#3

Day 5 Slightly later start – after our worryingly late night – and banana pancakes: Aaron did us proud. Now we really feel like we’re in the third world. Martyn, Aaron and I took a picnic lunch and went for a bit of an explore. We hoped to get down to Lake Kivu, the most stunning lake not far from here and forming the border with the Congo. After almost two hours drive, on a track nearly as bumpy and potholed as that to Bweyeye, we found a smaller track down to the lake’s edge. As always we’d collected our group of fascinated children who followed us to our chosen spot, sat in a quiet group just behind us and got up as we did to follow us back to the car. Some practised a little English, some French, and all beamed at the ‘mzungus’ (white men) they’d been clever enough to spot. The picnic spot view was spectacular, the sun just comfortably hot- and the’ buzz’ we felt, amazing! Having been waved off by our merry band, we headed back along the potholes to our palace.

Supper tonight was a positive feast with Aaron creating some gourmet garlic bread with only a double burner and no oven ,followed by Thai green curry as closely approximated to my recipe at home as I could manage – and actually, not bad at all. Still haven’t embarked on ‘The Great Big Pudding Challenge’ as yet…

Day 6 We were woken very early this morning by what sounded like some sort of ongoing explosion – but discovered it was actually rain. But rain like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It was staggeringly loud and utterly torrential – and then it got worse. No thunder or lightning, it was solely the crashing of the rain. If we’d been out in it we’d have been pounded to a pulp, so it was lucky we were tucked up.

I’ve begun contacting the schools to chat to re my ‘project’, with the help of our wonderful Prince, the Local Manager here at Rwanda Aid. He is charming, delightful, amusing, capable, super helpful and one of those remarkable people who always look absolutely pristine: a marvel.

Martyn took another trip to Ntendezi to check on the progress at the disabled village – and seemed to welcome an extra pair of hands to help with some measuring. Once there we chatted first to the girls making beads as part of the crafts they make to sell. Some of the same girls are going to be the ‘house mothers’ to groups of disabled children set to live in the village and are all genocide orphans. I also came across a poor little soul with many disabilities, sitting silently on a step. He looked about three, but is actually nine. At least he will have a good home at Ntendezi.

Following on, to the building works: we spent a frustrating hour ‘discussing’ the location of the rain-water harvesting tanks – and I saw Martyn’s powers of persuasion at their peak.








En route back with Patrick, who drives for the charity, which is more than a task and a half among a trillion potholes of some considerable note, we passed the local pastor whom Patrick knows so we gave him a lift home. We were all duly invited into the house for tea and a snack. We sat round his table and met his wife and delightful four year old daughter. They were so kind and wanted to ply us with goodies. We were aware of the fact that even a pastor, who is of some considerable importance here, is very poor and we didn’t want to deprive them of all their treats. But it was a great experience and they were so pleased to have us there. It’s quite strange being such ‘celebrities’ over here, causing a stir everywhere we go. I feel so aware – and ashamed - of the fact that a black African would not receive such a welcome in England.

Later I accompanied Aaron, Henry and Prince into town to look at curtain and cushion fabrics for the disabled village. My goodness what revolting options there were. The frustrating thing is that there are so many fabulously vibrant and colourful materials on offer which would be fantastic for a children’s dormitory, but these are not considered appropriate as they are the sarong fabrics worn by the women. Not sure yet how we shall resolve this little tussle.

Day 7 My day began with the suggestion that I may ‘like’ to make an appointment with the District Education Officer! Prince was off to do some jobs nearby and I could get a convenient lift – and have a translator on hand if necessary. Yet another daunting task – but I must confess to a sneaking interest as well. Actually, Prince made the appointment for me – how I love my lack of local language! – and off we went to the District Office. Fortunately the Education Officer had good English, making it much easier to interview him. I learned a lot about the structure and organisation of the school system – but was distracted by the stunning view of the lake from the window. He told me that they work so hard they don’t even remember there is a lake!

Martyn, Aaron and Henry walked up to the farm to conduct a survey of the farm manager’s house that was damaged in an earthquake last year. The bishop, who is somehow involved, says it needs to be condemned and rebuilt, but Martyn says this is not so, repair is fairly straightforward and of course, much cheaper. As Rwanda Aid pay the bill, David is rather more keen on repair rather than rebuild. He reckons if Martyn prepares a comprehensive survey with all his qualifications listed, then the bishop can’t argue. Fingers crossed.

Today held a momentous occasion: all the walking and wranglings over the farm access road finally culminated in the signing of the deal, captured on film for posterity. Martyn mused that the last major road signing he had been involved in was for £40 million (Weymouth Relief Road), this one was just £2,000 – but vital nonetheless.

Martyn and I took a ‘stroll’ into town later causing the usual furore amongst the locals. We are just so conspicuous. We wandered through the market to a crescendo reaching chorus of ‘mzungu! mzungu!’ so that by the time we’d reached the other side virtually the entire market was staring at us in curious fascination.

#1

After a 3.00 am alarm call things could only really get better – and they did! Remarkably easy check-in, finally found a Costa round an unexpected dead end corner at North Terminal Gatwick – quite a task amid the dreary looking alternatives - and Martyn had an extra legroom seat on the short hop to Brussels. Met – in state – and whisked into a ‘vehicle’ by a Brussels airport assistant, along with four others similarly en route to Kigali, driven swiftly to the appropriate gate and taken personally to the boarding desk: such service. (Apparently with such a short transfer time this is actually the norm – not really special at all.) Discovered that despite information to the contrary, we also had extra legroom seats for the long haul- extremely fortunate as Martyn had been suffering from a bad back for a couple of days – relieved slightly, courtesy of a hefty valium prescription by the doctor the day before.

A couple of G&T’s down the line and the Kigali landing announcement came through. With nerves and excitement jostling for prime position, there we were, in Africa proper! Quick prayer as we awaited our luggage, hoping desperately that it had had the same superstar treatment as we had at Brussels airport and had made the second plane in time: it had. David, big chief of Rwanda Aid, was there to meet and greet us, whisk us off to a (non-luxury it has to be admitted, in keeping with our charitable status – but very pleasant nonetheless – gorgeous garden) hotel and from there to cold beers and supper. A perfect start. All bodes well.

An early start for a completely stunning six hour drive down to the small town of Kamembe where Rwanda Aid is based - in the far south-west of this land-locked country, within a few km of the DRC (Congo) and Burundi borders. They call it ‘Land of a Thousand Hills and a Million Smiles’ but I’m sure we counted many oodles more than that, on both fronts. Quite breathtaking really, with some of the views beyond spectacular. An overwhelming atmosphere of good cheer and laughter followed us constantly as crowds of beaming children waved wildly along the way. We gave a lift to the sister-in-law of the Rwanda Aid manager all the way from Kigali to Kamembe; she should be awarded much more than a gold star for the valiant effort she made trying to teach me the rudiments of Kinyarwandan – often through French! I now have a fairly diverse collection of Kinyarwandan nouns, but no hope of pronouncing them, and even less of stringing them into any sort of sentence.

We stopped off towards the end of the journey to take a look at the progress of the village for disabled children currently a significant project being built by the charity. A workforce of a hundred or so, resulting in pretty much breakneck speed. An inspirational set-up. We actually met one of the prospective residents, a young boy paralysed throughout much of his body, completely twisted and standing only a couple of feet high, but with a smile to light the world. Humbling.

We finally reached Kamembe and Munezero House, our home for the next few weeks and were welcomed by a legion. There was Francoise, the cook, Prince, the manager, Cyriac, the day guard, two friendly jovial dogs and Aaron and Henry, two students also helping the charity. Quite a house full, with Faustin soon appearing to replace Cyriac, as the night guard. A cup of earl grey tea made a most civilised start, followed fairly shortly with a glass of wine before dinner. All hopes of a miracle weight loss in deepest darkest Africa are rapidly fading.

Day 2 dawned bright but daunting: David had already felled me with the weight of his suggestions for my role here when he suggested I take on the task of visiting all the schools they are involved with in the area, assessing each one’s current status and needs through consultation with the heads, summarising all findings in a report for the trustees, and making recommendations on where the greatest need and priorities lie! Oh-my-God! The schools range from fairly local to those over four hours drive, each way, away in villages so remote they are down mud baths scarcely recognisable as roads with potholes to drown in. However, I’m trying to be a tiny bit grown up and look on it as character building – which it undoubtedly will be if I ever get past the starting blocks.

The day was filled, for me, with meeting numerous gentle Rwandans of some note who came to the house, practising my greetings and joining in the odd meeting, including one with the ex-mayor, and another with ‘Brother Focus’! In fact I shall also have to go and interview the current mayor sometime for the local government view and plans for education.


Martyn’s day was somewhat different as he scrambled from one role to another, checking building progress of the disabled village at Ntendezi and sweet-talking the builder on the one hand, to becoming Big Chief Road Advisor on the road to the farm at Murangi and discussing the options for repair through a translator. 3kms of track need to be upgraded, with numerous bridges (aka DIY culverts), to a very tight budget – just £2,000. He loved it! The rain was a tad on the torrential side however, which rather slowed his progress – He’d wanted to “get his hands dirty” but didn’t expect the mud to be quite so deep!