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.

Rafting the Nile

Life has become much more spontaneous over here.  So when some local ex-pats asked me if I would like to go rafting with them in Uganda that weekend, I jumped at the chance.  Going to Uganda for me is cheap, as there is no entry fee on an Irish passport.  The girls also had accommodation for us, so all I had to pay was my bus fare and the cost of rafting.

Having never been white-water rafting before, I was not too sure what to expect.  The thought of being on the Nile was incredibly exciting too.  And the chance to visit a new country!  We got the coach from Nyabugogo at 9am on the Friday morning. It was surprisingly comfortable with quite a reasonable amount of leg room.  It only took us 90mins to reach the border and then we had to go through immigration formalities before boarding the bus again.  This being Rwanda, I met someone I knew at the border crossing who was travelling in the opposite direction.  It seems impossible to go anywhere without seeing a familiar face!

Over the other side of the border, the roads deteriorated somewhat.  African roads being what they are and coach suspension being what it is (combined with the fact we had bought the last available tickets on the bus so we were sat at the back) meant it was a VERY bumpy journey.  Also we were surrounded by a group of very loud men, who saw fit to accentuate every word of the conversation with a punch on the back of my seat (it was inevitable that we would come to blows and that the teacher voice would have to make an appearance – which it did and they were very good and stopped it).  I felt it necessary to avoid the loud conversation and very bad soundtrack (Brown Girl in the Ring, for example) by putting in my headphones and zoning out.  I managed this for most of the 9hr journey to Kampala.

As a Geographer, the journey was fascinating.  We passed fields of poly-tunnels full of flowers being grown for export and huge papyrus swamps lined the roadsides.  At one point we passed a very long UN truck convoy.  A highlight was crossing the Equator.  I felt the coach driver missed a trick here – he could have had us all off the bus to take a photo...he clearly wasn’t a Geography nerd.  The journey continued and we passed lots of what looked like crumbling villages.  I eventually realised these were actually brick kilns.  We also saw loads of cows with MASSIVE horns.  As always, looking at the names of businesses is enlightening and it turns out that Alexander McCall Smith is probably quoting actual business names in his books.  We saw (to name a few) Sparkle bar and lodge, Alleluia Hardware, Tender Talents Primary School, Feel Better Guest House, God Bless Vocational College and Thanks to God Stationery Store.

We eventually arrived in Kampala where there was much hustle and bustle.  Loads of litter was piled up along the roadsides – much of it discarded plastic bottles.  Besides all this there were shopping malls and cinemas!  And no staring as we walked along the street.  There were also some reassuring signs of home – such as Shell petrol stations.


Surviving our first rapid

Calm and peaceful flat water

We stayed the night in Kampala and got picked up early the next morning to go to Jinja for rafting.  It was an incredible experience.  We began with a briefing at the backpackers who ran the trip and then we were kitted out with life jackets and helmets.  Then we set off for the Nile – passing the Bujugali Dam on the way (nerd alert:  this was in the WJEC Geog exam paper in 2005 (I think)).  It is forbidden to take photos and I wanted to raft, not go to jail...  Once we arrived at the river we were assigned to boats and given an oar.  Then whilst we were on flat water, we were taught how to paddle and how to survive the raft flipping (not so much fun as you get dunked and the boat whacks you on the head and you have to avoid an army of large wooden oars at the same time as trying to stop yourself from drowning!).  We mastered this and were allowed to attempt our first rapid.  Apparently it was a grade 3 (the rapids were graded 1 = easy to 5 = hard).  It was terrifying.  Just looking at all the angry white water was enough to make me tremble and want to get out.  I was convinced we were done for and this was not helped by the fact the group in front of us got flipped out of their raft.  But we survived.  We continued downstream scaring ourselves witless and then having some genteel bits in between where we swam alongside the boat.  It was really beautiful and amazing to think of just where we were. 

That's me - front left

We had a light lunch half way through the day, sat in our rafts.  We were handed half a pineapple each and a packet of biscuits.  It certainly kept us going.  It was all great fun and then we came to the final rapid.  We knew we were in for trouble when Josh – our instructor/guide – insisted on checking all of our lifejackets and helmets.  I was made to stand up and had a complete readjustment.  Then he broke it to us “Guys – you will not stay dry on this one”.  So we were in for a dunking.  You know it’s going to be bad when you can hear the rapid for some time before you actually see it and this one was savage.  There were huge dips in the water and whirlpools and high waves.  I was shaking with fear.  We were going to die.  As with every rapid, Josh advised us what to do if we got flipped out of the raft.  For most of them the advice was to swim back to the raft and hold on to the rope.  For this one, it was simply swim forward. 

The moment before we back-flipped

He then piled us all in the back and sat Caitlin on the prow.  We could see where this was going.  All the weight was at the back.  We didn’t stand a chance – we wouldn’t have made it through without incident anyway, so I think this was Josh having “fun” with us.  We battled through a few big waves and got thrown about and then you knew there was no point hanging on anymore – the raft flipped to the side and backwards and over we went. 

I was lucky to be thrown to the side so did not get stuck under the boat.  The water was pulling us up and pushing us down again.  The currents were so strong.  I let myself relax slightly and found the water just pulled me downstream.  I could see one of the safety kayaks in the distance so knew I would be OK.  One came to my rescue and I got a few seconds rest before he had to go and help the non-swimmer in our group.  I came to a halt about half a km downstream and met up with the others.  We were all hauled back into the raft and paddled to the bank where we got out and had a shower and a lovely meal before heading back to Kampala.  It was enormous fun and I will be going again!

Into Africa with the parents

Boldly going where not that many have gone before and after months of planning, my parents finally arrived in Rwanda.  I went off to the airport to meet them feeling slightly anxious.  And when I saw them we all had a good cry.  I was surprised at myself! 

The first couple of days we spent in Kigali, allowing Mum and Dad a little time to adjust to Africa (although I would say Rwanda is probably Africa for beginners – it being quite small and clean and with a pleasant climate).  We toured the (few) sights of Kigali and went to the St Patrick’s Day party (see previous blog post) and then it was off for a few days in Kibungo.  We had to pile onto the bus for this part and there was much excitement at the bus station.  People were shifted off the back seat and the three of us and the three massive suitcases were loaded onto it.  I wasn’t sure how comfortable the parents would find the trip, but some of them seemed to relax into it...

Justin had laid on a lovely welcome, despite having been knocked off his bike on the way to work and splitting his head open (we administered additional first aid and it is now well recovered).  It was really nice to be able to show Mum and Dad around Kibungo.  They will now know what I am talking about when I tell them I have been to see the dressmakers, or been to the market, or post office and so on.  Dad’s favourite place was St Joe’s and we had quite a few evenings up there sampling the cold Mutzig and sizzling beef.  Mum got more into the spirit of things and joined me for goat brochettes.



Road hogs!

On one of the days Mum and Dad accompanied me on a trip to one of my schools.  It is usually exciting enough for the children when I arrive, but three of us at once?!  As our motorbikes pulled up, several hundred children escaped classrooms and ran across the grass screaming out “abazungu!”  They then greeted us as the Head Teacher wanted them to with a chorus of “good morning our visitors”.  We met some of the teachers and my parents got a little insight into life in school.  The teachers were very welcoming and were more than happy to pose for a photograph.  And fair play to the parents who managed the one hour journey on the moto there and back.  It’s a bumpy ride but is made slightly less painful by the views along the way.

Toughing it out on the beach

In a bid to see a bit more of the East African Community, we managed to spend a few days in Zanzibar.  The resort was beautiful (we all eventually agreed) and we spent a couple of great days just lazing on the beach.  Rainy season seemed to be rather late in arriving so we were blessed with beautiful weather.  Well rested from this we also visited Stone Town and stayed in the same hotel I went to at Christmas.  I even got the same room!  We had a nice time strolling the streets and visiting the night food market and enjoying a drink on the balcony in Africa House whilst watching the sun set.

Following this we fitted in a 2night/3 day safari in Tanzania.  The company we went with were called www.itstartedinafrica.com and it was one of the cheapest ones advertised but in all honesty, was far superior to anything I have done before and I would recommend them to anyone.  We had beds in our tents and our own chef and a guide.  It was divine.  We saw loads of wildlife and I finally got to add a rhino to my list of animals seen.  The only hairy bit was when the running board fell off the side of the vehicle mid safari.  Dad and Comfort (the guide) managed to fix it by using the seatbelts to hold it all together and no lions appeared to savage us!

Getting home from Tanzania proved trickier than we thought as the buses are not so great coming towards Rwanda.  We eventually managed it and landed for more time in Kibungo.  We also hired a car and had a good time visiting lots of places – I even had the enormous luxury of doing a shop in Nakumatt and being able to put it all in a car to take home.  I was able to get fresh milk and cornflakes.  A HUGE treat!

A crowd gathers at the roadside when I stop to buy bananas

Eventually it was time for a final trip to St Joe’s for the spectacle of the sizzling beef (I may have written about this before, but basically after about 90mins of waiting, you can hear a sizzling sound coming from the kitchen and next thing, a waiter comes racing around a corner bearing the sizzling dish aloft before plonking it down on the table in front of you where it smokes and sizzles and brings tears to the eyes of everyone in the vicinity and the chillis in the dish make everyone start coughing.  Great fun).

It had been lovely to have Mum and Dad visit.  At first it seemed strange to have them here, but then it almost began to seem normal to see them sat out in the porch each morning.  The house is very quiet now they are gone.  They also brought a case load of goodies from home with them, so thank you so much to everyone who contributed to that – I will be writing letters of thanks.  I am now well stocked up on toiletries and over the Easter weekend I put a good dent in the chocolate stash that arrived.  As for things like jelly beans...they lasted about 10mins one night and then they disappeared (must have been that rat...?).

And the good news is, that they enjoyed the trip and would love to come again if they can.  So all those of you who have been waiting to see how the experiment of my visitors went, it is time to start booking!