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.