Plodding along

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

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

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

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

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

The hurricane

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

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

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

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

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

I'm back!

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

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

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

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

Views from a train

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

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

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

Lady in waiting

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

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

 

Est-Fest weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Physical Education - Rwandan Style

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

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

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

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

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