food, drank fanta, made speeches and played Twister.  Then it was time for goodbyes.  Delphine decided to wear the bag I had given her Dad home, even though it is almost the same size as her!

Once these goodbyes were complete, Amy, Moses and I went to the home of Judith.  She had prepared us a beautiful meal and we got to meet her two children.  We had a lot of conversation and laughed and took yet more photographs.

final goodbyes

I will miss all of these people who have been a very big part of my life for some time and one day I would like to come back and see how they all are.  They have looked after me and kept me company and encouraged me and made me smile a lot whilst I have been here and I am very thankful to all of them for that.

Sleepless Nights

Sometimes I yearn for the oddly comforting disturbances of a night at home.  In the dead silence of a Kibungo night I wish to hear those sounds that remind me there are others out there, not too far away.  Here, if I strain, I might hear the low hum of the outside light, or the buzz of the refrigerator.  Sometimes I hear the distant, low sound of a radio and, as the wind direction swings around in the rainy season, I can hear the chorus of frogs in the swamp down the road.  After about 10:30 there are scarcely any bikes, cars or other traffic going along the main road.  I find myself nostalgic for the distant squeal of the tram, the rumble of a train, the reassuring nearness of someone opening a car door, closing it and starting up the ignition.  I am clearly a bit of a town mouse.

I hope to hear the conversation of people passing by along the street and I hear the occasional whoosh of a car going by.  I lie awake waiting for the reassuring sounds of other humans.  I’ve come to be grateful for the occasional all night sessions at the local church and the belching of compression brakes on buses and trucks on the road.  I dislike the ping of the latest plague (this time grasshoppers) hitting the corrugated roof and the banging of the roof contracting and expanding.  I don’t mind the high pitched squeals of the bats, but I do mind the thud as they fly into the beams in the roof.  I hear the scurry of things in the roof space and the buzz of hundreds of insects outside.

I lie awake and listen to these sounds in the silence and I am relieved when daylight arrives and once again I can hear singing and shouts and radios and bikes and taps running and pots clanging and mortars pounding.  And then I know I am never really alone.

The End is Nigh

Now that my time in Rwanda is so very near its end, I find myself in turn being either dreadfully sentimental about the things I shall miss or so glad that there are things I will not have to go through once I am home.  A few nights ago, as I hurtled up and down the hills of Kigali on the back of a motorbike, I thought about how much I shall miss this.  It is a nice way to travel.  But I shall not miss the edge of danger that always surrounds each journey – especially having witnessed so many accidents and having experienced one myself.

I will miss the lovely climate of Rwanda.  It is nearly always t-shirt weather.  But I won’t miss the dreadful downpours of rain that make it almost impossible to get on and do anything – not even have a conversation as the sound of the rain on the tin roof is so loud.

I will not miss being called Muzungu and being stared at.  Or the children and adults who ask me for money just because I am white and considered to be rich.  I will not miss the 2 hour waits for the food I ordered in a restaurant or the lack of choice in a supermarket.  However, I won’t have the joy of walking along the street and having a small child hold onto mine as we walk along together.  Or others who run up to shake hands or hug my legs.

I will miss the ridiculous joy experienced now when I walk into a supermarket that appears to stock nice food – when in reality it may be the kind of shop I would not spend a minute in at home before choosing to leave.  I am looking forward to being able to walk into a shop and purchase a pint of fresh milk, which I can either drink or pour over a large bowl of cereal.  I will look back fondly at the time I stood in Ndoli’s supermarket and wept and laughed with joy at the fact that the chocolate aisle had once again been replenished with Cadbury’s chocolate after a six month absence of it. 

The beautiful skies, which seem so big compared to the UK – I am not sure how that is possible, but they do.  And spread out below them green and brown hills and valleys looking lush and fertile.  I will have to go back to stressing about things like money and time.  No more laid back approach if the bus breaks down, it changes destination, or the rain makes it impossible to travel down a particular route.

The interesting shop names will be another sad loss.  I am still searching for the best: Holy Best Hardware and God is Able Forex are two favourites.  Along with the New Orange Kink hardware store.

There will be no one to talk to on the bus or the tube.  All eyes will be purposely directed away from any possible eye contact and to start a conversation with a stranger will be seen as a mental defect on my part.  On the plus side I am not going to be constantly asked for my telephone number or email when I have only just met someone so that we can “make the conversation”.

I am going to miss the people who have been so kind to me whilst I am here.  The staff I have worked with in the schools who greet me with hugs and make me feel welcome.  I will miss so much, but I know I am ready to leave and I hope one day I will be back.

Living the (stereotypical) dream

There are some days when I go about my business and I feel like the environment around me is conforming to every stereotypical image we have of life in African countries.  This morning, for instance, I stepped out of the house into the sunny morning.  The birds were singing in the air around and I went out the gate to the mud-track road.  I picked my way through the dirt and fresh formed ruts after the heavy rain of the previous day, meeting a few people and exchanging greetings with them as I went.  As I turned the corner to walk up towards the main road, I could hear music coming from a nearby shop.  It was loud and cheerful and the typical soundtrack to any film that is set in Africa (and which has probably been conceived in Europe or North America).  Still, it was cheering and as I avoided the waiting moto drivers and walked along the street, I did feel it put a little spring in my step.  Why is the music so cheery?  Is it just that I don’t understand the words and meaning?  Although occasionally I can pick out “Imana” and I know the song is being sung to God.  Not at all like the dour hymns I was brought up on....

As I saunter along the street weaving between bikes and people and animals, I pass the Feel Okey pub and see the Never Give Up business consultancy, the Blessed Hope hardware store and the God Bless You Stationery store.  The names still bring a smile to my face.  I pass new houses which are beautifully finished and look grand, but sandwiched in between them are small shacks and crumbling old houses.  People shout and call to each other and the bus toots as it crawls along the street.  The conductor shouts out the destination in an attempt to get more passengers on board.  Every moto that passes slows when they reach me and call “To go?”  I decline their offer and continue walking to my destination, narrowly missing a drop into the deep drain along the edge of the road as I try to swerve and avoid a fast approaching man with a chain of supermarket trolleys (where is the supermarket to which these trolleys belong?).

All around are people and cars and bustle.  There are people in modern clothing and some women are in brightly coloured outfits beautifully tailored from local cloth.  Children scurry along in their uniforms or play clothes.  MTN and Tigo sellers approach and call out “Airtime?”  I shake my head and decline and pass along the street to be met by sellers of Airtel airtime.  Taxi drivers stop and shout “Taxi?”  I shake my head.  I continue walking; trying hard to keep on the path now that I am near the market and the volume of people has significantly increased.  And then I am safely at my destination and I call into the office where I have come to discuss some work.  I slip in off the street to the calm and quiet corridors of an office block and enjoy the quiet for a while.

Bike Dramas

Recently, I set off in the bright sunshine at 6:45.  It is always so uplifting to be out in the sun and it always makes the journey seem that much prettier.  We were on our way to the land of far, far away.  About an hour into the journey, going over some particularly bad roads, we stopped and checked the back tyre which was really flat.  We were in the middle of nowhere, of course.  Safari set off back towards the nearest village and I walked along behind surrounded by a group of children who were on their way to school (even though it was about 20mins after the day should have started!).  We exchanged a few words, but my limited Kinyarwanda and their limited English made this tricky.  At the top of the next hill, Safari had found someone to help.  Words were exchanged and various things occurred and then he disappeared off in the direction of the village.  I began chatting to the children again.

To try and fill the silences, I pulled a story book out of my bag and started to show it to the children.  We began reading it together.  They seemed to quite enjoy it.  And we had soon gathered quite a crowd.  We had adults as well as children, and everyone was joining in with the repetitive sections and all laughing at my voices and animal noises.  This story over, we read another story about a very popular elephant character.  At about this time, a moto arrived with a guy on the back who jumped off with a pump and some glue and some basic tools and he proceeded to set to work on the bike.  They loved the next story – especially all the pictures of elephants and we spent some time looking at all the other wild animals he was friends with.  Again, the crowd consisted of many, many children, but also several adults who were on their way in one direction or the other.  They pulled up with piles of beans on their heads, or their bicycles loaded with bananas and jerry cans and there were small children strapped to the backs of mothers.  We then had some more conversation and the children and adults who were more confident in English practised on me.  Then, someone had gone to a nearby house and brought out a stool for me to sit on.  As they did this, Safari returned from the village and instructed me to “sit, Alice!”

We continued to make conversation for the next 20mins or so.  At this point we had been there for about 45mins.  It made me think back to when I first arrived.  I would have been very stressed by such a delay on my way to one of my schools.  I may even have been foolish enough to demand a replacement moto be found to take me on my way.  Now, I just smile, say “no problem” and wait until we are ready to go again.  I know the Head Teacher and Teachers will understand.

After an hour, the tyre was repaired and we were good to go.  I walked over to the house where the stool had come from to thank them for the loan.  I realised as I approached the women that one of them was cradling a very small baby.  It was tiny and cannot have been more than a couple of days old.  I was offered a cuddle and spent a few moments congratulating the new mother and admiring her beautiful new baby.  I then hopped on the back of the moto and everyone exchanged goodbyes and waves and off we went laughing and smiling.

Bike dramas feature every now and then and the latest was yet another example of the bizarre reaction I still get from people in the more rural parts of the district.  It had been a busy morning at school and I set off with Safari to return to Kibungo.  This particular journey is about 30mins and although the roads are all dirt roads, they are generally very wide and in relatively good condition.  We were about half way and about to start on an incline, so had slowed a bit.  Safari had nudged right over to the side of the road and we were extremely close to the ditch.  Safari is an excellent driver and I usually drop into some kind of day-dream on the moto, which is exactly what I was doing at this point in our journey.  However, something did not seem right, so I looked up and I could see a young man on a push bike hurtling down the hill we were about to head up.  As he travelled down, he was veering over to our side of the road.  Now, this is not unusual, as some parts of the road are quite gullied, but this guy could see us.  He was looking at us.  Yet he continued to head straight for us.  Things happened in slow motion and seemed unreal.  He came closer and closer, and we got closer and closer to the ditch and the next thing that happened, was I felt him crash into the side of the moto, near the back.  Just about where my left foot was resting on the foot plate.  The moto was sent flying by the impact and I remember a short flight through the air and landing with a bit of a bump and then the moto landed on top of that.  Thankfully, someone had recently cultivated the field at the side of the road, so I had a very soft landing in a new potato crop.  As I was near the back of the bike, I did not have too much of it sat on me.  I was stunned for all of about 3 seconds, and then I sat up.  Safari did too, and I could see the cyclist was stirring.  Not too bad so far.  I had lost a shoe and was covered in dirt, but seemed to have full range of movement.  Safari was soon up and shouting.  A crowd gathered and they began shouting too.  The poor guy from the push bike tried shouting back.  I think he was trying to claim it was our fault.  From the gesticulations and shouting, everyone appeared to be telling him it was clearly not our fault as you could see from the position of the vehicles we were as far over our side of the road as we could possibly be.

More people began to gather around us.  Some were joining in the shouting and gesticulating and others formed a private circle around me and stared.  Sometimes smiling; sometimes not.  The motorbike was picked up and there had been a spill of petrol as the tank got knocked and some small damage had occurred around the footplate where the bike had hit.  The push bike was mangled.  The guy who had been on the bike was badly cut.  I felt pangs of sympathy.  He was cut and he had wrecked his bike.  Everyone was shouting at him.  This was a bad day for him.  It makes you think about insurance – who pays when something like this happens here?  People could have their entire livelihood affected.

As the crowd of curious on-lookers gathered, I was directed by Safari to follow him.  I was led up to a nearby house and the owner appeared from around the back with a bench.  She placed it under the shade of a tree and smiled at me and pointed and told me to sit.  I did as I was told, thanking her.  Safari handed me my shoe, which had got buried under the moto.  I had a few seconds alone before my crowd reappeared, so I assessed the damage.  I felt ok, but my foot hurt.  Taking off my sock, I could see that my toenail had been forced into my flesh and that was causing me some pain. The other source of the pain, was the site of impact and my big toe was quite bruised.  But I could move it.  Other than a few more small cuts and bruises from where the bike had landed on the inside of my opposite leg, all seemed well.  I was just a little shaky.

My crowd gathered again.  Many of them were children on their way to the afternoon school session.  The nearest school was one that I visited each fortnight, so some of the children were proudly telling other on-lookers what my name was and what job I did.  Being able to follow the conversation, I joined in to agree with what they were saying.  This provoked laughter from my audience and shouts of “She speaks Kinyarwanda!” and “Nice Girl!”  I made small talk with some children and some of them were bold enough to respond.  Many of them squealed with laughter, turned and ran away.  One small boy came and sat next to me and introduced himself as Sharif.  We exchanged pleasantries.  Adults also joined the crowd and peered over the heads of the children.  Smiling and waving at me and asking how I was.  A small boy toddled to the front of the circle, took one look at me and burst into tears.  He had to be sushed by his mother but continued to cry every time he caught a glimpse of me.

Safari had disappeared.  The bicycle had been carried off by some men and Safari had gone somewhere on his moto with the cyclist.  They returned about 45mins later and I can only assume that they had been to the Police Station to report what had happened.  It was quite frustrating to have no clear idea of what was happening and makes you realise the importance of being able to communicate.

Eventually, Safari returned with the cyclist and the adults began shoo-ing the children away to school so that they would not be late.  Safari called me over and we prepared to continue on the journey.  We said our goodbyes and departed for home.  It was with huge relief we arrived back in town and I was so glad to be back.  Safari was terribly apologetic, but, as I pointed out, it really wasn’t his fault at all.

Plodding along

Hurricanes aside, things are ticking along here in Kibungo.  I am still visiting schools and working with teachers.  Most of the time is spent planning and teaching in partnership and we have also done some subject specific workshops.  The teachers are always open to trying new ideas - even when they are sceptical they will work.  In one case this week, I wanted to try a particular activity.  There was some discussion about whether P4 students would be able to cope as they are still getting used to being taught in English (P1, 2 and 3 are taught in Kinyarwanda).  So, we tried it but I had to declare the lesson a disaster by the end.  The teachers were really generous about this.  I was expecting to get some I told you sos, but what they actually said was “thank you for showing us that new method”.  They could see ways to apply it to other lessons.  It was very kind of them to be so gentle in their review of the lesson when we met to discuss afterwards.

Apart from working, I have been getting a few items of clothing made.  I love my trips to the local tailors.  They are so friendly and I am greeted with hugs and laughter and always depart with a feeling of well being and a warm happy glow.  It’s nice to have a place to go for a hug when you are far from home.  When I went to collect a couple of dresses last week, I took my camera as we had arranged that Epiphanie would bring her baby along so we could take some photos to send to a previous volunteer that we are still in touch with and the baby is named after.  Baby Christella is gorgeous.  I was a little concerned that she would take one look at me in all my whiteness and start screaming, but she didn’t.  I got lots of cuddling time and we had a good chat.  She is only eight months old but is very alert and is already saying Mama and Dada and chatting away to herself quite happily.  We took lots of pictures and I know I will really miss these ladies when I leave.   

This weekend just gone I celebrated my birthday.  I had a lovely weekend and got to celebrate by going camping to Akagera with some friends.  When we picked up the car on Friday evening we were surprised by an upgrade to a larger vehicle.  She was a beast and we named her Bertha.  Nothing was going to stop us.  We set off for the park very early on Saturday morning and took a breakfast of pineapple and bananas with us.  We enjoyed this once we arrived at the park and then set off to see what wildlife we could spot.  There were plenty of zebra and impala and water buck and buffalo.  Then we happened upon a tower of giraffes (yes!  I looked it up – that is what you call a collective of giraffes).  It started when Coral spotted just one, but then more poked out of the bushes until we could see at least 8 or 9 of them.  I love giraffes.  And I love that they are called a tower!

We continued to drive around the park in Bertha.  She served us well and we also had the music on and sang along to some top tunes – Bohemian Rhapsody, I need a hero, and plenty of other cheesy classics.  It was great fun.  The scenery was beautiful, and the road was very bumpy.  We arrived at the campsite in the early afternoon and set up our tent, got the fire going and then cracked open the box of wine and the precious box of olives.  It was so good.  The view was incredible from up on the hill of the campsite – you could see for miles over the park.  We continued our evening by cooking some food on the fire and then finished with smores.  Delicious.  And then we retired to bed.  Some of us slept better than others.  We were up early next morning and set off for the south of the park and to home.  It was such a nice way to celebrate a birthday and really quite special.

It’s back to work for the last few weeks of term – time is going fast.  Today I attended a planning meeting for some training that will be delivered to Sector Education Officers and Head Teachers.  At the end, my boss (the District Education Officer) made a speech in Kinyarwanda.  I got bits of it, but then she translated.  She was explaining that my time here is coming to an end and she was talking about all the work I had done.  I was very humbled by the thanks I received from her and the SEOs present.  It is so nice to be thanked, but also incredibly humbling...you start to wonder whether you deserve the praise you are getting.  She is a great lady to work for, and I realised as I sat in the meeting with the SEOs what a nice group of people they are.  They were engaged in the workshop and made plenty of contributions.  They suggested what they wanted to see in the training, when they wanted it to happen and where.  I think there is real potential for things to improve in the District and I hope the next volunteers start to see some real results from their efforts.

The hurricane

There must be some enormous low pressure weather system sitting over Rwanda just now, because the last 24 hours have been so incredibly stormy.  Yesterday morning was beautiful.  The sun was cracking the flags and leaving for work in the early morning, it was painful to have to put my raincoat on over my clothes to protect me from the clouds of dust we would drive through on the way to school.  The dust becomes troublesome during the dry season.  The roads are baked so dry by the sun, that the top layers turn to dust and blow away. 

The morning continued in a similar hot fashion but by lunchtime the clouds had started to gather.  When you looked out at the sky, there was layer, upon layer of grey cloud.  It looked gloomy and very foreboding.  When it was time to leave, I got ready by putting on my scarf and my raincoat and some leggings to protect my legs from the dust and socks to try and keep my feet clean and warm.  Off we set.  It looked like the heavens could open any minute but it continued to hold off.  We arrived at the very steep hill that leads into the back of Kibungo and as we pootled up the hill, the rain began to drop.  Huge big drops.  It then started coming down so fast that I could really feel it sting my skin.  The moto driver pulled over to a row of shops which were all shut up.  A small crowd had already huddled under the porch.  We joined them and then the rain really got going.  It was coming down in sheets – you could see them sweeping in across the road and dumping their rain .  The shelter was not adequate and the rain lashed at my back as I stood facing away from it in the hope I may be able to keep my front slightly drier and warmer.  My feet were soaked.  I looked across the valley to see if there was any sign of it stopping.  The valley was obscured – we could be here for some time.

The rain continued to lash down and the thunder cracked over-head.  The lightning flashed around us in sheets (to match the rain, maybe?).  It felt cold – a rarity here and I had to put my helmet back on because I could not manage to hold it in a way that kept it dry.  The streets were empty but I could see people in the houses on the far side of the street popping in and out of their house as they changed the pots and cans they had placed under the gutter overflow to collect water.  Rivers formed across the stretch of dirt road, gouging out new gullies up to a metre wide.  I watched the road being washed away before my eyes.  The wind was whipping around us.  Now, I know you will understand that I am not prone to exaggeration, so believe me when I say that I think this may actually have been a mini hurricane.  We waited in our shelter for an hour and eventually the storm began to subside.  The rain had eased off enough that one of the school children who had taken shelter with us skipped off, dodging the crater puddles on her way to school.  We got back on the moto to complete the journey.  It was hard going for the driver.  Rivers of water were still washing down the roads and we had to find appropriate points to ford them.  The new gullies made it tricky to pass in some places.  Small holes had been widened into craters and they too were filled with water.  The mud that coats the road in some places was like a bog and the tires of the motorbike slipped and slid beneath us.  Large branches of trees lay scattered across the roads and smaller twigs and the bark from some trees was strewn all over.  There would be quite a job for the men and women who sweep the streets clean each day.  We eventually made it to the house just as it was about to start again.  I was glad to run inside and heat a kettle of water to have a wash and then put on warm clothes.  It rained all evening. 

The new day dawned in murky fashion.  It looked ominous.  I dressed in full waterproofs and braced myself for an uncomfortable journey.  Until recently, I was so familiar with the roads, that I was able to anticipate what was coming up.  I knew when I needed to hold on to the bike for the bumpy bits.  But, in recent weeks, each new rain storm has caused more and more damage and each day I have to learn to read the road again.  We had to weave in and out of pot holes and skirted around rocks which were protruding out of the road now that the mud which used to cushion them had been washed away.  We hit so many bumps that I felt rattled.  We drove above the clouds and as I breathed a mist built up on the inside of my visor – testament to the much cooler conditions we were experiencing on this morning.  We got closer to school and discovered the road was closed for water pipe laying.  We had to take a back track and slid around all over the place as we travelled along the narrow track.   The only bonus was that I arrived at school without my usual thick coating of orange dust.

It rained again during my time at school and the road was even worse on the way home.  How we stayed upright, I have no idea, but I have to pay tribute to Safari’s excellent driving.  We managed to get through the worst of it and make it to the less slippery road.  We eventually managed to get home and once again the heavens opened.  It has eased off again now, so maybe there will be a break for a couple of days to give the atmosphere time to boil up more rain.  It’s a tough one – the warm weather is lovely, but the place does start to look parched very quickly so I know cultivators are keen for the rain to come.  However, it falls with such ferocity, that you have to worry it will wash away crops and even homes.  The rain is vital for life, yet it can also be such a threat.

I'm back!

The brief and sudden downpour is over, the market day crowds resume out on the road: trucks, buses and cars trundle past, bicycles with clattering crates ring their bells in loud warning. Crowds of people laugh and shout and call to one another. And above it all: unmistakable...loud, proud, blaring at top volume: The Power of Love (Jennifer Rush version). Oh yes; I'm back.

Thanks to everyone who was so kind to me when I was at home.  I had a lovely time and had forgotten how much I missed some things.  It was nice to see you all and I hope it won’t be so long before I am back again.  Leaving to return to Rwanda was hard and there were a lot of tears.  I was the woman on the plane who is crying for no apparent reason.  But the champagne did help a little (yes – even in economy we got champagne!).

I landed in Kigali early morning and as I headed back to Kibungo, it all felt so familiar. The sun was shining in places and people were on the move. We passed women in colourful igitenge – a sight I didn’t realise I had missed until I saw it again. As we drove up into the hills we met mist – big fingers of it curling around the shoulders of each hill. And as the sun got warmer, the clouds lifted to reveal the myriad hues of green that only Rwanda seems to offer. We passed bicycles laden with bunches of bananas and piles of chickens, women walking with bowls of tomatoes balanced on their heads and others swinging their empty jerry cans on their way to collect water. People were already out working the fields and all along the route were people – walking and talking and laughing and shouting and holding hands and running and cycling. The roads of England are bare by comparison.

My first week back in Kibungo has been nice.  People have been pleased to see me and I have been hugged a huge number of times.  I have had lots of conversations and been reminded of just how kind and friendly the people here are.  The water and electricity have been coming and going and the sun has been shining in between the downpours.  The thunder seems to rumble constantly in the background.  But I am back and happy to be here.

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?