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.

Happiness, pineapples and coffee

Well, it’s been quite some time since my last blog post, so sorry if you have almost given up on me!  Things have been very busy for both good and bad reasons, and it has been hard to find the time to sit down and write all about it.  I shall endeavour to catch up on some of the events in the next couple of weeks.

Rainy season has at last finished and moto commutes are now a dusty affair once again.  However, they are also spectacular in the scenery they offer.  There is something so beautiful about the green hills of Rwanda set against a beautiful blue sky – even at 7:30 in the morning.  That’s not to say the rainy season views are worse – they offer their own beauty – for example, in the way that you can be riding above the clouds on a cool morning or to see the spectacular force of a downpour upon nature.

I have noticed changes as I ride along.  Firstly, the crops which were planted some time ago are starting to be harvested.  Beans are once again being carried in huge bundles on the heads of men, women and children.  Ready to take home and dry out and then release the beautiful coloured beans within.  Coffee cherries which have been slowly ripening since I arrived are starting to be harvested.  Coffee trees have been stripped naked in some places and the beans are now ready to be sent away for manufacturing and packaging.  Rwandan coffee really is incredibly good, so if you find some – try it!  As I look at the bare coffee trees, I wonder how much money the farmers got for their crop.  I wonder do they know how much coffee sells for in places like the UK?  Sometimes I tell people here how much we are willing to pay for a cup of coffee and it almost seems vulgar.  They always look at me in shock and disbelief.  It’s the same when we discuss UK prices for mangoes, avocadoes and pineapples – all of which are incredibly cheap here.

Talking of pineapples...today I went to visit a school I had not been to yet.  The Head Teacher invited me as he would like me to come and work with the staff at the school.  I arranged my meeting and set off this morning.  It took over an hour to reach the school, but the scenery was spectacular.  I travelled through parts of the district I had not been to yet – passing Lake Mugesera and Lake Sake in the distance, and finally stopping near Lake Rweru – which forms part of the border between Rwanda and Burundi.  The school is one of the largest in the district with well over 2000 students.  It is set in really beautiful grounds with plenty of shady trees and nicely landscaped gardens with neat paths leading up to the classrooms.  Most of the buildings are very old, but they were very well looked after.  There was even outside space for a football pitch and a volleyball pitch and the Head Teacher is trying to get the money to build a handball alley.  They also grow crops of soya beans, maize and keep a cow (which has recently had a calf).

Anyway...back to the pineapples briefly...along the way we passed field upon field of pineapples.  I had wondered where they all came from on market days – they are so plentiful – yet I had only ever seen small patches of them growing.  To my own shame, I have to admit that I had not seen a pineapple plant before coming to Rwanda.  Nor had I wondered what one looked like.  For those of you that have not seen them, there is a (not very brilliant) picture of them here.  The pineapple looks completely incongruous – as though someone (maybe the pineapple fairies?) have come along in the night and plonked a pineapple on top of the plant.  People were busy working in the fields harvesting those that were ready and there were plenty for sale along the roadside.  Looking at all this and thinking of all the crops I see as I ride about the district something struck me for the first time...absolutely no one puts a fence around their crops.  And no one appears to steal their crops from the fields.  At home we are so fiercely protective of what’s ours that it would have walls and gates and all sorts surrounding it.  But not here.  That’s one of the other beautiful things about this country.  People are so honest.

Along the way, I saw lots of houses.  In one area, the houses were built in very straight “side streets” off the main dirt road.  All of the houses were identical and had a neat garden surrounding them.  In one small village there were three streets like this, each with about 20 houses along them.  It was so different to anything else I have seen.  A bit later on I saw more of them and then saw a sign to say that they had been built by the UNHCR.

A bit dusty and dishevelled after the moto ride
 - but still getting stares!

Back in the village, I created quite a stir.  I was apparently the first white person (or “white man” as many of the children were calling me) to visit the school (I am not sure this can be true), and the children were completely fascinated.  The Head Teacher walked me into town at lunch time to buy some brochettes and along the way it was not just children that were startled by me – it was the adults too.  But then, this is a place that is over an hour from the nearest main road, so not many people will pass through.

And so with our first meeting complete, I was back on the moto home.  It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable of roads, but I think I was smiling all the way home thinking what a privilege it is to be having some of the experiences I am having whilst I am here.  The commute alone is always incredible and the people I meet nearly always make me laugh or smile.  There is a lot of hardship in Rwanda and a lot of things are not perfect, but it seems quite easy to be happy here.

Rwanda nziza

Although I still have another year to go I do sometimes wonder how much of this experience I will remember when it ends.  Returned volunteers have spoken of the reverse culture shock upon return home, but by all accounts, this does not last long and soon it is possible to be absorbed back into a society of mass consumerism.  So, with that in mind I often think about the things I will miss about Rwanda, in the hope that I can appreciate them all the more whilst I am here.

Things I will miss include; the smell of a freshly cut eucalyptus tree as I pass along the road, the rustle of the wind in the frilled banana tree leaves; beautiful night scented blossoms and frangipani flowers.  The incredible frog chorus that takes place all night at the local swamp following heavy rain.  The jaw dropping looks I still receive each morning as I travel to school and the excited shout of “Muzungu!” and waves of delight from children as they react to me like a child at home may react to seeing a celebrity.

The way that fog can descend in minutes and obscure the surrounding area so completely.  The stars that sparkle so brightly in the sky at night.  The friendly people of this country.  How people here manage to be happy and pleasant despite what little they have.  If only this happiness existed back home.  Here, I greet most people I pass as I walk along the street (and in Africa’s most densely populated country, this equates to a lot of people!) and if I know them, we embrace and shake hands and have a conversation.  There is always time for a conversation with a friend, and if you are late for your next meeting, then so be it. 

I love watching children laugh and play, but they also have responsibilities that children at home would be outraged by – they fetch water and fire wood – hard, manual labour.  Children don’t worry about getting dirty or damaging their clothes.  They run through mud and swing from trees and make skipping ropes and balls from banana leaves.  They run barefoot across uneven ground.  They hold hands as they walk and run the journeys between home and school.  They sit with their arms draped about each others shoulders.

I will miss lying in bed and listening to the rain hammering on my tin roof.  And how lessons have to stop when the rain gets too heavy because no one can hear a word above the noise of the relentless rain.  Also, the way this rain can dry up and disappear in no time at all and suddenly a hot, hot sun is blazing in the sky and I find myself searching for sunglasses, where only moments before I was covered head to foot in waterproof clothing.  I will miss the delicate pitter-patter of rain drops dancing across the smooth, fresh banana leaves.

In the mornings I will wonder where the sound of radios in neighbouring yards has gone and the swiping sound of a brush being swept across an already spotless yard.  I will listen out for the shouting and calling and laughter that passes up and down the street beyond my gate as people go about their daily business.  I will strain to hear the sounds of birds which no longer populate my garden.  I will wonder why I am able to hear my tv programme so well and wonder what has happened to the church goers behind my house, who have fallen so silent.

I will miss getting squashed into a bus and being pressed into conversation with those around me as I try to practise my language skills.  And the warm laughter and smiles that accompany this conversation and the delight that I am at least trying to speak the local language.  I will be sad to get off a bus without it being appropriate to say goodbye to everyone on it and will miss watching the bus pull away from the roadside without smiling faces and waves seeing me off.  It will be a disappointment to go shopping for food and not have to haggle over the price with some friendly banter, and to not have the staff in the supermarket greet me by name and ask after my friends and family.  I will miss the roadside conversations I have with these same people as I pass them as we move about town.

I will miss my incredible moto commutes.  Where I get to see a hundred shades of green spread out across the hillsides and valleys we pass through.  Or the deep valleys that are obscured below by a thick covering of fluffy cloud, of which I am above.  No more will I have to anticipate the route ahead and be prepared to hold on tight as we traverse bumpy roads and I won’t watch the road change shape as the weeks pass and the combined efforts of torrential rain, harsh sunlight and heavy vehicles press and shape the soil to re-shape the road so it is sometimes smooth and sometimes rutted and almost impassable.  There will be no opportunity to exchange pleasantries with the one who will take me on my journey to work that day and I will probably wind up in a crowded carriage full of people who won’t make eye contact and certainly won’t want to talk to a stranger.

I will long for the possibility of walking out to my garden and grazing.  Picking beautiful fresh green beans off the plant and eating a tomato before moving on to the passion fruit vine to collect some fruit.  I will miss my bananas and herbs and peppers and avocadoes, rocket and lettuce and mint and spring onions.  I will miss watching the shadow of the banana trees dance across my walls in the afternoon sun.

No more will I spend time passing time.  Waiting for a meeting, or a lesson to begin, or a bus to arrive, or a bus to depart, or the rain to stop.  Life will be put back on a timetable and will be frantic and stressful and things will matter so much more.  But this will make no sense as the water still runs, the electricity still magically appears, health care is free, school is orderly and well resourced, someone will look after you if you cannot work and people can shop at anytime of the day.  Yet here, time is less important but life hangs on more of a knife edge.  There may be little food, the water and electricity are often off (but many houses are still not connected to a supply anyway).  Daily activities here are more vital to life than anything we do back home, so how will any of it seem to matter?  And despite the difficulties and what we perceive to be hardships, people still smile and get on with it and days pass and life moves on.

Cow dung fun

“Imigongo is an art form popular in Rwanda that is produced using cow dung. It is a traditional Rwandan art form made by the women. During the 1994 Genocide the skills involved almost disappeared. However, a women’s cooperative on the road to Rusumo in the Eastern Province near Kirehe, has rescued and revived this uniquely Rwandan art form. Traditionally geometric designs are produced but as the women artists have grown in confidence they have begun to experiment with more modern innovative images that convey the spirit of the Rwandan landscape, its flora and fauna and its people. The images are produced using cow dung which is put onto wooden boards in spiral and geometric designs. The dung is left to harden and is then decorated using colours made from organic material. The traditional colours are black, white, red, grey and beige-yellow but increasingly other colours are used. The imigongo images were originally found in Kibungo inside the walls of huts as "magical" decorations during the 18th century.” Description provided courtesy of Wikipedia

Having heard lots about it and seen many of the designs, I was keen to have a go at making my own bit of imigongo.  So we planned a 2 day workshop at the imigongo cooperative in Kakira, about 45mins away from Kibungo on the way to Tanzania.  On arrival, we were given a tour of the cooperative buildings which is run by a group of genocide widows.  The money made helps to keep the cooperative going but also provides money to support the local community.  We saw lots of pieces of work at different stages of the process.  The work was often intricate and the designs beautiful – both the simple and more complex ones.  Once we had been shown the process of making imigongo, we were given a demonstration of how to apply the cow dung to the board.  Basically you draw your design onto a wooden board in pencil, and then you take small bits of cow dung (mixed with sand and ash and “stuff”) and you mould it with your fingers into little lines along your design.  But they are almost like prisms, so that the base of it melts into the board and it rises to a fine peak.  It is more difficult than you may think to get it so uniform and neat and a reasonable amount of water was used to smooth and re-work the dung.

When finished, I showed my work to the lady who runs the cooperative – Basilice and she did a bit of fine-tuning and tidying up!  The work requires considerable skill and small fingers certainly help – especially if you want to do an intricate design.  Whilst our work was drying, we went for lunch and then reconvened.  Our work was a long way from dry, so we had a go at making another design.  I think many of our second attempts were much better, technically!

Over-night we left the pictures to dry and went to celebrate our hard days work with a superb meal cooked by John’s Pakistani friend, Naseem.  The ladies from the co-op joined us and it turned into a bit of an impromptu party with singing and dancing and, this being Rwanda...speeches.  We had a fine time and eventually it was time to retire to the guest house for a good nights rest.

Next morning, we discovered our designs were still not dry so we sat about chatting and just passing the time in relaxed mode.  We then used our fingers to rub the designs to smooth out the cow dung.  You have to be very gentle in order not to break bits of the design off (see my design with only half a star!).  The next stage was to lightly rub a piece of sand paper over the dung to further smooth it out.

Mine are: third from left on back row
and end of front row

After this we were able to paint our designs.  We began with two base coats, allowing each one to dry before reapplying.  Then we got let loose on the colours and were able to add the finishing touches.  The last part is to apply a fine black line along the fine ridge created in the early stages of the process to make an outline of the design.  Doing this is really tricky and the light was fading, so close-up mine looks a little bit of a mess, but for a first attempt I was pretty pleased.  I only completed one of my designs and that could do with a little bit of a tidy up. I shall have to get hold of some paints to finish the other but I am very much looking forward to admiring them on my walls wherever I end up in the years to come.  They will serve as a reminder of yet another lovely weekend in Rwanda.