Yesterday after meeting a teacher from Sonrise School where I taught in 2007 we came back to the house for lunch. To welcome us back, which is traditional, Venny, the mother put bread, bananas, tea, coffee and boiled eggs on the table. We had already had porridge and eggs for breakfast not long before, but this is the way they welcome you back into the house. They said that lunch would be ‘soon’ but African ‘soon’ is not UK ‘soon’. They do not have a snack for lunch as we might have, but a full blown dinner, the same as at supper which would be our evening meal.
It was decided we would go and visit the beautiful lake Burera 45 minutes away. Apparently many people miss this lake and go to the more well-known lake Kivu, where rich Rwandan diplomats and tourists go for r ‘n’ r, as there are good hotels there and nice beaches.
So we sat in the hot sun in the rubbly compound and read until lunch was ready. Eventually at 3pm they called us in for the meal. We then left only to find we had just missed the 3.30pm mini-bus and had to wait until 4pm. Dark clouds were amassing in the sky and we feared that it was going to be a rainy trip. By time the bus came it was spitting and I felt miffed that we could not have gone earlier, but we did not want to insult the family who has been preparing the lunch.
When the mini bus arrived, all those with pre-paid tickets just rush to get the best seat. Small children and women with babies on their backs are pushed aside as stronger men and youths force their way through the door, some with big packages and sacks of vegetables from the market.
Bright sprang forward and saved us some seats as we felt it only polite to let the women and babies on first. The crowded minibus took 25 minutes to reach and only cost 40p each. The road took us to about 2 miles from the Ugandan border and we alighted at a scruffy village called Kidaho. There we took three motorbike taxis or ‘motos’. These are licensed by the government and all wear green tabards over their jackets. By law they have to give passengers a helmet so we donned these. Luckily mine had a visa that kept the rain off my face. I hitched up my long skirt and with a little difficulty managed to get on board. The villagers were all staring at the leg brace that I wear because my knee is falling to bits, but does not normally show under the long skirts I have to wear here or trousers. I clung like dear life to the waist of the driver.
The track down to the lake was just rutted earth with rain filled potholes that the driver had to weave through to avoid us coming off. Added to that there were people walking everywhere as there always is here because they cannot afford transport. People walk miles and miles carrying very heavy loads on their heads or if they can afford a bicycle for £30 they load them up with three heavy sacks, one on the seat and two hanging down the side and push them for miles to their villages. Sometimes they are carrying large canisters of water from the standpipe that could be miles away. They pay the man in charge so much for each jerry can load purchased.
Bright had told the moto drivers to go slowly, which thankfully, they did. It was only when we were half way down the 10 minutes, 50p drive, that I realised our insurance did not cover us for being moto passengers. Too late! Luckily these guys are doing it every day and know how to avoid the rougher bits of ground. We arrived at the lake in the rain and dismounted. At the bottom was a rough brick building where you could buy a drink but it was not at all like a tourist destination. In the UK this sort of place would be tarted up to attract trade, but it was typically African. However, there was a nod to ‘luxury’ with some white plastic chairs and tables placed at the lakeside, which, in the sun would have been delightful. Later on, in the dark, I asked where the toilet was and a girl indicated it was at the back over a grassy mound that I had to negotiate in the gloom. I arrived at a shack that stank and there was no light. A woman had followed me and I said ‘no light?’, and she said in French there was none. I asked if it was a toilet or a hole in the ground. She said ‘ne pas toilet’ or something like that, so I guessed it was just hole. Trying to pee in the dark when I do not know what I am standing on or where I have to ‘go’ was just too much so I crossed my legs and decided to wait until I got home
When we had arrived at the lake we saw some tethered goats on a patch of grass nearby that later a young boy came to take away when it was getting dark. Meanwhile, the rain had ceased, and it was brightening up just a tad, so we went down to the lake side and Bright called over a traditional wooden African boat, a sort of rough long boat with wooden planks across for seats. The bottom was filled with water but there were raised planks to keep your feet dry. Apparently these boats are used to take villagers from one side of the lake to another to get to market and to their fields. The boats take 10 passengers with one man rowing at the front and another at the back. When the boat is full two of the passengers in the middle are also expected to row.
We decided to take a boat ride and paid off the moto drivers, taking their phone number to call them when we got back. We boarded the boat and the two men gave us life jackets and started to row. One was called Murekezi Jean Damascene. Damascene was his baptismal name, and Murekezi his family name. He had been to school but only up to primary 2. The other man only had one name, Nzeymana, because he had not been baptised and therefore had not been given a personal name. He had had no schooling at all.
The mountains around the lake in the gathering dusk looked beautiful and the largest mountain, Muhabura had a crown of fluffy cloud at its summit giving it an ethereal air. Mist was rising from the ground due to the heavy rain after the hot sun and the whole scene looked eerie and mystical. The men struck out and we had a half an hour trip on the lake. Bright explained that up in the hills was a Mormon hotel, and we could see a primary and secondary school over on another hill. The children in this rural area either board or go to school each day by walking down tracks or getting the boat across the lake. The rowers work all day until 7pm to take people returning from work back to their villages on the other side of the lake.
When we alighted from what was a peaceful and pleasant trip on the lake Bright said to give them 500 francs (50p) which I did, but they looked so disappointed I gave them another 500 as I thought their disappointment was well founded for the service they had given us. They thanked us with big smiles. We then phoned for the moto drivers. They had upped the price from 50p each to 80p each because, as they said, it was dark and had been raining. With the help of a young woman who only spoke French, a native Rwandan, Bright tried to find other motor drivers who would do it for 50p. This seems so petty but you get into the mind set of Africans quite quickly and do not want them to think they can rip off umuzungas (white foreigners) all the time, but to us the amounts are so minimal, and they are so poor, what does it matter.
Eventually after using up nearly all my phone credit Bright and the young lady decided that we had no option but to pay the 80p each. I said ‘ok’ because I thought it was more than reasonable. The men came within 5 minutes and we got on. Now going back, they did not drive slowly, but at a speed they could manage but not as gently as when we came. Driving in the dark with just their headlights, they not only had to manoeuvre through the ruts and the puddles, but also the many many people walking in the dark each side of the track, and often in the middle. The drivers honked and honked their horns to warn people to get out of the way. Even mini bus drivers on the main roads do not seem to take notice of people on foot as they pull in to let people off or take on new passengers. Those walking on the side have to quickly jump out of the way.
We eventually reached the top and alighted. Then we had to go to a kiosk and buy tickets for the bus that would arrive in half an hour. It was now getting cold and I was sorry I had decided to leave my fleece in the house and I had lost my cardigan the day before, either on the bus or in the classroom. The university is going to look for it and the bus company said to come back today – but as it is torrential rain that will have to wait. But I did have my waterproof so that gave me some protection from the cold. You think that because you are in Africa it will be warm all the time and in August/September, when I came last time that is generally true, but in the rainy season..................
We boarded the bus and were crammed in with loads of Rwandans who were curious about us umuzungas. They stared at us and wanted to all talk to us. A man in front who had obviously been at the banana beer waffled on at me in French and I managed to get most of the gist of what he said. He wanted us to visit his wife and five children the next day and wanted to know what the ‘problem’ was when it was obvious I was not giving him a direct answer. Eventually I told him we were going up to Shyira the next day, and he said that is where he went to school, and knew it well. He wanted my address and phone number so I gave him my business card. One day I may get an email from a Rwandan stranger – but this happens all the time. They just want contact with the west in the hope that they will get some help from us white folks. But you cannot help them all. The need is so deep here even what we do is just a finger in the dam, a drop in a very big ocean of poverty.
We arrived home to a welcome cup of hot coffee, bananas and bread, even though supper was only minutes away. It is the traditional welcome and we did not want to insult the mother by not partaking of at least a hot drink. She said ‘it is cold take some tea’. Supper soon followed, a massive meal of the usual matoke, rice, cabbage in tomato sauce, dodo (like spinach and delicious) and a tiny amount of chewy meat in a tasty sauce to be shared between 8 of us. Mike is now vegetarian and I tried a tiny portion of meat and mainly sauce that I slopped over the rice. It was all very nice and we feel truly welcome here.
After watching the news on the tv, that is presented in Kinyarwandan, then French and then English, we went to bed at 10pm.
We are learning some Kinyarwandan words and the family is helping us. I know how to say good morning, mwaramutse, good afternoon, mwiriwe, hello muraho, thankyou, murakoze, what is your name, witwende, and how are you, amukuru, which also means ‘what news’ and is the title of the news programme in Kinyarwandan. We are trying to distinquish between see you soon, turongera and see you tomorrow, Ni ahego, which I keep getting mixed up to much hilarity. But the kids in the street who always gather round us and want to talk to us always say ‘good morning’ whatever time of day it is because that is what they have learnt so far at school. Either that or ‘give me money’ which we ignore.
Taking photos is tricky here and there is so much of interest to photograph. Bright says I can just take photos anywhere. But, a) I feel it is an invasion of their privacy, b) they are very shy people and if they see a camera pointing in their direction they move out of the way and c) they usually want money. It all depends on what currency I have on me. I am happy to give 100 or 500 francs, though Bright feels this is too much, but in our money that is only 10p and 50p, but can buy so much for them here.
The other day I took a bag of pens, pencils and ‘hotel’ soap and shampoo that friends had given me and a hoard from my bathroom cupboard. Asking to take a picture in exchange for one of these small gifts works admirably. They are so pleased to be given a piece of soap or a pen that they happily pose for pictures. Then there is a crowd round us and they all want some!! Crippled beggars and old people who have difficulty walking, and women with babies who seem very poorly dressed we give some money to. But you just can’t help them all. In the Bradt guide book a man wrote that he puts an amount of small notes in his pocket each day and when its gone its gone. It is hard to say no to these people, and sometimes the security guards who watch the town move them on if they think they are pestering you, but you cannot help feeling moved by their poverty.
I WAS AWAKE FOR MY OPERATION!
(Sun 04/03)
Me and Sir Jimmy Savile
(Thu 03/11)
What not to wear!!!
(Wed 15/06)
Rwandan adventure Our sponsored child
(Mon 06/06)
Rwandan Adventure - Lunch Was Alive!
(Mon 23/05)
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