The pleasures of being a volunteer

The end of our placement in Rwanda is now in sight. There remains a little over 3 weeks if you don’t count the 2 weeks we are going to spend in Ethiopia. Inevitably when trying to sum up our feelings on leaving the question arises of what we will miss and what we are looking forward to.


The simplicity. Life for us in Nyanza is stripped down to the essentials. We can now appreciate the difference between a society which expects things to be technically perfect and one that is surprised if things work at all. Our society has always believed it had the means to sustain the level of education, health and social service we expect and demand; this one is still searching for those resources that we take for granted. This simplicity is something we shall miss but we have to qualify that sentiment with the fact that simplicity for us equals drudgery for the population. There is no rush hour, no congestion and frustration of a lot of people trying to get somewhere in a hurry. The beginning of the day is signalled by increasing numbers of people walking past often deep in conversation; children on their way to school or people going to the fields, hoes in hand, leading goats on strings. Buses going up and down our road trawling for early passengers interspersed by motos and cycles. Despite this burst of activity there is none of the frenzy associated with commuting.

The climate. When you think of Africa the immediate image is of an unmerciful sun, fields of desiccated crops, desertification, starving peoples in despair. You don’t think of rolling hills covered with groves of eucalyptus and bananas, handkerchief fields clinging to the slopes, valleys with slow clear streams, lily-covered irrigation channels between the plots of rich deep earth, knots of people preparing the soil in anticipation of the next planting and yet in the neighbouring field farmers harvesting the vegetables or maize. Summer days in England can be more oppressive than the usual heat experienced here. It’s been a cold night when I have had to sleep with more than just a sheet over me. The only time I wear a jersey is if it is overcast and raining for more than half a day. The altitude helps to even out the extremes; the heat can be more unpleasant in Kigali which is 400 metres lower. Only if heavy rain is on the way do we get significant winds; for the great part, the days are tranquil and balmy from dawn to dusk. We shall have to get used to a dawn and dusk that varies by more than 30 minutes throughout the year. At the moment the onset of dawn is as good as an alarm clock.

The variety of the wildlife, most notably the profusion of birds. It’s not unusual to see a column of perhaps 30 -40 kites slowly ascending in the afternoon thermals. Cultivation is no bar to hawks and eagles nesting in trees round fields, you only have to trek off into the wilds if you want to see mammals. Even our garden of 80% concrete harbours frogs, toads, lizards and the odd snake while inside the house are crickets geckos and a few fearsomely large spiders. I will not miss the fleas and mosquitoes.

The friendliness of the people. I am still amazed at the number of times we are greeted while just walking along our road or waiting for a bus. Often when I’m with Melissa and someone comes up and shakes her hand I assume it’s an acquaintance from one of the many schools she has visited. But on my enquiry as to who that was she has no idea; she’s never met them before. She has built up a retinue of families with kids with whom she exchanges greetings on her way to work. I on the other hand limit my trips into town to the days we need more beer or when I catch a bus so I don’t have so much regular intercourse. It’s still a bit unnerving when walking on the road to be held with a steady gaze by everyone coming from the opposite direction. It’s difficult to fathom the intention behind this stare; it is children who are the most persistent. If the stare is returned, which I find difficult to sustain, they do not look away but it may elicit a greeting or even a handshake. I don’t think the citizens of Bristol will be similarly inclined to give a hello.

The luxury of having a domestique. At a push and especially as I spend most of my time at home we could manage the cleaning and I could eventually get used to going to the market but I draw the line at doing the washing. I can perfectly understand why despite some volunteers eschewing the need for help during the day, most succumb once they are faced with the chores in the evening or at weekends. Shops do stay open until way past dusk so it is possible to buy stuff late but then you have to cook it and it all can get a bit too much, especially if there’s no electricity and charcoal or kerosene have to be lighted. The main problem is the time everything takes. Floors to be swept and washed, clothes hand washed and hung out. Then there’s the perpetual threat of rain while you’re out buying at the market. At the moment the market constitutes a round trip of about 4 kilometres on foot so there’s not much that can be done if the clouds darken; the washing stays wet. I think we will truly appreciate the meaning of “labour saving devices” when we get back.

The same fresh fruit and vegetables being available throughout the year. We have never had a problem with something being “out of season”. It seems to me that wherever you go in Rwanda the markets have the same range of fruit and vegetables on display. There are a few variations; the north around Musanze is better supplied with potatoes and cauliflowers and pineapples are more plentiful and of better quality in the east. However, the overall range is limited to things that can be easily grown locally and is dictated by demand. Rwandans are pretty conservative and without any programmes about cooking on the telly or many restaurants serving exotic cuisine that is unlikely to change. But what there is is guaranteed fresh and plentiful and cheap. The cabbages are particularly good and I’ve had an avocado everyday for breakfast. Yes, we’ll miss the fresh food.

On the other hand, we won’t miss the meat. It is probably fit to stew if cooked long enough but anything pretending to be a steak is bound to disappoint. Poor quality animals combined with a policy of slaughter and consumption on the same day makes for toughness. We have found it best avoided any meat except when minced and even then it’s not great. Fish is much better but tends to be overcooked. Our bodies may miss the healthier diet when we return but our palates wont.

The need to find things to do in the evening has stimulated us to be more creative and in a way I’m not looking forward to having 24 hour cable and Freeview. I have read more books in the 2 years out here than I have done in the last 20 years. The VSO library has inspired me to take books I wouldn’t have given a second glance in the UK. I must investigate the public library in Bristol. Thanks to external hard-drives of astonishing capacity we have seen television series missed or ignored and watched films never previously contemplated. Browsing and copying other volunteers’ collections gives an even wider scope for viewing the unknown. It’s an education to decide to watch something just going on its title and an exercise in co-operative criticism to decide when to abandon an exceptionally tiresome offering.

It has been good to be part of a small but exclusive family of volunteers. It gives us a network of contacts with whom to socialise and to gain from their experiences. Melissa’s relations with her colleagues in the district office are harmonious but getting to know them outside of work has been restricted mostly by the language. Proper socialising implies relaxation and being at ease in one another’s company. This cannot be easily achieved when limits are put on conversation. Consequently any bonds we have built up with Rwandans are not likely to survive a prolonged stay in the UK.

We will miss the transport systems here. The buses are efficient and cheap and even leave on time. If you don’t count the speed at which some buses are driven and the total disregard of any nominal limits in built-up areas they appear reasonably safe. The only time they come down to a crawl is if they have been warned of a police check ahead. The police only have to judge by eye that the limit has been broken to issue a ticket. The drivers tend not to argue or even less to contest the decision for fear of more trouble. Travelling on the back of a motorcycle taxi has been a new and mostly enjoyable experience for us both. They are very widespread; you only have to alight from a bus to be importuned by half a dozen moto drivers eager to help complete your journey. They are efficient and provided you bargain hard before agreeing to mount up they are generally good value. I’m surprised that they aren’t more popular in other countries; I can see them being very efficient in cities in the UK.

One thing that has surprised me is the pleasure of having an open air kitchen. I have said to many fresh volunteers that living in Rwanda is almost akin to camping. When we first moved to Nyanza we were taken aback to find there was no kitchen in the house, that is to say no room with a sink and taps. But having seen kitchens in other houses with very little space and very poor light from tiny windows I think we are far better off cooking on the back veranda. The only time it doesn’t work so well is if we have a storm; an electric stove and driving rain is not a good combination.

Things we shall be looking forward to back in England are: a reunion with all the family and a proper family Christmas. If it hadn’t been for the good communications available I think we should have had to go back to the UK at least once. Edward and Lucy being unencumbered were able to meet us in Zanzibar last Christmas but we have missed two years of great changes during the development of Megan and Eli. It is perhaps poor compensation that those changes will be all the more obvious to us because of our absence.

Discovering new walks and pubs around Bristol. Walking here for pleasure is an alien concept; people have to walk to go anywhere and if they had the option of getting a lift they would take it under any circumstances. It’s a great way to explore the countryside and go to areas where white people rarely venture. You can tell when you’re really off the beaten track when the children shy away rather than follow you down the road. Getting around outside the town is difficult if only due to the lack of maps and signage. Sticking to the major tracks is a surer way of not getting lost. However, if you knew the general direction you needed to travel I’m sure you could just branch out across country; there are no fences or hedges and so many paths to choose from. The only problem might be crossing the waterways. As for pubs, bars here are plentiful and range from a back room in a tiny house to somewhere that could comfortably host a wedding. Single women in bars are frowned on which makes life difficult for female volunteers in a placement on their own. The beer is OK if a bit formulaic; we shall both enjoy our first pint in an English pub if there are any left still open.

Reliable water and electricity and to have hot showers. Once you get used to the fact that water is available only for 12 hours out of every 48 then you can plan ahead and manage to husband the resource, despite most of those hours being overnight. With buckets and jerry cans we have the capacity to store 160 litres. If we manage to catch rainwater in the tub there’s an extra 70 litres to play with. The return of water pressure has so far not let us down. We have had to wait sometimes for an extra 48 hours if we are staying away from home on the night the pressure comes back.

The electricity is more capricious. Only once have we been without power for more than 48 hours when a pole near us was blown down by a storm. Usually if the power goes off it’s back within the hour. At night when we have a cut we look across the valley to see if lights are showing over there. If they do not then that’s a good sign. It means there’s a widespread problem and someone will get on and do something straight away to restore the power. If we are dark but the houses over the road are lit, it indicates a more localised fault that may be overlooked and it is likely to take longer to resolve.

I will welcome the opportunity to be able to overhear conversations and understand what is being said. In buses and in bars the background talk is barred to us. I think even if we knew more kinyarwanda we would still be at a loss. It’s a pity as we have very little idea of what public opinion is on any subject. What sort of things are openly discussed and what is not appropriate. The sort of humour that appeals and what people find to talk about during their endless mobile phone calls.

I for one am looking forward to getting back into a glider. It has been very frustrating here having so many days of good gliding weather and yet knowing there is absolutely no means of taking advantage of them. It would have been an ideal way of looking at the country but with all these hills there are few airstrips. It’s a rare event to any sort of aircraft over Nyanza; the only exception being helicopters checking security for a presidential visit.

We shall both be thankful to be in reach of a dependable health service. VSO has health insurance for all its volunteers and for the moment accompanying partners are covered as well. Insurance is one thing but free treatment is no substitute for a reliable diagnosis. We are fortunate not to have needed any medical consultations; we have heard tales from those no so lucky.

From the veterinary point of view, I shall be glad to get back to a culture were people are more sympathetic to the needs of animals. Even in a country where the cow is a symbol of wealth and status and cattle raised in the bosom of families are valued and cherished there are stark examples of disregard and ignorance. Cattle and goats transported by road seem to have no protection against overcrowding in unsuitable lorries. Cows are regularly branded with hot machetes in an attempt to treat diseases where tradition has stifled logical remedy. There is a hope that the future generations of vets may have an impact but as yet I have had very little influence on their thinking.

We undertook to volunteer with VSO as a response to our perceived need to avoid stagnation after an active life. It was an opportunity to feel useful in a country that needed our skills. It has brought us closer together as a couple and it will have changed our outlook on life in ways that have yet to show themselves. We are sorry to leave and we would look to come out again after a suitable interval back with our family; whether we go back to Rwanda or whether we challenge ourselves further in another country remains to be seen.

Adult Literacy Visits Sept/Oct 2011

The level of interest shown for this pilot has increased significantly over the past year. Apolline, Vice Mayor Social Affairs and Charles Munyaneza, the Unesco representative for Southern Province have both been keen to find out more about the project. Apolline allocated two half days within her busy schedule to visit two of the weekly sessions at GS Rubona and GS Nyagisozi. At both classes the adults were delighted that someone from the District level was really interested in their lives. They sang, recited tongue twisters, role played and showed their newly acquired numeracy skills all in English. The response from Epimaque following our visit was summed up in this text message:

‘Good weekend, even if late let me thank you for visiting my school. You have built a political will of the representative of district. I hope that project has achieved the objectives. God be blessed and bless your life. Thanks a million.’

The impact of this project has in the short term been immense upon the lives of these agricultural semi-literate workers. The level of self confidence has increased significantly. At GS Nyagisozi, the attendees had the courage to question Apolline in English (with some translation by their teacher from Kinyarwanda) about important and pertinent issues. The ensuing political debate was continued in their mother tongue, but this pilot has given these people life skills that few could have envisaged. In the long term the hope is that with the District’s support the programme will go from strength to strength, being rolled out to other Sectors. Not only have these adults been empowered, they now have self belief and the confidence to support and encourage their children to attend and benefit from schooling. A measure of the success of this project will be the reduction in the level of pupils’ dropout within the catchment of these literacy centres. It has been a privilege to be part of this inspirational programme. The warmth and affection that I have received from all participants has been very humbling.

New volunteers

September has seen a fresh intake of eager volunteers; the numbers augmented by not only the need to replace those whose placements are soon to be at an end but also in response to VSO International’s assessment of the worth of Rwanda as a volunteer destination. Rwanda is the one country in VSO’s gamut of global placements that has been deemed worthy of an increase in the number of volunteer positions available. When we came out there were about 50 of us in the country; now there are plans to have in the region of 75 by the end of the coming year.


Consequently, the intake has been larger than usual; nearly 30. Training and orientation is essential for them to bond as a group and to ease the doubts in their minds. It is common for them not to feel up to the task or not to grasp the practical requirements of their particular assignment. Melissa has been busy using her experiences to guide those in the education sector and she rates the intake as a whole well above average and she is confident they will be more than able to meet the challenges.

Part of the process of getting the volunteers used to the resources they have available is to get them to meet the volunteers already established in the country. In the course of their almost 2 weeks spent “in country” training they are led in the sessions by experienced volunteers best placed to use their skills and understanding for that section of training. Only about a quarter of the available reserve of volunteers is used for training and in order to meet the rest the Programme office organises a “Welcome Dinner”.

For those who have been to previous dinners there are two things not to look forward to; the “bonding” process at the beginning consisting doing daft things to show what good sports we all are, but worse than that to have had the ill-luck to be chosen to run it all. Those with a weaker disposition hide in the pub over the road until rousted out. This year was actually good; we as seasoned volunteers, split into groups, had each to present an experience gained in Rwanda-two true and one made up. The newbie’s had to decide which was the false story. It went quite well except that the venue is a barn of a place and you could do with some sort of PA system.

After the meal we were entertained by Intore dancers. We’ve seen Intore dancing no end of times but it still looks good when done as well as that. Again those who’ve been before know it’s time to slip off to the loo when they get to the end of their set to avoid the audience participation.

It has been known that Coral was to be the replacement for Melanie this autumn; the plan was that she would be here to help Coral settle in. However, with Melanie’s premature return to the UK, Coral was going to be up against it. Coral and Melissa had met and had time to talk about Nyanza and the district during the in country training. If we had had the keys to the house, Melissa would have been able to tell Coral what she needed to buy, but as the landlord still had them in order to do repairs and some painting; the state of the house would be a nice surprise for us all.

In order for a volunteer to get all their luggage and stuff they’ve bought for their house at the beginning of their placement, the District organises a pick-up truck to ferry them from Kigali to the house they have been allocated. It’s possible to do it using public transport but lugging everything to the bus and then organising transport to a house you’ve never been to and trying to explain where it is to a taxi driver who speaks only Kinyarwanda is a nightmare. Our first sight of the house since Melanie left at the end of May is a bit of a shock. The landlord has indeed been in but not done any of the repairs to the plumbing that were promised. He has done a fair job of painting the rooms. The floors are misted by droplets of emulsion interspersed with larger gobbets; a star map on the dark rendered finish. The feeling of a tropical night is augmented in the kitchen where the whole room is a rich dark blue, the gloom relieved only slightly by the room’s tiny window. As a practical solution for a place where you need to see what you’re doing it has not been well thought out.

We felt a call to the landlord to change the colour would probably not go down well so it was decided to do the job in-house and buy something in a lighter shade. The landlord’s blue was an oil paint but in order to get on with it quickly and be able to wash the excess off easily we went for a water based product. So it was with much emulsion that we contemplated the task ahead. It took four coats but in the end the effect was startling. With each successive layer the room gradually emerged from obscurity. The whole of the 20 litre jerry can of “French Stone” went on the walls, the floor, Melissa and Coral and their clothes.

We had called upon Aphrodise’s aid to select a plumber to do those things that had not been done by the landlord. To reconnect the loo to the mains water was easy enough but to replace the bathroom basin was a bit trickier. There hadn’t been a washbowl of any sort for some years so he had to start on the assumption that the waste and water pipes that still peeped from the wall would work. Because we had picked a day when the water was off, no check was possible. At least there would be a place to wash hands even if it has to be filled from a jerry can.

Melanie has had her baby; it was induced to come and arrived on Friday September 16 weighing 8 lbs 8oz named Namayanja Marian. Moses is ecstatic. He has reason to have his cup running over; he looks as though he finally has had his UK visa granted so it won’t be too long before he can see Melanie and Namayanja in the flesh.

Jacky is back to work; 3 days a week instead of 5. I’m not sure whether she welcomes the additional 2 days rest or whether she could really do with the extra money. Kevin is proving a handful. I don’t know how he is at home but here he hardly seems to have been laid down after a feed than he’s bawling again. She’s pretty good with him but she can’t manage to feed him enough herself; she showed me she had a really nasty sore spot on one breast so she bottles him as well. It’s not that obvious what the problem is and I didn’t feel it my place to have a closer look, there being just the two of us at the time.

It’s gone quiet with the milk project; Mackenzie and I spent some time in Gisenyi producing a film of how udder preparation should be done bearing in mind the practical considerations necessary. You can see it on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suVranSMiZM All the commentary is in kinyarwanda but you get the idea. The reason for the hold up is one of marketing; a lot of effort and research is going into the concept of mobile milk stalls to sell the products in Kigali. I was in the loop on the discussions early on but it soon became apparent that any veterinary input was superfluous. One proposal from the marketing men related to my declaration that cloths for cleaning and drying the udder should not be shared between cows. We had worked on this principle with the farmers and none had objected to the initial outlay. Paper towels would be better but in the long run they are expensive and disposal is a problem. Cotton towels, provided they are washed and dried daily, are very acceptable and being reusable not too expensive over the long term. The suggestion from the marketeers was for leaves or husks to be used instead of cloths in order to save the farmers money. If they are still serious I will have to see how they get on cleaning their own hands like that before sitting down to a meal.

Beer and milk lead to strange encounters

Last week we had a tragedy in the town. The Monday of our arrival back from Kenya was a bank holiday, celebrating The Assumption. Many of the local church groups take this opportunity to visit other churches or shrines to take part in ceremonies and services. In order to make this a community experience, and bearing in mind car ownership is very limited, it is common for groups to hire an ATRACO (Association des Transport en Commun) van or matatu to make the journey.

I should explain that public transport for the vast majority, including us, is by bus. They divide themselves into Coasters or Atracos. Coasters look pretty bus like and despite the inconvenience of the aisle being regularly blocked by the supplementary seats that unfold into it, they provide a degree of comfort in that the seats are not too close to the ones in front and there is good headroom and ventilation. Depending on the design, Coasters can seat about 25 all up and it’s a rare bus that does not have its full complement of bums on seats. The Atracos however are Toyota Hiace vans about a third the size of the Coasters but with 18 passengers and the driver jammed into the diminutive seats. Getting in and out of Atracos is not for the overweight or the unsupple. We use them when we have to, being just about tolerable for short journeys or where there is no alternative. I cannot understand their attraction, it’s not as though the fare is less for being so discomforted, but they are the most numerous form of public transport for long and short journeys.

It was in one of these Atracos that the church group came to grief. During a sharp descent the brakes failed and it collided with a tree. 2 were killed and about 10 others ended up in Butare hospital. The injuries will have been made worse by the absence of seat belts. Even in the few buses that have belts they are seldom used reflecting a lack of belief that restraint is any use; drivers of buses all have seat belts but only pretend to use them during police checks, they come straight off once surveillance is over.

It has long been a bit of a mystery to us as to how death is managed in Rwanda. Apart from the mass graves that each town or community uses as a focus for the remembrance of the genocide the only visible graves or cemeteries are those in which priests or nuns of the Catholic Church are elaborately interred. Occasionally we see a wicker bier carried shoulder high by four men going along the road. It is only if we see hands clinging to the lip or a head bobbing above the side of the bier that we know it is a casualty off to the hospital and not a corpse on the way to a funeral. Burials take place very soon after death; it’s not unusual for the interment to happen on the same day. Graves are dug in cemeteries; in Nyanza there’s one very close to the football stadium but it is not given prominence. In smaller communities it is common for burials to take place within the compound of the family house, but this is being actively discouraged by the authorities.

The two fatalities, both women, lived not far away along our road. On the Tuesday, the day after the incident, I had to go into town to get more beer and passed by a line of parked cars and Atracos outside the family house. It didn’t take much to see that the funeral preparations were reaching a climax and as I thought it best to let them get all settled before my journey home, I decided to call in to Zebounissa for half an hour. We discussed what had happened and of course she had known both the victims, in particular the woman whose funeral was today. We are used to the tradition where nothing controversial is brought up in the remembrance of those recently dead, but Zebounissa had nothing good to say about her. It was her opinion that most of her acquaintances would be glad to see the back of her and she went on to make some startling allegations of her conduct during and after the genocide.

I thought I had timed things well but on my return I and my crate of beer became entangled not only in the crowd of mourners leaving the house for the journey to the church but the press of interested bystanders. The motor hearse chose that moment to emerge, flashing blue lights, and manoeuvred around the parked cars in the narrow road followed by the procession of principal mourners. We met on the brow of the hill; I trying to disassociate myself from the incongruity of my procession with the beer and they trying to maintain the dignity of the occasion while a casually dressed muzungu was forced to squeeze past.

Jacky came to visit us at the weekend complete with her baby of just 2 months. It is still quite small for such an age so it may well have been a bit premature. One Monday in late June we had a call from Z to say Jacky wasn’t feeling too well and had decided to go to hospital and she wouldn’t be in. She was still due to be working for us until the end of that month as the baby wasn’t expected until early August. By the next day we had heard the news of her delivery and that she had had a boy, Kevin. Doesn’t sound very Rwandan but he’s on the Saint’s calendar, June 3. About a week later I went over to Z’s house with Jacky’s wages and the things she had left with us and there they both were looking happy and healthy. Somehow in the time between Friday, when we last saw her before the birth and now she had had her hair braided; that together with the mum’s outfit of headscarf, floral dress and wraparound to carry the infant gave her a more mature look. When we saw her last Saturday she seemed to have taken to motherhood in a big way, and considering she’s on her own she’s being very positive. We have asked her to come back and work for us from the beginning of September for 3 days a week albeit it will be only for a couple of months. I admire her spirit and she is in need of the money far more than Bertine.

I go tomorrow back up to Gisenyi to do a second week among the herds that supply milk to Kivu Dairy. The first week was spent mainly trying to understand what routines are in place and seeing if there are any constraints to improving the quality. The problem is more that the rules of the market keep changing; the principal buyer for an improved quality of milk has cranked up the quality standards to such an extent that opinion is they are looking for an excuse to refuse all milk without being seen to break their contracts. The economics depend very much on using the premium price to allow for a price differential for improved quality. Without a significant incentive, getting and retaining a change in routine will be difficult.

Originally, all the milk was to have been sold to this major processor for conversion to UHT, for which use milk must be of good quality. Once their quality requirements became more stringent, a new market had to be sought; initially it could be sold in Kigali on what’s euphemistically called the secondary market (there’s no tertiary, so if it looks white, it’s in) but the transportation costs and the fluctuations in the daily price made it impossible to sustain a price for farmers above that they can get locally.

Kivu Dairy is just across the border from the DRC and here there is an unsatisfied demand for a fermented milk product called ikivuguto. From the dairy supplying processors who make it, it is but a short step to make it at the dairy ourselves. For a successful drink to be made, the milk must be pasteurised and then incubated with a specific culture. For the moment in the absence of pasteuriser or temperature controlled incubator, Kivu dairy is rolling it off by standing several milk churns in a bath of water heated by charcoal. I’m assured that the kit for a more streamlined production will not be long in coming. It does not require any special quality milk to make something very acceptable to the Congolese, the main consumers. But if all the production is turned towards this end there is no real need to encourage the farmers to change the habit of generations to produce a milk of better quality. I have no particular qualms if the lack of cleanliness of the udder or the milkers’ hands continues; there are no patent welfare issues with the cows brought about by the present practices. The farmers would benefit from increased volume if they could control mastitis and reduce long term udder infections but to be able to demonstrate convincingly those advantages to farmers would take years.

Alternative to amber nector!

It’s great to be back in demand again. Through a series of coincidences, I have been able to team up with an NGO that is keen to promote the dairy industry in Rwanda. They are doing so by setting up a business connected with milk processing which will be able to pay farmers a premium for their milk provided it meets certain quality standards. The NGO can do this because it will not be subsidising the price but paying it through the profits it will generate by the sale of the milk products. In this way it is hoped the benefits will be sustainable.

Dairying in Rwanda suffers from much the same problems as dairying throughout the whole of sub-Saharan Africa. The constraints can be summarised under a very few headings.

The native cows have very poor genetics in terms of milk production. This is being addressed and the importation of Holstein-Friesian semen is slowly altering the inherent characteristics of the cows towards producing more milk. We have only to hope that this does not turn into a headlong rush along the genetic path of production to the exclusion of all else; the problems encountered by European and American cows going along the same route over the last 30 years will surely prompt caution and moderation.

Cows here are predominantly owned by smallholder farmers. Often they are family concerns with rarely more than 10 cows being milked, but because the herd will also include young non productive animals and all the males there is much pressure to find enough to feed them all. The available land is mostly crops, fields of grass are virtually unknown and in any case the national policy is to confine cattle and zero graze them; that is to say grass and forage has to be gathered from where it grows and taken to the cows. The forage crops are often put in odd corners of the plots of vegetables or the verges of roads, and many of the sites are remote from the farm. This makes conventional grazing very difficult to control; properly managed zero grazing is a more efficient use of the available land. However, it makes the cows entirely dependent on the food presented to them and therein lies the next limitation to milk production-feeding. Sources of concentrated food, that is grains or roots are very limited and proportionally very expensive. In any case, they are probably better reserved for the population. Increasing production by feeding is a way forward but probably its future lies in the better use of traditional sources than simply stuffing the cows with carbohydrates.

Cows produce milk only after giving birth to a calf. It is possible for a cow can give milk for years on the back of having had only one calf, but the daily amount she will give will soon be a pittance. In order to boost production and to exploit a period of more effective food conversion in the immediate post calving months, she needs to have a calf frequently, once a year is the ultimate aim. Female calves are the means by which the farmer can increase his herd size and in theory his income. Male calves are a nuisance. In line with the commitment to improve the genetics of the national herd, it is government policy to use accredited sires by artificial insemination. A I is a great idea; it saves the problem of managing a bull and all the problems associated with safety, expense in buying a good one, risks of disease and consequent infertility and the nagging fear of this costly investment ending up dead one day. The success of A I depends entirely on the farmer recognising the sometimes subtle signs of oestrous and knowing when to call the technician. This takes a lot of experience and training on the farmer’s part. It’s in this area that the system tends to break down; on farms in the UK with all their resources oestrous detection often falls below 50%. Added to this is the problem that castration of the male calves is very rare. Even some university herds have no separation of potent males from the cows so naturally it can be a race as to who notices a cow in oestrous; according to some of the scanning I have done the adolescent bulls can be pretty slippy. This all sets back any slight inroads that A I has managed to make.

So far we have poor genetics, small herd size, inefficient feeding and long intervals between calvings all contributing to low milk quantity. The problem that I have been asked to help with is poor quality of milk.

Small herd size means efficiencies of scale cannot be exploited. This means machine milking is far too expensive to install for all but the most favoured herds. In many ways in a land where there is no shortage of labour and that labour comes very cheaply the lack of machinery is no great disadvantage. In developed countries, time and again problems associated with milk quality can be traced back to lack of milking machine cleaning and maintenance. However, hand milking while not especially hazardous for the cow exposes the milk to a galaxy of sources of bacterial contamination. The open bucket is a receptacle for milk and all the dust, hair, skin flakes and cow dung that accompanies it. Udder and teat cleaning are rare as is the washing of milkers’ hands. I have read of some milkers dipping their hands into the milk in order to provide lubrication to make milking easier-not a thought that makes you want to drink raw milk. The pail is then tipped through a cloth filter into a churn and left until all the other cows are milked. This soup now faces a delay of 2-4 hours before it gets to the reception dairy and can then be refrigerated, so figures of more than 1,000,000 bacteria / ml are common.

The udder exposed to such a bacteria-rich environment inevitably succumbs to infection. Acute clinical mastitis is relatively rare; chronic symptomless mastitis is the usual outcome. The inflammatory cells generated by the udder to counter this chronic inflammation and the changes wrought to the other components of the milk comprise the other quality issue. We have the task of observing what milking practices are being employed and deciding which are significant in the contribution to the contamination. We have to trust the results we are getting from the testing laboratories, suggest changes to the routines that will be effective and at the same time persuade the milkers that these changes are necessary; that even one milking when they are not done will make a difference to the milk they produce. Then we have to devise fair tests for the quality of the milk the farmers are presenting and a system of payments that will further reinforce the drive for quality.

The business needs to have sufficient daily supplies of high quality milk before the processing plant can be established. Up to now, they have attracted about 500 litres per day. They need 2000 litres to be viable. The NGO has calculated that there is possibly 6-8000 litres being produced within a 2 hour transport radius of the dairy reception centre, but most of this milk is of unknown quality. It will be an interesting period and there’s only 4 months before I go back.

Melissa and I were on the bus back to Nyanza from Kigali one Sunday. We had completed about three quarters of the journey and the passengers had begun to thin out. As is usual on the buses, the noise of conversation rivals the volume of the bus radio and it was remarkable that we could hear the sound of a stream of water falling on the bus floor and the sudden decrease in the chatter from the seat behind us. The immediate thought in my mind was that it didn’t sound like a spilt drink but something more sinister. A passenger from across the aisle poked me on the shoulder and stared meaningfully at the floor. I took it for a moment that he was accusing me of being the miscreant, but then it was obvious he was being helpful in pointing out that our rucksacks lay in the path of the oncoming liquid seeping from underneath the seat. Now with rucksacks on our knees and Melissa regretting she had chosen to wear open-toed sandals, we expected to have a damp but uneventful end to our journey. Not so. A few minutes later, there was a deafening detonation and everyone jumped. The bus quickly came to a halt. People searched about them to find the cause. Grenade attacks have happened on buses, but none lately. All we could see was a creamy liquid spreading over the window next to a stunned and bewildered old lady. I thought the liquid was on the outside and that someone had thrown something from the road and hit the bus. The old lady, still dazed, was pulling from inside a soggy brown paper bag a plastic 5 Ltr container that was now lidless. The smell of fermentation gave the clue that the heat and motion of the bus had been too much for the cap on her bottle of banana beer and the whole thing had frothed and blown. Everyone now much relieved started to laugh, all except the driver who didn’t see the funny side as he was going to have to clear it up. He was all for booting her off the bus, but the passengers and his better side prevailed and she was allowed to go on to complete her journey. She remained non-plussed and offered no explanation or apology. She descended still stupefied; perhaps imagining how she would explain the loss to an irate customer.

Adult Literacy Training is going from strength to strength

Thanks to the on-going support of VSO and friends in UK, we have managed to expand the pilot to three schools in Cyabakamyi Sector GS Rubona, GS Nyagisozi and GS Gahengeli. At each school groups of between 50-60 adults meet between

up to three

times a week.
The atmosphere
for these two
hour sessions
                                                       is amazing,

old young

disaffected

male female

illiterate

dropouts all

mix and are

galvanised

with one

common aim...to improve their learning.

Reading, writing, listening, role play are all part

of the weekly lessons...the confidence that

has been instilled into these people is a joy to see.

The increase in Rwandan nationals

Jacky will leave us at the end of this month as her pregnancy becomes more of a hindrance to her. That gives her about 5 weeks to prepare for the birth, due sometime in the first half of August. Our plans are to leave Rwanda in late November, so it is unlikely that she will have finished the 3 months she feels she needs to nurse the baby before we go. We have thought long and hard whether we need to replace her and on the whole life is less complicated with someone helping in the house. Melanie left her house over the road to return to the UK at the end of May, leaving Bettine, her domestique short of a job. It took a bit of negotiation to secure her to work for us but we feel it is only necessary for three days a week. More volunteers are planned to come to Nyanza in September and doubtless some arrangement of her working between the two houses will be worked out.


Zebounissa has long had the ambition to become a citizen of Rwanda. She was born here, and I have not had the full picture as to why her citizenship was not automatic; perhaps to do with her Indian ancestry. She has been under the handicap of being technically stateless throughout her life in Rwanda. This has led to all sorts of obstacles for her over trivial matters such as bank accounts and more weighty ones like not having a passport. For a woman in her mid fifties running her own businesses her life has been unnecessarily complicated.

The process has been drawn out; she has had to get sponsors to support her and to demonstrate by taking and passing tests her knowledge of Rwandan culture and language. This month at last she has been notified of her success. All that remained to be done was to attend a ceremony to swear allegiance and to receive her documentation. She was overjoyed at finally putting an end to the wait and invited us to be present at the mayor’s office with twenty or thirty other guests. Initially it was set for a day that coincided with Melissa having no school visits, but as with many things here the date was changed at short notice to one that precluded Melissa from attending.

I was happy to go and represent both of us. Zebounissa had specified a smart turn out; she herself would be in a sari, a costume to emphasise the fact she still feels some loyalty to her roots in the sub continent. Equally, she chose not to take the oath in Kinyarwanda but in French to remind her witnesses of her different background.

It’s been very dry this month; whether it’s the start of the proper dry season only time will tell but the dust lying on the road and thrown up by the passing traffic makes it difficult to walk anywhere without arriving looking like a tramp. There are no taxis in Nyanza and riding on a moto only means the dust layer is thinner but more widespread. So having decided to wear a jacket and trousers and not a suit it was just a matter of walking without kicking up too much dirt and hoping there was a lull in the lorries speeding past on their way to complete the major road repairs being done in the town.

I arrived with only a powdering of red dust to find a crowd of guests with Zebounissa in the middle waiting to be granted entrance to the council chamber that was to serve as venue for the proceedings. I was surprised to be one of the last to arrive; it was a minute or two after the arranged time of noon and for things to happen here on time is almost unprecedented. I needn’t have worried, we went into the chamber and took our places, relishing the luxury of using office chairs normally reserved for the councillors, and waited 20 minutes for the mayor to turn up.

It seems that no Rwandan occasion can be allowed to pass without the contribution of at least two or three speeches, and a speech isn’t worthy of the name unless it goes on for at least 20 minutes. I suppose that speeches when declaimed in a foreign language are of necessity more opaque and dense and therefore something to endure rather than enjoy. Even so, to judge by the expressions of the audience no-one was spellbound by the message or amused by the jokes. Zebounissa’s role in giving her pledge of allegiance while holding the flag amounted to no more than a few minutes between the speeches. Once the business was completed to the satisfaction of the officials, she showed off her certificate of citizenship while being congratulated by all around her. Then came the photographs; much in the style we are used to at weddings in the UK, Zebounissa and sponsors, then special guests and so on until the final wrap up of everyone on the district office steps.

She led a procession of guests and interested hangers on back along the main street, picking up handshakes and kind expressions of greeting all the way back to her very modest one room house at the other end of town. Her house lies in the grounds of a redundant mosque from which she sells her bicycle parts, using the lobby of the mosque as a secure store. The mosque’s generous porch/veranda was the site of her own part of the celebration of what she had achieved by citizenship and as a way of thanking those that had helped. The ubiquitous sugary soda drink was shared out together with a light Indian lunch for all present. A contemporary of hers gave the speech, and she gave a brief response. More photographs and then we all left after about an hour.

I’m very happy for her; she is remarkably cultured, speaking fluent English and French and has a large collection of books in those languages. She has been very helpful to us during our stay in Nyanza and I hope she remains firmly connected with the volunteers here. She is always the first important introduction to secure when new volunteers come for their placement. She has fond memories of previous volunteers and it is to be hoped that this relationship will be fostered by those that follow.

As I hinted, we appear to be in the grip of the dry season. Apart from the universal dust, we have already gone on to water rationing. The system operates by only pressurising the pipes for about 12 hours every 2 days. The hours of supply start at around 17.00 and then go off about 09.00 next morning. So far the resumption of supply has been predictable so planning is practical and with plenty of empty vessels enough can be stored to last the next 36 hours. If the dry season extends itself beyond the normal and the interruption to the supply goes on for longer the situation will naturally get more difficult. For the majority who have no mains supply the routine is unchanged. Before school begins children have the chore of fetching water; most of them pass by our house on the way to the spring, the noise of empty jerry cans being banged wakes us before the alarm goes off. While the return of our supply can be anticipated reliably, Jacky has no need to join the procession once a jerry can is empty. We want her to keep her waters for as long as possible.