melissawanda

The pleasures of being a volunteer

2011-10-16T23:42:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-08T07:25:00.001-07:00

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

2011-09-23T00:10:00.001-07:00

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

2011-08-23T00:25:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-07-25T01:15:00.001-07:00

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

2011-07-14T02:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-23T06:13:00.000-07:00

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.

Royal wedding Rwandan Style

2011-05-30T05:51:00.001-07:00

From time to time the British diplomatic staff in Kigali get it in their heads to meet and greet any Brits in the country. Normally the time to get the bunting out is the Queen’s birthday but this year I think for reasons of economy they had decided to bring the event forward in favour of the Wedding. We had received invitations to attend but the venue was not the Embassy, or rather now that Rwanda is in the Commonwealth, the High Commission, but at the High Commissioner’s residence. The only qualification to be invited is to be a British national, but even that seems to be pretty elastic; members of the Commonwealth were equally welcome.

We had missed last year’s Birthday celebrations because I was in Musanze and Melissa doing school visits. Co-incidentally, Lucy flew back to the UK on that Friday so we had to be in Kigali to see her off anyway. It just meant finding somewhere to stay that night as the party began at 18.00 and was scheduled to end at 20.00. We left Lucy at the airport with plenty of time for her 15.00 departure so we went back into town to do some shopping and pass the time until the evening.

Rwanda television is a government sponsored organisation and there is only one channel. It’s all there is unless you want to go to the expense of getting a satellite dish. Most bars have a television and those with some eye on customer demand use the screen to show interminable pop DVDs instead. On this Saturday, Rwanda television chose to broadcast The Wedding to the exclusion of all else. On a big screen in one of the main shopping precincts in Kigali, the only ones watching were us, trying and not succeeding to name the guests filing into Westminster Abbey. It was embarrassing to think that someone considered this to be prime viewing for a population that was so palpably indifferent. The interesting part for us was to see who had got invited and who had been overlooked, so once the ceremony proper looked imminent, we drifted away.

Getting to the residence turned out to be a greater challenge than we had imagined. Together with my acceptance to the invitation I had tacked on a request for directions to the venue. These were duly furnished but they referred to surrounding buildings and embassies that no-one had heard of. Kigali is a pleasant city for the most part open with great views across its hills and valleys, but one thing it lacks is an effective system of street names and signposts. We had to instruct moto drivers knowing only that we were looking for somewhere within a kilometre of the American embassy.

In order to have a successful relationship with a moto driver it is necessary to haggle over the price for the journey before you set out. Once done the cost is pretty much fixed. However, the relationship gets edgy when despite all efforts the destination isn’t where they thought it was. We needed three drivers to carry our party and you could tell they were cooperating to find the place by the way they were shouting to each other and pointing at us.

The groups of smart cars and taxis at the bottom of the drive showed we had arrived and so long as your name was on the list you were in. I could see that some people had brought their passports for ID but that was a bit over the top I thought. I got in with no ID at all. After all we were on British soil now.

You could see the cuts are beginning to bite. The punch had absolutely no alcohol in it and the Wedding highlights were being shown on a not so big screen. By the look of it, someone had videoed them to produce an endless loop. The food was passable but very scarce. For some reason the drinks were being served exclusively by Americans. Some sort of diplomatic trade off I suppose. I expect at the 4th of July celebrations the expats will find themselves served by defeated redcoats.

Things drew to a close at a creditable 22.00 and we had to walk back towards the American embassy to find more motos. Having found 3 more, they drove straight back past the Residence and took the direct route back to the hotel. Needing a proper drink we headed to the nearest bar. While supping our lagers, the television was still churning out the highlights of the Wedding to a crowd of drunks who did seem to be more caught up in the atmosphere. I’d love to have been able to make sense of their comments.

Cheetahs of Serengeti

2011-05-12T07:14:00.000-07:00

The ups and downs of living here!

2011-05-06T04:22:00.001-07:00

Further to my hunt to change status from househusband to someone actively helping towards improving the conditions of livestock here in Rwanda, I have little to report except set-backs. In January, I renewed my acquaintance with a member of the Rwandan Dairy Association whom I had met at Expo 2010 in Kigali last August. I had suggested that some meetings with the members of the RDA might be useful . As I was expecting to be working full time teaching in 2011, we did not pursue matters or discuss what he thought I might do beyond him being keen for us to work together. Anyway we agreed to keep in touch.

With the merger of the two veterinary schools and the evaporation of any possibility of a job at the new, improved school, I thought it now practical to see exactly what was behind his eagerness. On the business card he had given me his company was in the agriculture/veterinary consultancy field so I imagined that it was my practical experience he was after.

He greeted my call with great enthusiasm and suggested we meet in a couple of days at the office in Kigali. He outlined their interest in training technicians who work with cattle, and he also proposed we visit the farm that he envisaged would be suitable as a base for training and perhaps I could recommend a cattle-handling system that would suit their purposes.

Once I had found their office I met with members of the team; 2 veterinarians and 2 management cum presentational specialists. The fifth member, the owner of the farm destined to the training centre was absent. The veterinarians were very much in the background. The spokesperson and main force behind the enterprise was the man I met the previous year in Kigali. The meeting did not get off to a good start. Freddy, the RDA and main man was late and then announced he had to attend another event in Kigali and wouldn’t be back until 2.00. I, having got up early especially to get to this morning meeting for 10, was not best pleased but restrained myself. As this other meeting was in the neighbourhood of the VSO programme office, I got him to give me a lift there rather than wait in the somewhat sterile atmosphere of their office, the other members having drifted off. He pledged for us to visit the farm in the afternoon so the day would not be wasted.

At VSO I reflected on the brief outline of their proposal so far. I was to be part of this team and contribute to the training element as well as advising on gaining contracts from foreign NGOs to finance everything. Alterations were necessary to the farm and the team had no income at present. No contracts had been secured so far. There was at the moment no money. I wasn’t clear whether submissions had already been made for contracts but they had apparently formulated a proposal to bid for contracts. For my part, the role was still not clear but I could see they would find my experience useful.

During my time at the programme office, the skies darkened and we had the normal midday thunderstorm with an average quantity of torrential rain. However, when Freddy came to pick me up following his other meeting he declared that the roads to the farm would be impassable even in his 4x4. This led me to question the wisdom of using such a farm as a training centre and a plan to expand the buildings to be used as accommodation for students seemed fraught . Freddy was insistent that the viability of the scheme depended on the fact that one of the team owned this farm and they wouldn’t be able to look for another. So the afternoon proved to be another washout.

I had expected to be back late that day; too late to be able to catch the bus back to Nyanza so I had arranged to stay with some fellow volunteers in Kigali. I would mean that I could have a further meeting the next morning but my suggestion was rejected as they all had other plans. I asked to look at their scheme of proposals that they would submit in order to bid for contracts and to this Freddy agreed. He did not have a copy there, but he said he would get one printed off for me the next day. He later rang and said this would not be practical but would email me a copy.

Despite all these setbacks he was still convinced we should work together and proposed a second meeting the following week. Ever the optimist I agreed. I did not get the email he had promised; he said they would have a copy for the next meeting. When this meeting convened, he announced that his fellow board members were unwilling for me to see their proposals as they did not know me well enough, not surprising after only 20 minutes of conversation the previous week. It’s only now 3 months later that I can imagine how their pitch would have gone down in front of the Dragon’s Den; I suppose it reflects a measure of how ready I am to clutch at straws. After this equally unsatisfactory meeting, I sent Freddy an email setting out my thoughts such as they were and suggesting I see the documents that the NGOs had sent to them setting out the requirements for their submissions. Despite all the display of keenness and warm words I haven’t heard a peep since.

It’s a week since we got back from Tanzania and a second visit to the Serengeti with Lucy who celebrated her 25th birthday with us out there. It was very welcome to see her again and for once the trip went with barely a hitch. The list of animals seen exceeded that of the last safari and despite it being low season because of the rains we had only a splash and that at night. Lucy had brought out 2 bottles of champagne and we persuaded the hotel to put them in the fridge in exchange for the purchase of a surprise birthday cake for her. We were there for 4 nights. Initially there were few guests but as the day approached there was a steady influx until in a packed dining room the lights went out and to the accompaniment of an unconventional “Happy Birthday” in came the blazing cake. Embarrassment lasted only moments during applause and the blowing out of the candles before the cake was but crumbs.

Lucy had the opportunity to experience volunteer life when she was able to spend a few days in Nyanza at either end of her stay. The weather held off enough to let her go and see the King’s Palaces, one of which is visible across the valley from our house. She visited the market at its new site close to the newer of the palaces and on the way back, she and Melissa passed a house that is in the process of being converted into a veterinary clinic under the aegis of Vétérinaires sans Frontières, the Belgian organisation of which I may have spoken. They have an established base in Butare 40 minutes away by bus and I had made contact with their in-country vet last year. I therefore did so again to see if there were likely to be any opportunities for me to help. He replied that they were recruiting at the moment and he hoped there would be occasions in the future when I might be involved with training. Sounds more hopeful than Freddy’s doomed enterprise.

Email this morning from a friend in Kigali remarking that a veterinarian recently out of college is looking for a job and did I know of any openings. I know the recruitment for the positions in Nyanza is really aimed at experienced clinicians but it highlights the lack of connections that students have with clinicians and the absence of an effective national veterinary organisation to act as a forum for employment. My discussions with final year students revealed their greatest concern was being unemployed; nothing more potent to discourage future vets who have spent vast amounts on fees and expenses just to find they have no way of paying back their sponsors.

Reflections in April

2011-04-14T04:45:00.000-07:00

This is the middle of genocide memorial week, picked to mark the beginning of the months of slaughter in 1994. April 6 was the day the then president of Rwanda was killed in a plane shot down over the capital Kigali, sparking the organised killing of the Tutsi minority together with any moderate Hutus who were disinclined to join in. At the time the population was designated either Hutu or Tutsi, covering 99% of people. The remaining 1% are Twa or what’s left of the original forest pygmies. Everyone had an identity card that clearly stated into which group the holder fell and tribal identity was part of life at the time. The tension between the groups sprang in part from the fact that the Tutsi constitute about 10% of the country but had been in the position of power for most of Rwanda's history.

The course of events, the scale and swiftness of the genocide; worse in terms of concentrated killing that the Nazi attempt at extermination of the Jews, and the failure of effective global response to the tragedy are all a matter of record.

Not surprisingly, the effects of that traumatic period are still felt today. All those over the age of about 20 will have some memory burned within them. Many families were now headed by children in the place of murdered parents. Without a breadwinner, and the poverty that entails meant education has suffered for a generation. The sight of men on crutches with legs off and others with stumps instead of hands are still the visible legacy of that time.

The line encouraged by the president, Paul Kagame, speaks of Rwandans and not of tribal divisions; they are one people working with a common aim and any organised attempt to revert to the old classifications would be treated with severe penalties. That is not to say there have been tensions from time to time and some pessimists see a future that may dissolve into crisis along tribal lines if there arrives a period of instability in government. The one thing that is completely off limits in a social situation is asking whether someone is Hutu or Tutsi. You have to know someone pretty well before they may volunteer what happened to them during 1994.

Each community has in the town or close to it a mass grave containing an unspecified amount of anonymous remains. All these sites will be visited with much ceremony. People have the afternoon off all this week with the purpose of allowing them to pay their respects to all the sites relevant to them and their families. The football stadium in Nyanza will be the focus of many preliminary gatherings before the actual visits take place. There is usually a concomitant disruption of the daily routine; buses and shops will stop their services and offices only be fully staffed in the mornings.

Volunteers tend not to go to the ceremonies; not having been directly involved and being surrounded by people deep in private thoughts makes us uncomfortable. In addition, by sticking out from the crowd we would tend to detract from the feeling of solidarity in the community. Memorial week is often taken as an opportune time for volunteers to go out of the country. This year we have chosen to stay, not from any desire to participate but to make it possible for Lucy to come over during Easter and celebrate her birthday with us.

It is rumoured that the rental on the house is due for an increase at the end of this month. At the moment we suspect that rent comes to about 70,000 Rwf and that Aphrodise is angling for it to reach 100,000. In view of this hike, we thought it in order to get some jobs done by him to justify paying more. VSO pay the rent, but seem quite content to comply with any increases that come their way. They even seem to put up with paying for repairs that anywhere else would be the landlord’s responsibility. Together Melissa and I compiled a niggle list to give to VSO in face of the upping of their costs. There’s a leak in the roof, but apart from the drip being perilously close to a light fitting it doesn’t actually get through the plywood ceiling. The plants out at the front are all in cement pots and as they have got bigger, so have the pots exceeded their design spec. and most have burst apart. Cement is all that is used here for most construction jobs; buildings very rarely go above single storey except in Kigali. It seems to me to have the consistency and strength of shortbread so it only needs a nudge for bits to crumble off. Aphrodise has offered plastic pots as a substitute; a good idea provided they are UV resistant.

At the top of this fairly short list is the back gate. This gate serves the courtyard below the level of the house itself. Most houses are set in grounds of generous size and the main gate allows access to all parts as the boundaries come nowhere near the house walls. We, on the other hand, are hard by the main culvert that drains about a 400 metre stretch of road and it doesn’t take much rain for this to become very full and noisy. Our boundary wall facing this drain is at its narrowest point only one foot away from the house. When we have charcoal delivered the bag is too big to negotiate this gap so the choice is through the house or use the back gate. Over the years the frame of this gate has lost its original form and tended towards the lozenge, leaving the gate itself untouched but displacing the staples fixed to the frame into which the bolts slide. It has got to the point that Jacky cannot shoot the bolts back home after the door has been opened and has to leave it unfastened.

Aphrodise agrees that something should be done; being an all metal construction the easiest approach would be to cut off the old staples and weld new ones further down the frame. A welder is duly booked and turns up 8.30 Monday morning. His appraisal at first glance seems to involve lifting the door off its hinges, taking it away and tailoring it to fit the distorted frame. As it is a heavy construction of 50 mm tube and covered completely in sheet steel, it seems to us to not the most practical or cheapest option. Mrs Aphrodise and I, communicating in broken french, between us put forward the idea to shift the staples instead and this notion was endorsed by all. He promises to be back with the kit in 20 minutes and indeed he is but in the meantime we have a power cut. He spends some of this down time connecting to our outside socket but eventually he is resigned to leave the job for the moment and finds something more useful to do back in the town. He disappeared for most of the morning, but I assume wherever he was it was on the same electrical circuit as here because no sooner than the power was restored, he was banging on the main gate to get on and finish.

I have only had dealings with welding once before when the garden fork Melissa got me from Kigali broke its handle and needed fixing. On that occasion I went to the workshop recommended by the hardware shop for the repair. For all it was terrifyingly Heath-Robinson he did a good job, was happy to interrupt an existing piece of welding and took only 30 minutes. My man with the gate was equally cavalier with electrical safety but we got a result. He even threw in a coat of galvanised paint onto the welds.

Welder at work

The joys of african time!

2011-03-23T01:13:00.001-07:00

African time is often practised here, a meeting that is scheduled to start at 9.0am could well commence at 10.0am if you are lucky. The trick is to anticipate and adjust the agenda accordingly. This week has seen an interesting and hugely varied array of timekeeping. Meeting regularly the Head Teachers in each Sector (a subdivision of the District, with around 6-8 Heads in each of the ten sectors) they are well accustomed to arrive at the predetermined time for training, the incentive of a free fanta and brochettes at the end of the session is a great lure and might have something to do with it! The week started with an hour long motor cycle ride through verdant, hilly countryside. Banana, coffee and cassava are all growing at a pace in the fields; the rainy season seems to have been with us since the start of the year with the resulting evidence as far as the eye can see. Goats being hauled to the weekly market are the main obstacles on the uneven dirt road. Occasionally, a khaki clad child will come hurtling from the undergrowth onto the road oblivious of the dangers of the moto speeding passed. A quick toot on the horn and the urchin scuttles off into the arms of a bemused parent.

The training this term covers data analysis, centred on the recent National Examination results for P6 (roughly 12/13 year olds). With the genocide in 1994 still having a profound impact on the attendance of children at primary school, a whole generation is on catch up so the age range for P6 varies from 10-18 years old, making for some marked social issues. Interestingly, the results this year show a gender achievement difference in Social Studies and Geography (girls under scoring by a significant amount), whilst there is parity in languages and maths. Much of the training has centred on trying to identify different strategies to boost girls’ attendance and motivation, by rewarding improvement; a novel idea here where the tendency has been historically to condemn poor performance; blaming and firing Heads for low achievement. The pass rate overall (students eligible to move from primary to lower secondary school) has risen by 10%, ensuring that nearly 90% of pupils make the move and stay in education. A notably achievement in a District where the illiteracy rate amongst adults in the countryside is just under 50%.

All the Head Teachers bar one had arrived by the allotted hour. Lively discussions ensued in English, which is a huge credit to the desire of the Heads to understand in depth the language of the classroom. Also this emphasises the inability of me to converse in either French or Kinyarwanda. The absent Head had unexpected visitors (he is hoping that a NGO will invest in the infrastructure of his crumbling school), but he still found time to phone to offer his apologies. The group decided to have a Sector based initiative to promote awareness amongst parents, encourage girls’ performance by offering small rewards and certificates for improvement in attendance and achievement. Once the strategy had been agreed, it was off to the nearby town, passed the heaving market, to the local hostelry for the infamous fanta (highly sugared, brightly coloured fizzy drinks) and sizzling chilli-spiced goat brochettes. The hour long wait was worth it, the food when it came was delicious. Though the freshly killed meat does tend to stick in your teeth for many hours after the meal!

This is the pattern for the three other sector-based Head Teacher training sessions this week. Though the food is not replicated, the generosity, warmth, friendliness, receptiveness and depth of interest are across all groups of Heads. A very humbling experience.

Once a year VSO hosts a meeting with all the local stakeholders to verify the work of the Nyanza volunteers. Daunting you might think, but no, we are more than happy for Heads and teachers to do the talking, whilst we just stay quietly in the background. Unusual yes, but we can stay mute..occasionally! The problems started when VSO mindful of Rwandan timekeeping issued invitations for 8.30 assuming a 9.30am start. But oh no...our colleagues were punctual to a man and were left kicking their heels for an hour..not wasted time as Melanie and I were quite content to chat to them and plan for the future. Once the formalities were over, and we were joined by a group of 10/11 year old pupils and some parents, the fun began! I must stress at this stage that the local school from where the students come is not one where we have done any specific training. The attendees were divided into five groups (two HT, one each teachers, pupils/parents and disability). The first four groups were asked to illustrate, through drawings on flipchart paper, their current views on school life. The results were very revealing ...students, always straight to the truth, portrayed the classroom without a teacher who was outside on a mobile phone on personal business; they also interestingly perceived widespread gender bias within the school environs. But on the positive side, there was an acknowledgement of the importance of learning and potential wealth! The other groups gratifyingly took a totally more enlightened approach. The huge changes that are being implemented in education currently were reflected through drawings of new buildings, child centred learning, improved management skills and gender equality, although the issue of teacher motivation (poor pay) was still a sore point. The depth of training that we have both carried out over the past year was clear to see and much appreciated, but there was still scope for lots more.

And so to lunch...the melange was set up on a long table. It is Rwandan culture for the children to go first....they each in turn reproduced multi-coloured food pyramids on their plates..chips, rice, meat, salads, beans, greens, banana, pineapple, sauce were all piled on with gay abandon. The skill was to heap more onto the plate than the previous person. Even more amazing were the resulting finished clean plates. I feel that they had really enjoyed their time out of school and will remember it fondly for weeks to come. Needless to say the food was equally well received by teachers and Heads alike..many are used to one meal a day of beans and rice, so this wide variety of local food was reward for their hard morning’s work.

The afternoon’s discussions centred on the future of the partnership and the direction which this relationship should take. There was a general consensus that there was a need for more volunteers and would we like to stay on....humbling to be asked, but the decision will have to wait for another day.

After the last of the week’s training sessions, I took my moto across one of the many deep Nyanza valleys, over to a very rural but progressive secondary school. EAV Mayaga is Muyira Sector’s only secondary school (discounting Groupe Scolaires). The students come from the surrounding area and are not the highest P6 performers. However, the ordinary level (lower secondary national exams) results were outstanding. This relatively small (350) boarding rural community had achieved the joint highest level of Division I passes in 2010 O Level (tied with Christi Roi, a selective urban school). Within the District it achieved top marks for Kinyarwanda, and was placed in the top five for most of the other seven subjects. This noteworthy performance was marked by celebration and speeches. As the ‘statistician’ I was asked not only to attend but to give a resume of the data. A humbling experience to be included in these festivities with the local and District dignitaries. But gosh the Rwandans can speak...what should have started at 11.0am, commenced at 2.00pm (on the District Education Officer’s arrival) with speeches and presentation to the whole school, then hot food (which had been hanging around for an hour or so), then more speeches...we left at 5.30pm..they certainly had their money’s worth! But the effort was well worth it, just looking (soberly) at the celebrations and the beer consumption, a great time was had by all!

The patter of tiny feet? Maybe.

2011-03-20T02:34:00.000-07:00

Jackie had something she needed to say on Friday. I could tell this was more than run of the mill as she murmured “Mademoiselle”. This means I have to ring up Zebounissa who still serves as interpreter for serious or complicated stuff. Jackie and I communicate a little better than we used, but it’s still very much in the realm of nouns and gestures, better than a series of grunts but not exactly the Oxford Union. When I have to call on Zebounissa's help it’s often bad news, the last time was a death in Jackie's family that meant 3 days off for her to attend the funeral.

It turned out that she had to go to the doctors on Monday and needed not only time off but 2000 Rfr to pay the fee. Lending her the money was not a problem; it was nearly time for her to be paid and we had planned to give her a bit extra this month anyway, it being a year since she started. She wanted all morning because there’s no appointment system. In some places you get a ticket when you arrive and go up when your number is called. Otherwise it’s probably worse than the lottery of getting on the busses when they’re short of seats.

Zebounissa volunteered her thoughts on why Jackie may have had to seek medical advice. She had heard a rumour that Jackie is pregnant; something we had also pondered looking at her increasing girth. Zeb had also heard that she had been knocking around with a married man so that the usual sequel of a hasty wedding was out of the question. None of us officially know yet, so Zebounissa is reluctant to broach the subject with Jackie. This leaves us in some doubt about what plans Jacky may have for the future. It’s Zeb’s opinion that she will not want to give up the job as there will be no husband to fall back on; that she will return after an indeterminate period once the child is delivered. I hope she does; we rub along pretty well and as I’ve said before she’s pretty quick on the uptake and basically a good worker and a lot more trustworthy than the average if some of the stories I've heard are true.

Marriage in Rwanda seems a necessary and ideal state but undertaken, particularly by men, in rather a casual manner. We have heard up and coming executives declare that they are going to get married in 3/6 months but when asked who the bride will be they don’t yet know. They hope that love will follow but are quite prepared for it not to and for that to be an excuse for affairs or separation. It is very common for the brides to be 3 or 4 months pregnant at the wedding. The rate of infidelity is high and because Catholicism is by far the dominant religion there is little divorce. Needless to say abortion is equally taboo and for those who might contemplate it and all its ramifications the tin hat is the cost. Rwanda is a very conformist country thus marriage is the model and the thought of living together and having a family an anathema. Before coming here, one or two couples who are volunteers in this country have had to go through a marriage ceremony for form’s sake even though they have had a stable relationship for years. Single female volunteers over the age of 25 have a tough time perpetually explaining to Rwandan colleagues why they are not yet married.

Recently on one or two mornings each week, at about 8.00 after Melissa has gone to the office, I catch the sound of animated conversation and the susurration of soft soled shoes going past up on the road. A look out of the window shows 40 or 50 men walking past dressed in prison garb. Garb here is distinguished by its eye watering day-glo orange or pink. These are men on a work detail from the gaol a few kilometres out of town. Agricultural hoes are carried at the slope or more comfortably parallel to the ground at arms’ length. I haven’t seen any machetes yet but I doubt that’s a security decision. There is no jingling of chains or shuffling as if feet were fettered; there are no restraints and it takes a little while to spot the two laid-back guards with AKs at the head and foot of the column. The pace of the men shows no reluctance to get where they are going but there’s no hint of keeping in step. The whole procession is a testament to the assumption that no-one would want to cause trouble or escape. The day-glo colours have significance; those in pink are being held in relation to the genocide and awaiting a decision from the gacaca courts. On a rough count of those going past I should say pink is the outfit most in demand by far from the prison stores.

Gacaca is the system of trial introduced to try and deal with the overwhelming numbers of suspects detained since 1994. It’s based on a traditional structure that was set up in the community to resolve conflicts between families with the heads of households as arbitrators. It’s now superficially very democratic; community representatives of both sexes have been elected to act as local judges. From the bus we sometimes see gacaca taking place in villages. There’s what seems like the whole community in attendance, all gathered round the few pink figures in the centre. The accused are being tried in the community where the offences took place and a lot of the villagers are called as witnesses. How fair this all is open to debate but if the conventional courts had to cope it has been calculated to take hundreds of years to clear the backlog. On the plus side up to 20% are acquitted so there seems to be less kangaroo that in other unconventional forms of justice.

If it’s a good day for them they will sometimes be seen hanging out of the back and sides of a lorry instead of having to walk. Melissa and Melanie often pass them on the road and they have remarked to themselves that the guards are often seen to be buying stuff from the kiosks or gossiping with the locals. Equally the prisoners natter with passers by and everyone is very relaxed. Without wanting to sound too Daily Mail, they probably have very little motivation to escape. Conditions are no worse than outside and on the whole penalties and sentences are not too harsh; the death penalty was abolished in 2007

Routine and road rolling

2011-02-18T00:55:00.001-08:00

Daily routine- now with the likelihood of my employment being still some months away, the days are beginning to merge one with the next. And what is daily routine? While Melissa is going up to the district office and not yet revisiting schools, getting up at 6.15 gives her plenty of time to get to her office. The first move is to weigh up the weather and the probability of rain. At the moment the skies have been grey even first thing despite the supposed onset of the dry season. In fact we have had more wet days in February so far than in December or January; it’s just that the amount of rain has been less. While I go and prepare breakfast, Melissa has a standing wash using the hot water prepared yesterday and kept in a thermos overnight. We have found it sensible to take advantage of the times when there is power to fill thermoses and have hot water in reserve for washing in view of the unpredictability of the cuts.

I have a proper shower once Melissa is out (in cold water-but cold is relative- I should think it’s about 25°C but still enough for a sharp intake of breath) and then we both sit down to breakfast. For me it’s an avocado with lemon juice, for Melissa kamara masenge which is Kinyarwanda for small bananas about the length of a finger and slightly slimmer than a normal banana. We used to have ordinary bananas, imineche, but they seemed to go black very quickly even if kept in the fridge. Melissa has gone off avocados but I remain an aficionado. Avocados may seem a pretty consistent commodity in Sainsbury’s but for me the variation in form and flesh is a constant wonder. I suppose that each avocado tree has its own characteristic fruit and as avocados are available throughout the year, I must be sampling fruit from different trees every 3 or 4 days. We follow this up with home- made bread and strawberry jam that also has the feel of a home made product. It has the merit of not having buckets of sugar in it so characteristic of many Rwandan preserves. Marmite is a refreshing addition at the moment courtesy of Lucy. At one time we were able to get hold of plain yoghurts that are as good as some of the French ones but the supply is very inconsistent, the alternatives being stuffed with sugar.

Melissa leaves for the walk to work at about 6.55 usually accompanied by Melanie and I’m left to my own devices until Jackie arrives somewhere between 8.30 and 9.00. Most of this time is spent consulting the internet; emails and BBC news. I will sweep the floor for fleas or since discovering a pair of them under my shoes (mating?) I have given them special attention, only moving the shoes when I have put my glasses on in case I miss the wriggling. Once Jackie arrives I help her do the washing up and then continue my researches on the internet or writing this blog. Reading takes up much of my time now-when there was a chance of my teaching I passed a good few hours writing lectures on PowerPoint. Lunch is taken when Melissa gets back at about 12.30 and then it’s perhaps bread making and heating water on the charcoal. Jackie usually leaves about 3.30 unless it’s raining or likely to rain in which case she goes to sleep on a chair until later.

I begin to prepare the evening meal about 4.30-5.00. We eat early because we have got up early and it allows washing up before dark in case the electricity goes. As soon as Melissa gets home at roughly 5.00 we have a cold beer and I begin to cook. At the moment the courgettes are cropping well so we have those fried in marge followed in the same pan by shredded cabbage with herbs from the garden added right at the end. The main dish is the stew we prepare weekly and keep in the fridge. This is heated up with some rice. The rice we use, at half the cost of Basmati, is produced locally and sold in paper packets at the market. As such it needs careful scrutiny; the harvesting and threshing process seems always to allow the inclusion of weed seeds and small stones. It’s 40 minutes spent tipping the rice onto a white plate and sorting through looking for anything that’s not white. The evenings are spent watching films saved on a large hard drive or following television series from DVD’s. We have seen the best that Rwandan television has to offer and it’s not worth the bother of getting a telly and an aerial. Bed at 9.30.

The prospect of work has picked up a bit recently; I followed up a contact I made in the summer at Expo 2010 in Kigali. I had met the vice president of the Rwanda dairy association who seemed to think we might work together but he had no firm proposals and I thought no more about it as I was counting on a permanent contract at ISAE. I made contact again in January and we have had a couple of meetings to see exactly what it is that he thinks I can do. He is associated with 4 others with the object of gaining contracts from NGOs to supply training for agriculture and veterinary co-operatives. At the moment they have no contracts and no money, and we have not yet decided how best I can help them; we have yet to establish complete trust on both sides. More meetings have to be arranged and I have yet to be let in on their bidding process.

They have just been along the road outside with a grader and monster road roller to attempt to level off the ruts and pits that have developed since it was last done about 18 months ago. Along the flat it has not been too bad except where the water tends to lie instead of running off into the ditch. There the soil becomes saturated and very quickly the larger wheeled vehicles push out the mud and form a pothole. Then all the traffic at least slows to work round these natural road humps. On the hill into town not far from the house, the action of the rain has been to follow the shallow ruts and markedly deepen and narrow them. In addition, through weaknesses and inconsistencies of hardness, the water succeeds in cutting a channel out of these ruts to flow into the ditch. The hill thus consists of long v-shaped valleys with occasional cross channels. These indentations the cyclists and motos do everything to avoid; though in essence they do not inconvenience the cars and lorries. What’s more, after a particularly heavy rain, the ruts and channels will change their course, necessitating a new pattern of avoidance.

Now the grader has scraped off the tops of the ridges and deposited the soft soil into the valleys. As a finishing touch, a water bowser has been along and drenched the road, but not enough to wash out the soft soil. The difference between the solid but now flattened ridges and the mud in between has been diminished so much so that the two wheeled traffic now distrusts the whole surface and sticks to what passes as the footpath. It will take a good storm to wash out all the treacherous infillings and restore some sort of confidence. The only problem is that this should be the start of the dry season. If they have done a good job we have the prospect of traffic going at higher speeds and generating a lot more dust.

Wedding...the real photos!

2011-02-09T05:19:00.000-08:00

Celebrations in Kampala!

2011-02-09T05:09:00.001-08:00

The big event since Christmas has been the wedding of Melanie and Moses in Uganda. They would have preferred the ceremony to have been performed in Kigali but because Moses is Ugandan and therefore neither future spouse a citizen of Rwanda the authorities could not sanction a marriage here.

The limited time we had between our arrival from Zanzibar and the departure by bus to Kampala made getting ready pretty tight The bus to Kampala-we could have flown but the bus fare is only $15 and everyone else was going that way. From Kigali the trip should take about 9 hours. Melanie and Moses had done it at the beginning of December in order that Melanie should meet all the in-laws, cousins and sundry relations. They had learnt from their trip that it seemed better to make the outward journey in the evening and to return during the day.

There was a quite a party of us going, in addition to Melanie and her mum, Julie, there was us and Sarah, Melanie’s bridesmaid and witness. Moses was already in Kampala and on call to meet us when the bus finally hit town. He would ferry us from Kampala bus station, not somewhere to dally at night, to our hotel. The bus was scheduled to leave at 18.00 from an equally insalubrious area of Kigali. It’s always fun to speculate on who from the many people hanging around the area will accompany us on the journey. The mounds of baggage under their collective protection gave an idea of the numbers, but there seemed far too many. The bus has a route from Bujumbura in Burundi through Kigali and then on to Nairobi via Kampala. From our experience of getting on buses with half a load of passengers already ensconced, and the scrum of embarking passengers hoping for double seats, we needed to be slippy in climbing aboard when it showed.

18.00 came and went, it got darker and the road became ever more choked with casual parking and congested with double trailered rigs heading for a lorry park. We comforted ourselves in that the Kampala coach, not just a description but the name of the company, had a distinctive livery and unmistakeable profile. After ¾ of an hour’s wait, it turned in off the main road and nudged between the parked cars. I was in charge of luggage stowage and therefore not obliged to bag a good seat. During the booking process we had all submitted the details from our passports so those boarding could be checked off the list as they got on. However, as expected, chaos reigned made worse by increased security after a number of terrorist incidents connected with the forthcoming Ugandan elections.

In addition to a painfully slow admission process, all the luggage had to be scrutinised before it could be packed away under the passenger accommodation. I, and many others, were thus occupied with making sure things did not get spilled or damaged during inspection. How we should have managed if it had been raining I don’t know. Actually we need not have bothered and they equally didn’t seem motivated to do a good job. There was no means of knowing whether a bag had been looked at and the riffle through the contents was cursory in the extreme. In the mean time, the process of admitting passengers had begun and Melissa led the pack as she was up those stairs like a long dog to secure some double seats near the front. She was pleasantly surprised to find the bus had not come from Bujumbura but that it was empty and therefore enough seating for all.

When all were aboard, the bus backed out onto the main road manoeuvring around the cars and trucks and at the same time reversing over some freshly laid cement on the neighbouring garage forecourt. After having laboriously gained the road and turned against the traffic in the direction of Kampala the bus lumbered all of 20 metres onto this forecourt to stop and inspect its tyres. The verdict was the need to change one of them before proceeding. Can’t complain really. After having seen the state of most Rwandan bus tyres, I’m glad they noticed the need for this one, especially in the dark.

So, by 20.30 we began. The seating on the coach had been designed for long routes; it was well spaced to allow for the backs to recline and with supporting headrests. However, in the vertical position, these headrests came to the level of my shoulder blades. Only when really slumped down did my shoulders drop into place beneath them. Having said that, it was dark with no view so no need to sit up and in the reclined position eminently comfortable.

The border between Rwanda and Uganda is about 2 ½ hours out of Kigali and there we had to stop for immigration and to cross the border by foot to wait at the other side for the bus to reappear. The queues of traffic on the Rwandan side were really quite impressive. Everything was at a standstill with drivers mostly with their vehicles. It was only the coach passengers that seemed unable to remain patient and clogged the lines for passport control and emigration cards. The trudge between the two border posts took about 10 minutes and in that time we could use the atrocious loos to relieve bladders and outside be relieved of Rwandan franks for Ugandan shillings by some friendly touts. In actual fact, their rate of exchange compared very favourably with that of the Kampala banks, and their opening times were a damn sight more convenient. It was a comparative breeze to go through the Ugandan red tape and then wait for the bus. We had been promised that there would be food to be had at the border, but for what ever reason, there was none of the hot variety. The Ugandan version of fast food is a “rolex”, so I was a bit mystified when told there would be Rolexes for sale. The rolex consists of a chapatti with an omelette inside; rolled with eggs I suppose. At one of the pull-ins where we stopped in Uganda I had a vegetarian rolex, not the same thing at all.

I’m glad it was a clear if rather cool night as we continued to wait for the bus to reappear. The general lack of any vehicles passing the controls cast a gloom on the company. It was a further 2 hours before we could resume our seats and set forth into Uganda. A more thorough search of the coach in response to those attacks in Kampala was offered as a reason.

The stop for the loo proved fortuitous after a strong gender bias became apparent at the stops the bus did make after the border. It seems that the ladies’ loos are firmly locked during the night while the men’s operate as normal. But for the availability of the toilets at the border, the only option is to crouch in the dark behind corrugated iron fences in the back of the garages. I’m told the only clue to the precise safe area to perform was from the glow of mobile phones in lieu of torches.

Ventilation on the bus, always a thorny problem; usually it’s not enough but in this case as the air cooled overnight we conceded that our windows should be closed by about 2.00 am. We were surprised to notice the curtains on the windows fluttering more and more towards dawn. Also it appeared that the driver needed one of his reliefs to assist him behind the wheel. It was only when the light improved that we could see his duty was to use a broom to prop up the windscreen; it had chosen this occasion to slip its moorings and fall in towards the driver. It had already sustained enough cracks to thoroughly test the strength of its laminations and this and the speed bumps probably brought on its collapse.

We arrived in Kampala at about 9.00 am, about 6 hours late. Moses had been phoning on the hour to try and get an estimate of our progress but it’s difficult to be exact when you can’t see the countryside and you don’t know landmarks. Kampala’s look is entirely different from Kigali. Where we are used to orderly traffic and pretty clean streets, Kampala comes across as chaotic; many more private cars all with the object of jumping queues and lights, the pavements choked with stalls sprawling over to the gutter, and not just litter but the dumping of bin contents and broken black bags on every piece of unoccupied land.

The hotel that had been chosen for us was a couple of miles out of town; modern and off the road-a haven where we could catch up on sleep. The rest of the day was free and we took advantage to explore and shop. Sarah had hoped to get some money out but cash machines failed to disgorge and she spent 4 hours waiting in a branch of her bank to use the instant cash service. She was lucky; they normally need 24 hour notice for this.

The next day was the reason we came; the wedding ceremony in the morning and the reception later on at a hotel. Because a weekday was the only day available before Melanie had to resume work, Moses’ side of the family could not be present in force at the simple but moving civil ceremony.

It was only later that the Ugandan side could gather at the hotel for the reception. We had got there at the advertised time so we needed to wait in a discrete location for them to finish arriving. Once the company was complete, Melanie and Moses could make the big entrance and allow celebrations to begin. After a fairly low key beginning with congratulations, introductions to all the tables, speeches and the cutting of the cake all overseen by an MC, we got down to the food and the beer. All the Rwandan weddings we have attended so far have been pretty po-faced, only pop and no food so this was a welcome break.

The food was just as in Rwanda i.e. a melange-but a good mix of vegetables salad and meat. All had to be piled on the one plate and its amazing the teetering sculptures created by those determined to get someone else’s moneysworth. The beer disappeared equally quickly and then the dancing began. It’s very difficult to do justice to the dresses worn by all the Ugandan married women there; you have to see the photos to appreciate the magnificence of the shiny material and the singularity of the design. All seemed to have been to the same tailor, a uniform effect quite staggering to the untrained eye. Melissa took full advantage to photograph all prepared to smile, and surprisingly it’s quite difficult to persuade them to break the passport glare at the camera. The whole party experience surpassed all our expectations and we all had a really good time. It’s a pity that any christenings are unlikely to take place in Uganda, or at least not while we are close at hand.

It all finished relatively early and we got away to a deserved rest at the hotel. The trip back to Kigali the next day was on time and relatively unremarkable. There was one more celebration on the Saturday for all those volunteers who were unable to join us in Kampala. Now the reality of married life will begin to be negotiated; one of the first things is to apply for a UK visa for Moses which will set them back 750,000 Rfr. A lot on an allowance of 170,000 Rfr a month.

Employment prospects

2011-01-25T03:36:00.000-08:00

In anticipation of my contract with ISAE beginning in January, and in view of contact between myself and the college being pretty bitty, Melissa and I decided to spend a couple of days in Musanze. We could combine some pre-Christmas shopping at their splendid market and a meeting with Dr Juvenal to firm up the arrangements.

We chose not to patronise Bamboo guest house again but to try somewhere a bit less basic and out of range of the muezzin calls. The Muhabura hotel looked good on paper and it was closer to ISAE but further out from the town and the restaurants. On arrival it was clear that the room was well away from the car park; one of the bugbears of Bamboo was the proximity of the room to all the vehicles. The drivers lodged there had the daily task of ferrying clients to and from the gorillas in the Virunga national park. For some reason each of them found it necessary to start their engine half an hour before their actual departure, then proceed with all those fiddly maintenance tasks, sweeping out the compartments, washing the truck, changing wheels, slamming doors to make sure they made the right type of noise. All the while, diesel fumes would infiltrate into the room under the door or through the air bricks. Because heating is never a requirement for a room, little is done to fill gaps or make doors and windows fit properly. Even in expensive hotels, sound proofing is not uppermost during construction. But I digress.

We explored the markets; Musanze has the luxury of two, one that is as good as most you’ll find in a large town and another, bigger market that just sells anything to wear. This market is entirely enclosed by brick walls and about 100 metres square. There is a wide alley way forming a perimeter where the larger higher class stalls have their pitch. For the brave but discerning shopper there are connecting claustrophobic passages dripping with clothes on hangers and material for dresses. It’s like pushing into a dark wardrobe.

It’s a revelation what can be bought; 90% of it second hand and probably has been donated by you or your friends at your nearest recycling point. So long as the clothes are subject to the minutest scrutiny and haggling skills not abandoned in the chase, bargains are plentiful. I have bought most of my shirts and shoes from there, but I draw the line at underclothes.

After a good dinner of rabbit and chips and a fairly restful night I caught the early bus to Busogo to have a long meeting with Dr Juvenal about how the contract would work out in practical terms. The contract is simple and short, perhaps too simple in that it has many points open to misinterpretation and many clauses common to other contracts omitted. After about an hour or so we seemed to have sorted out all the major stuff and I promised to send a letter of understanding so that we both had some record of things agreed but not stated directly in the contract.

I had remembered from my summer bus journeys to ISAE that the veterinary clinic that caters for the gorillas was not far away from our hotel. I asked Juvenal if he knew anyone there and he gave me a contact number. As I was finished at the college by late morning and we had already explored the market, I thought I would see if Melissa and I could visit. It’s run by a team made up of Americans and Rwandans and we were met by Dr Jan Ramer who ran a small animal clinic in the US. We spent a couple of fascinating hours being shown their facilities and being told some of the practical difficulties in trying to treat 2-300 Kgs of potentially stroppy gorilla.

They nearly always deal with cases in the field. Finding them is not that difficult but the only practical way of getting hands on is to dart them; the gorillas know the shape and significance of any rifle-like object, and object they often do. The trick is to try and hide the dart gun until the final moment but it still sets off great consternation and uproar in the troupe when the dart and its effects are made obvious. The daily visits by tourists and their accompanying guides are a good surveillance system so that intervention can be planned with the minimum of delay. I’m not sure what the most complicated thing they have managed to do under these conditions, it’s mostly wounds and snares that need attention. Post mortems are done back at base; the image of a fully grown gorilla being dissected on what is no more than an adapted kitchen table filled me with awe. As to the problem of getting an animal that size away from the grieving troupe and out of the park; respect.

It had been agreed that I should have sight of the final version of the contract and see a copy of the letter of invitation, a necessary formality validating the contract, before Christmas. They would probably be sent by email if not by the post. We were also in accord that I should sign the said contract somewhere towards the beginning of January in order that we could begin planning before the official start of the term. It was necessary that we sign together but there was only one weekend that I would be free to meet Dr Juvenal before early January rolled round to the beginning of February.

Our appointment was due the second Saturday of January but I had heard nothing recently from ISAE; the contract and accompanying letter had been sent a week ago. What’s more, the contract emailed to me bore no relationship to the one discussed at our meeting. A phone call to Dr Juvenal on the Saturday to confirm the time found him embarrassed and apologetic. He spoke of an amalgamation between the only two veterinary schools in Rwanda and that all the students had already gone over to the new site way up in the north-east at Umutara Polytechnic near Nyagatare. There was no contract to sign with ISAE and for him to explain in more detail we agreed to meet the next day.

He was punctual and agreed to let Melissa be present. It seems the whole scheme is government policy and out of his hands. Moves to amalgamate and save costs had been around for months; a survey and audit was completed some time in mid-2010. The decision had been taken early December but communication has been slow to trickle down. Umutara had agreed to take some lecturers with the students and to honour the letter of invitation I had been sent. So not all doom and gloom. Juvenal was not entirely clear what the present situation was at Umutara but there seems to be no practical work done there; any surgery training has had to take place in Kampala, at least an 8 hour bus journey away. It actually presents something of an opportunity to get in and plan facilities instead of trying to adapt what’s there. I began to feel a lot more positive.

It remained for me to meet the Dean at Umutara to get more information and look at their contract. This I arranged for the following week. Because of the distance to Nyagatare, I had to stay overnight; it was not possible to have a meeting and get back to Kigali for the last bus to Nyanza.

Having arrived in Nyagatare by lunchtime as arranged, the Dean could not meet me until later in the afternoon as he had another important meeting to attend. When indeed we did manage to come face to face, he said he had been with the vice-rector discussing my situation. We only had about half an hour to talk and he had no time to meet me in the morning. I had a list of questions to ask but he soon spiked my guns by saying they would not employ anyone who only had an ordinary degree. It was pretty apparent that the interview need not last more than half an hour; indeed five minutes was probably more than enough. I have no master’s degree and that had been known from the outset. My experience counts for nothing though of course the Dean hopes there will be a softening of attitudes in respect of the academic requirements.

I am grateful to have had an opportunity to explore the countryside and read some books on the 12 hour journey there and back and the chance to sample the finest hotel Nyagatare has to offer.

So here I am back in Nyanza with no useful employment for the time being. I have sent off some emails and made some phone calls but I’m not holding my breath. Juvenal perhaps can use me in production (reproduction, fertility and obstetrics) at Busogo but they have no budget; it will be re-assessed in July. At least I may have another spell with the scanner that looks as though it will stay at ISAE.

Christmas 2010 african style

2011-01-20T21:46:00.000-08:00

I realise with surprise that it is over 6 weeks since I last put finger to keyboard. Things have not stopped happening; I’ve taken more time off than I meant to.

The highlight of this year has been our visit to Zanzibar and to be joined for Christmas by Lucy and Edward. Like a lot of things in life, plans made far in advance had to be radically modified to allow for circumstance. Ideally, they were to arrive before we had made the transition from Dar es Salaam to the island but this year’s exceptional weather in Europe supervened to throw things up in the air. Snow closed Heathrow on the day of their scheduled departure and no replacement flights were planned until after Christmas. BA’s reputation for customer relations was not enhanced by the inability of the switchboard to answer calls and their unwillingness to offer practical help when the lines cleared. KLM proved to have more about them and using Birmingham instead of Heathrow their flight was successful on the day before Christmas Eve.

We met them off the ferry and made our way to the hotel in the north of the island. They had arrived in Tanzania the previous evening and had some sleep in the hotel in Dar but the thought of a fresh bed to relax on was delightful to them. The notion of being able to unburden themselves of all the things we had asked them to bring also made the journey more pleasurable. The hotel was right by the sea, but the foreshore was composed of eroded coral and very flat; at low tide the breakers were nearly a kilometre off. High water found the coral bed completely covered with the waves right up to a low cliff. Wading in the shallow water around low tide allowed exploration of the bottom but when the water was higher and rougher, it masked the hiding places of the many sea urchins; footwear was really essential to make the experience less fraught.

Overall, the hotel pool, albeit rather lacking in seating, was a more relaxing option. The inter-tidal pools on the shore offered variety but no relief from the relentless sun and nowhere to swim except at times around high water.

Snorkelling is the activity on Zanzibar: the water is invitingly warm and clear, the reefs not too deep to view well from the surface and no elaborate equipment necessary. While waiting for the children’s travel arrangements to harden into reality, we had our first experience of this adventure in the south of the island. I’m not a great swimmer; I don’t normally go in water for the pleasure of it but just to cool off. The idea of being out of my depth far from shore did not immediately appeal. However, after a few practice sessions close to shore in shallower water I became a little more confident and welcomed the idea of breathing without the effort of raising my head all the time. It was also a relief to be able to swim with the fins and not need to use my arms.

The test came when we sailed further on to a more remote reef with only the boat to turn to in case of difficulties. Despite my anxieties, the experience became more pleasant as the tranquillity of life intimate with the coral unfolded and took hold. My mood changed when unexplained prickings on my arms and face marred my pleasure. I could see nothing but afterwards the others swimming from the boat came across the same phenomenon and put it down to minute jelly fish. It got to the stage where everyone had to come out, some sporting welts on face and arms.

We took a sailing dhow when we repeated the experience with Lucy and Edward. There are a surprising number of them all around the coast; most fitted with powerful outboards to mitigate the inconveniences of contrary winds. In contrast to only four of us on the previous trip, this time there was a genuine boatload, more than 25 if you include the crew. The deck was open and most were content to bask in the powerful sun but Edward and Lucy had not yet built up much of a tan and Melissa and I have not exposed legs much in Nyanza. Added to which, we had underestimated the effects of sun through water and we both had burned backs from the first voyage. We crowded into the limited shelter in steerage. We were headed for an island to the east with a reef that exactly fitted the requirements of snorkelling. In fact it was so ideal that half the tourists on Zanzibar seemed to be heading in that direction.

The hidden form of the reef was reflected by the location of the dozen or more dhows anchored some 200 metres off the beach. Each was kitting out and launching its passengers until the swell heaved with floating divers. To be fair, we were not disappointed with the array of fish and coral formations on view. Edward speculated on seeing sharks, but the bigger hazard was getting a flipper in the face. About an hour of swimming over the reefs was followed by a splendid tuna fish barbecue and a proper sail home.

Christmas day was celebrated with duty free champagne and a festive buffet. Exchange of gifts helped to reinforce the mood, but try as we might, the lack of a log fire and roast beef made us resolve to go back to tradition as soon as possible, maybe next year.

The time on Zanzibar involved a lot of loafing around and eating too much, but to finish the break with a flourish Melissa had fixed a couple of days game safari about 200 km west of Dar. We were to be picked up at the Dar hotel by a guide in a 4x4 and driven to the game park with enough time free to see some animals before evening. Tanzanian roads are a little more challenging than Rwandan, many more heavy goods vehicles and the carriageway liberally scattered with road humps to slow traffic. Not a bad idea you may think, most have warning ridges raised in groups of three before and after the hazard. This would work well if the ridges wore evenly, but about 50% have a ridge significantly lower on one side of the road than the other and of course all the traffic heads for the quieter option. Only the fact that speeds are way down to negotiate the hump made the result less hazardous. Many pedestrian crossings in towns are a modified speed bump but a proportion have no warning ridges and the white markings to make them stand out have long been worn off. Unless one knows the road intimately you will take off; speed limits without the humps are just laughed at.

Our driver had his own idiosyncratic method of crossing these humps; at some he would race over the ridges and only brake for the hump itself, at others he would jolt over each ridge at walking pace. His general speed along the highway also varied according to his mood. This initial inconsistency in his driving should have warned us of later events.

We arrived in time to do a couple of circuits of the park and were excited to see the expected herds of wildebeest together with a good selection of other lion fodder. As we were dropped off at our hotel, arrangements were made for the driver to pick us up early to take advantage of our one full day here. The next morning the appointed time came and went and we could not contact him on his phone. He turned up 2 hours late claiming to have been robbed of his phone and to have had a flat tyre. He took us erratically by a back entrance into the park, saying he needed to have a talk with the manager of one of the hotels based in the park itself. This took another hour before at last we began in earnest. On the way along the wooded track, the truck veered off the road for a few metres and Edward who was in the front had the notion the driver was falling asleep or possibly drunk. We let it slide on little evidence until he finally pulled over and wanted us to have a break-we had only been on the road 40 minutes. Edward confirmed he could smell drink on his breath. He only admitted he wasn’t well. On further examination some of his excuses for having been late proved false. We said we could not continue with him in this state. Ringing his boss from the truck we made our feelings clear and demanded a replacement driver. We picked our way back to the hotel in the park where the exchange would take place.

We waited a further hour or so to be met by the next driver who we vaguely recognised; it turned out he worked for the hotel where we were lodged. He took us back into the park and continued where we had left off on the first afternoon. We were even lucky enough to see lion albeit at a fair distance. He had heard of other lion being seen and as we hoped for better the next day we again arranged for an early start.

I don’t know if it is part of the national psyche, but this new driver also had a blind spot when it came to turning up on time. A wait of an hour and a half was necessary before action resumed. Once in the park, number 2 was obviously not on the sparkling form of yesterday. He also had an air of lassitude and was driving far too quickly for us to take full advantage of all there was to see. Edward again had the front seat and it was not long before he confronted him with the accusation of being drunk. Two in two days!

This allegation was hotly denied and as the driver turned to each of us in appeal, we all began to have reason to agree with Edward. We had little choice but insist he go back to the park entrance where we would have to wait for the driver from Dar.

During the initial heated negotiations with the boss he had promised us another driver to take us back to Dar as we had no faith in the original. He would be on a bus to arrive at about 11 on our last day. Once parked up by the gate, we relieved N°2 of the keys and waited in the lodge café. In view of all the lost time, the boss conceded that we could continue in the park with driver N°3 until mid afternoon before we needed to make the return. He was at last what we had been hoping for; someone with knowledge, driving skills and no hangover. He took us to a lioness with cubs and our first sight of a leopard on the ground.

The journey back was happily free of incident and there were no weather worries to delay the kids’ flight back to Birmingham. It has been a Christmas like no other; it’s the only time that the family get together has been made keener by a separation of such length. We must make the next one a proper Christmas including everyone, most likely in the UK.

Welcome 2011!

2011-01-10T00:27:00.000-08:00

2011 has started with a bang! New Year on safari in Tanzania followed by a fantastic wedding in Kampala.

Cyabakamyi learns to read!

2010-12-14T22:52:00.000-08:00

Around Christmas time more than any other period in the year gives one the opportunity to reflect on the past year and look to the future; in essence, to consider people that are not as fortunate as one’s self. During our placement here in Rwanda we have been privileged to meet many amazing people, with the inevitable downside of encountering the occasional frustration. Pascal, Head Teacher at GS Gahengeli, a remote rural Primary/Lower Secondary school, has had this vision...well more like a burning ambition to reduce the illiteracy rates (just under 50%) of the adult population in his school’s local community. The rationale behind his drive is very simple, if the parents learn to trust, understand and value the school as a learning environment, then they, in turn, will encourage their children to attend and stay at school (the level of drop out is deemed significant in this region, running at over 10%). It should be a win-win situation improving over time.
Pascal’s frustration was a total lack of resources, ranging from chalk, paper and reading books through to dictionaries, teacher trainers and audio equipment. There is a dearth of suitable reading books available here, although this is slowly being addressed. His embryonic project was in danger of floundering even before it had really got off the ground. But help was at hand with friends in UK and Amazon to the rescue! There is a parcel of basic reading material, CDs and CD/radio player flying over the Sahara as you read this! Yesterday Pascal managed to find an experienced adult trainer in the District who is willing to train not only key teachers from GS Gahengeli but also certain local Sector representatives, whose support is vital if this project is to be sustainable. This initial teacher training will take place early in the New Year, ahead of the new academic year. Already momentum is building with Pascal in the driving seat.
There is much more still to be put in place; basic health information, family planning and HIV/Aids awareness; formation of an advanced literacy group, who can mentor and encourage others to join. But with each small step, the local community will gain in confidence and self belief, with the local school as the central hub.

Our adopted so-called friends!

2010-11-28T23:42:00.000-08:00

In the canon of aggravations and irritants, the mosquito pales beside the flea. Mosquitoes have a deservedly poor reputation and certainly for the majority of the population here who don’t have nets or preventative medicines they represent a potent threat to health. But in terms of sheer annoyance the flea has it hands down.

We had accepted that more attention from insects and their ilk would come with the territory and it was not many weeks after we arrived that we began to notice the incidence of bites was on the rise. At first it was easy to blame mosquitoes for any places that itched, but mosquitoes generally confine themselves to having a go at the exposed parts of the body. So far as I can make out they favour the direct approach, they are not wont to crawl up sleeves or trouser legs. It appeared however that a high proportion of our bites did not conform to this pattern. Whatever was to blame looked to have a predilection for skin covered by clothes; dark, confined and sometimes humid places.

Initially, when we began to be aware of bites not easily explained by mosquitoes, I thought we might have bed bugs. The bed we are using is second hand from a departing volunteer and the house had not been occupied by anyone from VSO, so any previous infestations would not be known to us. However, after taking the bed to bits and carefully examining all the bedroom walls, bed bugs looked less likely as an explanation. The problem came and went over the next few months but the marked reduction of my bites while away lecturing in Musanze confirmed it was a phenomenon connected more with our house than anything else. It has always been me who has been affected more severely so I was the one more interested in discovering the cause.

Melanie had had similar problems and put me on to the scent of fleas; it’s something I had not ever considered. We are used to the human flea being on the endangered list in the UK, the old flea circuses having long gone out of business for want of trained performers. She was convinced she was picking them up from the buses but had no concrete evidence to back it up. To me it had the same implausibility of picking up infections off lavatory seats, but it made me begin to look at bus seats more carefully.

Once I had my eye in, I indeed did begin to see fleas in buses. Or rather, I’d see a little black splinter shaped object that on closer inspection would suddenly disappear. Now having some circumstantial evidence that fleas could be at the seat of our woes, the problem was what to do about them.

Conversations with other volunteers revealed that many others suffered from similar skin irritations and that probably there is a widespread infestation, but in many cases no smoking gun to prove it. The general complaint was that there seemed no effective way to control these pests. Most are reluctant to use insecticides. Even if they were widely available, the futility of the recent spraying of our house against mosquitoes makes me doubt their effectiveness and delivering sufficient quantities into the right places is problematic.

I became more convinced in my view that fleas were responsible as I was able to connect an awareness of them on me with the development a few hours later of the reaction to their bites. They betrayed their presence most plainly to me while I was sitting down. There is a feeling of something crawling slowly between the cloth of the trousers and the skin; a quick visit to the bathroom to investigate further revealed nothing. The bites seem to be limited to the parts of one’s clothing that fit the closest. This ties in with their fondness for tight spaces, just where these movements seem concentrated.

The first real evidence was a flea in the bedclothes; again a black, boat-shaped object a couple of millimetres long that disappears in an instant immediately after pulling back the sheet. The fact that there was no direct re-appearance seemed to point to it bailing out onto the floor.

The great merit of living in an ordinary Rwandan house is that there are no carpets; the floors are a shiny smooth cement skim. To sweep over the bedroom floor is easy and quick and it was not long before I could see small objects wriggling to get themselves upright and then vanish in a flash. The only way I have found practical to catch them is to repeat the sweeping until they exhaust themselves jumping; I can then pick them up and stick them on tape to produce a rogue’s gallery. The variety of sizes and therefore specie is quite a revelation, but comforting if it means they are not yet breeding in the house. The strategy has reduced the index of irritation, but this immediate success has to be tempered with the thought that unavoidable bus journeys could start the whole process again.

Jacky pretty much organises her day without much help from me now and I let her get on with what ever she considers needs doing. I was engaged in my usual morning tasks around the laptop when a rather startled Jacky came to me holding an object partly wrapped in the cloth she uses for wiping the floors. She had been in our room poking around under the bed when she came across something that would put the wind up anyone. She had bravely caught this creature in the cloth and brought it to me for inspection. What I saw was a praying mantis all of 6” long. Close up they do look particularly menacing with their air of stealth, bizarre triangular head and front legs held like a boxer. I was able to take it from her by clasping it round the abdomen and giving it liberty in the back yard. Liberty was in the form of chucking it up in the air hoping it would use its bird-like wings to fly off. However, after its sojourn under the bed it perhaps wasn’t in the best of health and it decided that the long drop was all it could manage.

I felt a twinge of conscience after half an hour or so, so I went out to see what was happening. It had not flown away but crawled over to be more in the shade of the wall. Mantises are not known to favour concrete yards so I relocated it to the small hedge on the north side of the house. There I imagined it would lead a richer life and maybe eat a pest or two. If I’d thought about it, I should have put it back under the bed to see if it was any good against fleas.

Short back and sides, Sir?

2010-11-22T00:25:00.000-08:00

Before volunteers are accepted for placements through VSO they go through a pretty rigorous vetting system that requires them to examine and analyse deeply their personal motives for volunteering. This process attempts to dispel preconceptions and tries to remove the rose-tinted glasses. Discussions centre on many aspects of a life abroad; the benefits of living in a different culture, the two-way process of sharing skills, but they also cover what the volunteer will miss most from life in the UK, what are their deepest concerns about the problems that may emerge by being away for up to 2 years. VSO tries to minimise the risk of volunteers being discontent in their placement and demanding to be repatriated. Obviously this possibility would cost the charity dear, so a good deal of the training is focussed on making volunteers absolutely sure they are making the best decision.

The sorts of things that are offered back in discussion depend a lot on the age and background of the potential volunteer. They roughly divide themselves into two groups; the motives of those in their twenties being distinct from older volunteers. These ‘youngsters’ have yet, maybe, to establish themselves in a career or profession and look to this period as a chance to sample another way of putting their education to use, impossible to simulate in the UK. A way of giving back some of the advantage gained through having been part of a privileged system. To test themselves under difficult conditions, a bit like being called up for military service only without the press-gang element, and it always looks good on a future CV.

The other group is represented by those who have found themselves at a stage of their working lives where they face less challenge. Children have left home, the thought of chasing jobs in the market once the placement is finished not uppermost in the mind. The appeal of the idea of a new challenge and to pass on experience gained over the years.

The anxieties of the young are those of straining promising relationships, of prejudicing the progression of early careers, of looking for new jobs once returned, of what they can possibly contribute with so little experience themselves. The greyer group have unease about their health and the resources available in a less advanced medical system, what to do with their property remaining in the UK, how well established relationships will endure under the stress of parting or adaptation to new surroundings and conditions.

What people seemed not to place high on the list of concerns was what to do about getting a hair cut. Initially I came with the idea of doing it using electric clippers. I had bought a set of Tesco’s do-it-yourself clippers and hair cutting kit but that soon proved an abject failure, the thing fell to bits or seized solid, there seemed no middle way. It also soon dawned that a simple Number 2 all over does not suit the perpetual summer sun here. Carrying a hat around and wearing it to avoid the sunburn is inconvenient, and draws even more attention as hat wearing seems reserved for muzungus. I also agree with general opinion that Indiana Jones I’m not.

So after abandoning Tesco’s not-so-bargain clippers I bought a superior set here and hoped that with a little tuition and a lot of trust Melissa could be persuaded to do the business every month or so. It started well enough but she was a bit too tentative and didn’t trust the blade only to take off the predetermined amount. I think she and I became frustrated and the experiment hasn’t been repeated. I’ve had a go myself unaided which isn’t too difficult even with no mirror but the result was too short on top exposing me to the sun which is too powerful even at 10 in the morning to bear for long. The enforced use of the hat confirmed my poor opinion of hats in general and resolved me to find a better solution. Volunteers have a grapevine of services they have used and even know of those amongst them who can cut hair. I went down that route but volunteers are busy people and not always around when you need them. Finally it was Melissa who discovered the man she went to also did men’s hair so she fixed an appointment and all is solved. He’s from Uganda and has set up in the basement of a hotel in Kigali. He charges about the same as I was paying in the UK; included in the price is a shampoo, nice head massage, which I’ve got to get used to, and for a limited period only, I hope, nicking of ears with scissors

Following on to the last time I wrote, I still have yet to locate anywhere in Rwanda that uses general anaesthetic during surgery on dogs or cats. I appealed to someone I knew who had been in Kigali and had dogs, but he never had to have major surgery performed on them. He gave me a link to “Kigali Life”, a website that shares information amongst it subscribers, a lot of them belonging to the demographic group likely to have pets, but the gen on vets and their facilities is very limited. I contacted one or two mentioned on this site and they were very keen to operate on this mythical cat of mine. However, when it came to answering with specifics on the methods and materials used they refused to be drawn.

All this is still very unsatisfactory. There are rumours of a Rwandan veterinary association but I have no means of contacting it if it exists. Without some form of united front to lobby for access to general anaesthetic agents, it is likely very little will change, much to the detriment of the pet population.

Working with illiterate adults in Cyabakamyi Sector, Nyanza District, Southern Province, Rwanda.

2010-11-05T04:42:00.001-07:00

The introduction, in Rwanda, two years ago of free nine years basic education, soon to be extended to twelve years, has left the parents and adult family members with a problem. Many of them cannot read or write and yet, they are expected to support and help their children through school. The idea of their children having skills way beyond their comprehension has left parents bemused and somewhat reluctant to send their children to school, against Government’s wishes and the UN Millennium Development Goals (MDG) (Goal 2: Ensure that by 2015 children everywhere, boys and girls alike, will be able to complete a full course of primary schooling.)

The world is edging closer to universal primary education, but too slowly to meet the 2015 target. Enrolment in sub-Saharan Africa has increased by 15 percentage points between 2000 and 2007. However, despite this breakthrough, almost half of all children not attending primary school live in this region. DFID
To overcome this illiteracy stigma, one school, Groupe Scolaire Gahengeli, has encouraged their local adult community themselves to go back to school and learn the basic skills of reading and writing. However, without materials, money to pay the trainers this embryonic initiative is in danger of drawing to a close before it has really got established. Funding is urgently needed to support the local Head teacher, whose inspirational idea this project was, to enable him to continue with this life changing project.
Cyabakamyi is one of the more remote rural sectors in Nyanza District, with an adult illiteracy rate of over 48%. Small subsistence farms dominate the hilly countryside and offer the only means of income for many families in the area. Pascal Rukundo, the Head Teacher, has drawn the local community together by offering them a chance to gain skills many never dreamt of ever realising. The years of repression prior to the 1994 genocide and the 100 days of violence have meant that this generation lost the opportunity to learn even the rudiments. He started in May 2010 with a small group. Slowly as the word spread more people came to his classes. He uses part of the school out of hours as a meeting place. At the moment he and one of his colleagues give up their spare time using what meagre resources the school can spare. After the first four month teaching period he plans to set a simple test to reinforce that progress has been made. All the learners that pass (almost all he says!) will be awarded a certificate to show to their family. He would like to extend and expand the project, opening out to more locals and continuing with the first cohort. But he does not have the resources (reading books, pencils, paper, and exercise books) to develop the project, by giving this rural adult community skills to overcome extreme poverty. Both the Sector and the District are very proud of this initiative, but lack the funds to support the project in even a small way.
VSO volunteers have worked in Nyanza district education office for many years, slowly gaining the trust and confidence of the whole education sector. The funds raised will be used to buy reading books, posters, consumable materials and to provide a small stipend to the teachers running the courses. Pascal Rukundo will oversee the day to day activities, whilst VSO District based volunteers will visit on a quarterly basis to ensure the continuation of the initiative (presenting certificates of achievement?).

By sponsoring this worthy cross MDG scheme, donors will be seen as a leading light in working towards the Millennium Development Goals in this rural community (Goal 1: Halve, between 1990 and 2015, the proportion of people whose income is less than $1 a day.)

The proportion of people living below the poverty line has fallen from 42% in 1990 to 25% in 2005. Based on this trend, the developing world as a whole is on track to meet this MDG target. But Sub-Saharan Africa remains off-track falling from 57% in 1990 to 51% in 2005. On this trend, the region will not meet the 2015 target. DFID
The other day Pascal sent me a text which really says it all:

‘Good morning.I really appreciated You for the financial project that you made in favour of GS Gahengeri,in its project of training people around the school about development studies and foreign languages like English and Kiswahili.We hope once that project will succeed,it 'll enable our initiative to go on well,and permit continuity.Yesterday,we ended the first semester and we gave them school report.IT WAS WONDERFUL.Once again,thanks a million.>RUKUNDO PASCAL.Headteacher of GS GAHENGERI.

Life goes on.......

2010-11-02T22:46:00.000-07:00

Zebounissa texted me this morning with a message to say one of her cats was not well, was I at home and would I come and have a look? I was a bit uneasy as a lot of times cats look rough but there’s nothing much to put your finger on and without a stethoscope or even a thermometer I could be struggling to be much help other than to suggest she calls the vet.
Anyway I turn up about an hour later and find Zebounissa up to her ears in her daily business of phone charging; receiving phones in and dispensing phones once charged to the majority of the town population who do not have mains electricity. There is a continual stream of her clients needing her attention and for some reason she is loath to delegate this constant getting up and down to Innocent, her domestique. Once free to talk, she begins by bewailing the loss of the market.
The market is the town and all life revolves around it. Those who enter by its substantial walls are regaled by all forms of trade. The vegetables and fruit take only a small proportion; it’s the department store of Nyanza with everything from clothes and household goods to workshops repairing shoes and tools or selling stoves and cooking pots. The permanent shops outside the market place have sprung up because of it and the buses and moto taxis all gravitate to it for their customers.
The market has always been on her doorstep, literally a step across the road. This has been to her benefit as it attracts a stream of people who pass her door in order to do business in the market and helps her other business of supplying spares for bicycles. Last Saturday, the market was closed and all the stalls dismantled and carried away. This plan for a radical revamp of the market has been in the pipeline for years and now is being acted upon. Unfortunately, the planning did not go so far as to select a temporary site that was anywhere near the old site. It is now a trudge of 2 kilometres to reach and the date for opening the refurbished market could be anytime between 1 and 3 years, depending on how the money holds up. Her bicycle business in particular has taken a hit and now Innocent spends much of his time journeying on errands and less on helping her when she’s overrun by clients. As I was passing the market on the way to Zebounissa, the demolition gang were removing the tiles from the permanent booths that line the high market walls and some were sitting astride this wall already taking its bricks apart ready to expose the site in all its squalor of discarded cardboard boxes and rotting vegetables.
Zebounissa now turned to Mitsoua, the patient. The cat had been fine the day before but hadn’t eaten today. Zebounissa had expected her to give birth any day and thought she may have started yesterday. I could see her diagnosis of pregnancy was spot on but the purulent vaginal discharge, infection of a breast and the general lassitude made me fear that the outcome would not be good. A call to the local vet was essential, but Zebounissa knew from past experience that she had no surgical knowledge.
Louise has had many dealings with Zebounissa and her cats. She responded to the call within 45 minutes and gave her a brief examination. Mitsoua was running a fever which I think is always good news; some of the lethargy may be due to the temperature and the response to medicines is generally better. Louise showed me what she had available to inject, a rather farm animal cocktail of penicillin and streptomycin, phenylbutazone for the inflammation and something I hadn’t heard of used in horses for colic. All with the aim of facilitating the birth of the kittens, I suppose.
Zebounissa's contribution was to furnish a couple of used 5 ml syringes from the top of her cupboard and a cup of hot water to flush them with. This was topped off by a used needle from Louise, the one serving all three injections, each enough to treat the average calf and then some. I offered to do the operation but Louise said she had no anaesthetic or equipment; if we were contemplating surgery she would have to go to Kigali and buy it all. This was obviously no solution so I volunteered to call a Vétérinaires sans Frontières vet I had contact with in Butare, 45 minutes away by bus. My text has remained unanswered throughout this whole unhappy episode.
It was getting too late to think of going to Kigali that day, I could not get a bus home in time. The cat seemed no worse the next day and with the failure of my vet from Butare to call back, I contacted ISAE Busogo for a referral vet who was known to operate on cats. Dr J offered the name of someone he would recommend and I gratefully telephoned him to see if he could fit her in that afternoon. My enthusiasm was dampened after my enquiries revealed that he had no general anaesthetic; all would be conducted under sedative and local anaesthetic. What was more disquieting was the local would be applied in the form of a spray onto the skin and not injection. In fact the operation would be performed under sedation alone, local is notoriously ineffective at penetrating intact skin. With a heavy heart I asked the price of all this; 40,000Rwf, about £45.00. Telephoning Zebounissa with this news she initially baulked at the cost so I put them in touch with each other to arrive at a mutually acceptable fee.
Zebounissa rang me back to say they were at impasse; Dr S would not come down from his 40 and Zebounissa was not budging from 10. I had asked the good doctor about euthanasia but he himself admitted the agents he used amounted to no more than poisons. So what to do. If I had had more faith in the chance of success of an operation I might have contributed financially, as it was I would have been the one to take Mitsoua to the clinic in Kigali. When offered the option of euthanasia, Zebounissa refused. I am of the opinion that in terms of welfare and unnecessary suffering, the cat was no worse off taking an albeit infinitesimally small chance of pulling through without surgery than to submit to an anaesthetic in name only. That together with a standard of aftercare that excluded fluids (I quote: ”cats’ veins are very difficult to find”). I went to see her the day after and Zebounissa reported that she had eaten and looked a bit more lively. More messages followed over the next few days indicating progress one day but relapse the next. With no signs at all of any kittens being passed, the outcome was inevitable. Mitsoua died on the following Sunday night, 6 days after the beginning of her kittening.
There is a community of ex-patriots of many nations living in Kigali, all of them earning good money. Many of them have dogs, perhaps a few have cats. I cannot believe that they would put up with such sub-standard care for their pets, just as they don’t when it comes to doctors and hospitals. The moneyed section of Kigali society make sure there is a network of reliable health care for themselves outside the congested and cash strapped system for those who are unable to pay. I’m sure if I delve deep enough I would come across similar arrangements for their pets.

More ruminations!

2010-10-25T06:28:00.001-07:00

Melissa holds informal English classes every Tuesday after work and it’s usually pot luck who turns up to them but one face that has become familiar to her is Eugene who is the district veterinarian. It seems to me that the term is often applied rather loosely and I never know quite what it covers. A lot of veterinarians have never done an operation in their lives or experienced the inside of a cow using the gloved hand. The extent of Eugene's dealings with animals is unknown to me – a clue is often whether they insist on being called doctor or not. Eugene does not seem that precious and I think he deals with the more technical tasks related to supplying materials for artificial insemination. I have often said to Melissa that I would like to go to Songa station, a large farm not far from Nyanza that does research into genetic improvement of the native Ankole cattle.
She asked Eugene whether it might be possible to arrange a visit, he being the only veterinarian we know locally. He said he goes there himself from time to time and he would be glad to see if he could arrange something. He was also eager to learn more about my experiences with the scanner. Time went on as it often does over here and despite emails and texts nothing much happened. Melissa had asked him how things were going when she saw him in her lessons and he said he had been having problems with his emails, so she suggested I go and see him in the district office.
He still seemed keen to go ahead and rang the director of the dairy herd, also based at Songa, to see what he could set up. This herd of over 100 cows is run by the Rwandan Ministry of Defence (MINIDEF) and it seemed the director was suspicious of my motives. What strategic importance cows have I couldn’t fathom but after a short discussion through Eugene he agreed to see us both the next week. There was however some doubt whether there would be anyone present to guide us and answer questions. The whole point of my visit would be to improve my knowledge of conditions and management of the cows so it was essential to have someone able to enlighten me. My wish to at least see the milking meant an early start to get to the farm by 7.00. Initially Eugene suggested we use the bus and then walk down to the buildings, that being the cheapest way to get there but as the first bus doesn’t leave Nyanza before 6.20 and the farm is 5 kilometres from the road a bit of calculation on the fingers confirmed we would be woefully late. Finally, he bit the bullet and conceded we needed to get motos. At least they would negotiate the tricky track right down to the farm buildings and, if we paid enough, stay while we conducted the visit and be able to get us back with the minimum of delay.
The evening before the scheduled visit, I again visited Eugene at the district office as experience has taught us both not to take arrangements for granted but to check and confirm before committing to early starts. This paid off as he said the visit had been postponed as there definitely would be no-one there to accompany us.
The re-arranged day happened to fall after one of the wettest days we have had this autumn and I feared the moto drivers would have difficulty on the rough track. As it was, the only problems we met were right by the farm when mud and cow muck combined to the extent that the drivers had to inch forward and keep their feet out in readiness for the loss of balance. I was more worried about coming off the bike higher up the track as my driver, who had obviously never come this way before, craned his neck to left and right marvelling at the very atypical landscape. Any area devoted just to grass with not the smallest plot of cultivated land in view is unknown.
He was also watching intently the 4 or 5 herds of Ankole cattle. Large numbers of cattle free ranging over rough pastures are very alien here in the south. Ankole in particular are awe inspiring even when you’re ready for them. To encounter 50 or 60 denizens of this rolling tropical parkland with horns 4 feet long all eying you malevolently is sobering in the extreme.
The drivers were on home ground when at last we met the Friesian herd right in the foot of the valley. We had arrived in time to see them gathering themselves by the buildings prior to milking. So far, much like the UK. The jolt came as we began to appreciate that these cows, some 75 lactating animals, all had to be hand milked. The farm has no electricity so for the moment machines cannot be contemplated. This also applies to any refrigeration; the milk has to be taken in churns by pickup to the processing plant in Nyanza as soon as milking finishes, and by hand that won’t be before 11.00. Because of this difficulty, afternoon milking begins at 14.00 to be able to get the milk away before the plant shuts at nightfall.
About 1000 litres goes away each day, less so in the dry season. Despite the recent change in the weather, the grass hardly looked as though it had begun to respond and really green up. There is minimal pasture management, the herd is split into 4 sections and each section has its own hilltop to graze. There are fences dividing them, but some are in name only. There are over 1100 acres of rough grass and scrubby trees for the 115 cows and 230 followers-this represents a huge farm for Rwanda especially in the heavily cultivated south.
All this information had been given by the 3 farm veterinarians who arrived not long after we had begun to watch the process of milking. They work exclusively for this farm and they have their own responsibilities; nutrition, general health and reproduction. I was struck by their knowledge and enthusiasm and after a bit of initial fencing, we got on well. They know what needs to be done but like everywhere here they are limited by resources. They have good records on spreadsheets and their cattle handling system puts Busogo to shame. I would love to be able to bring the scanner to the farm but at the moment the lack of electricity is a problem.
On a smaller scale, we have had a very interesting day at Agahozo- Shalom, a youth village for orphans, originally of the genocide. It is an Israeli organisation, modelled on villages set up after the holocaust for orphans, the aim being to deal with their personal trauma and then to nurture them in a family environment and to continue their education to university level. Melissa was very interested in their school and I wanted to see their small herd of cows.
Agahozo-Shalom is about an hour to the east of Kigali very much in the heart of the countryside a good 10 kilometres from the nearest village, and that caused us some problems in reaching the settlement. Spare beds at the community are very much at a premium so we thought it most practical to stay in Kigali Friday and Saturday nights and take the bus early Saturday to make a day of it. We had met Suzie and Ido at Nyungwe when we visited to see the chimpanzees and became keen to visit before they left to return to Israel. The village consists of about 30 dwellings each designed to hold some eight teenagers aged between 15 and 21. House mothers or fathers, depending on the house designation keep a semblance of order. They are there for 4 years, a time considered sufficient to benefit from the family organisation of the houses and to complete their high school education.
It has only been going for about 2 years and has plans to double its size by 2012. A lot of money has been allocated to its development and Melissa was particularly envious of the standard of school building and the facilities available. The herd of cows is also in the early stages of its establishment and it will take a little time to decide what help they may need and in which aspect of their management.
There has been a plague of flying insects at home, ant-like but not ants, beginning each evening after dark and made worse by the attraction of the outside light. The extent of the invasion is such that in seeking the light, they collide with us as we go in and out of the back door. They are not good flyers and have little endurance; their bodies accumulating underfoot to crunch unpleasantly as we move about. Inevitably they succeed by numbers to enter the house no matter how quickly we get the door shut. Many of them get in on our clothes or in our hair. It’s got to the stage now where we have abandoned washing up outside after the evening meal and leave it until the morning.
We have been helped in dispersing those who fly furiously around the lights once they have gained entry by a gadget we bought to help control mosquitoes. It’s in the shape of a tennis racquet but instead of strings it has metal grids powered by battery in the handle. The electronics deliver up to a couple of thousand volts across these grids and a satisfying crack and flash means contact has been made. The contact is not always fatal, bigger flies are stunned; they drop to spin round on the floor until dispatched by a sandal. You can imagine what pyrotechnics can be generated by a tennis player of Melissa’s talents wading into the swarm with me trotting behind with a dustpan and brush.
The only beneficiaries of this blight are the toads in the yard that can be seen pouncing on all the bodies that can only crawl rather than fly. Is it providence or evolution that brings them this bonanza at the beginning of their breeding season?

Our cosy home!

2010-10-20T04:02:00.000-07:00

We have had a visit from a team of men spraying the insides of houses as part of an anti malaria campaign. When they arrived at about 10.00, I was assured by the team leader that it was a US sponsored drive and that the chemicals used were safe provided we stayed clear of the treated rooms for 2 hours. The assurance was based on the wording used on the packages enclosing the permethrin. I had heard of no dire consequences when used on any other volunteer’s accommodation, so after a quick telephone call to Melissa, I gave the go ahead.
Melanie has always managed to put them off spraying her house but Aphrodise claimed there is no choice in the matter; it is compulsory. That would make more sense if this is all part of a concerted plan. No one was able to tell me what sort of sanction is used to back up this compulsion. The actual spraying is limited to those rooms used for occupation, the bedrooms and living room. We had a bit of a stand-off over whether the dining area needed to be done; the snag being that all food and utensils must be cleared before spraying can begin. It’s sort of open plan between the living section and this dining area so it could not easily be isolated. Even though we have only been here for 9 months we seem to have accumulated a disproportionate amount of “stuff”, all of it on open shelves. The thought of all this being hauled into store rooms or outside was too much so as a concession they agreed that the archway connecting the two rooms could be blocked by a large woven floor mat and the door with the broken lock between this area and the passageway jammed shut with a broom through the door handle. Even with this clutter able to remain in place, the beds had to be stripped and the bedclothes, mattress and all our clothes put in an unoccupied room.
Despite the inconvenience I was glad to see the team had been well trained and was determined to do a good job. They finished the spraying about 11.00 and Jackie and I were left out on the veranda to get on with things as best we could. Jackie took the opportunity to go to the market while I admired the scenery. After 15 minutes this began to grate a little, made worse by my lack of forethought to at least have had something to sit on. So I took it upon myself to break the rules and go in for a book and a chair. There was a remarkable lack of a chemical smell and the only sign of spraying was puddling of the liquid where it had run from the walls. Not wishing to push my luck, I took the minimum time to get the things I needed and resumed my vigil in a little more comfort.
About 40 minutes later, Melissa came back busting for the loo and hungry for some for some lunch. So once again the guidelines were breached, this time with disapproving looks from Jacky, now back from the market. With 15 minutes to go, and with the spirit of the advice having been observed, we all trooped back in and began the task of getting everything back into shape.
The treatment is due to be repeated after 6 months, that presumably being the duration of the effect. The effect as far as we could see was a good deal less than that judging by the activity of the mosquitoes whining around the bedroom that night, one being so affected it managed to get inside the net. Perhaps it’s too early to judge, but it’s a bit of a worry if this is the main thrust against malaria for the general population. We have netting over the windows, a good idea in theory but the principle result is that flies come in through the doors and then can’t get back out. Mosquitoes have appeared inside the house regularly and tend to cause a nuisance around dusk and the early part of the night. It’s only the sound of their flight that gives away their presence; their bites are entirely without sensation. But it means we have to wear socks around the house in the evening to avoid bitten feet. We still continue to take Larium weekly to prevent malaria, but most volunteers we know have abandoned this prophylactic approach, judging the risk affordable. I think most Rwandans would like the luxury of having such a choice.
More problems with the electricity, this time due to pole collapse prevention. Initially the cuts were made when the new pole was being erected, the next lot when the transfer of the wires between poles was effected and finally when the old pole was chopped down. As part of the transfer process, the part of the wire array that crossed our road has been relieved of its burden of empty US AID tins of milk powder. Their original purpose was perhaps to make the wire more visible as a hazard to high vehicles. A dozen or more of these big rusty tins had been strung along the wire, nominally over the road but now, due to wind and gravity, occupying the portion of the wire over someone’s garden further down hill. Whatever the reason for their use, all they seem to do now is to weigh the wire down so making it more likely to be hit by one of the many passing lorries. Close by there remains a chain of these tins on the wire passing completely over a piece of cultivated ground, so making their primary function even more obscure.
Moses has been spending most of his weekends here with Melanie and on Sunday afternoon they suggested we go out for a drink with them. The weather had been wet and looked as though there was more to come. As a consequence of the weather or pole maintenance we had no electricity. We had prepared the week’s food earlier in the day so the lack of power only meant we might have to use the charcoal to reheat it and boil up some sweet potatoes. As time went by and still no juice we thought a more practical solution was for them to come over to us for a beer, allowing us to pop out from time to time to the courtyard and monitor the charcoal.
Melanie suggested a game, maybe cards, but we had hidden away that game you play with wooden blocks; a tower is formed and you remove blocks where you can and stack them on top of the tower, the loser the one to make the tower topple. Melanie was an old hand, but it was new to Moses. As Melanie says, he’s a cheap date; by virtue of his slight frame he is soon handicapped by the beer. The gloom doesn’t help and each one of us in turn succumbs to failure. As the evening progresses, odd remarks by Melanie about knowing someone better by seeing how they play games and talk of witnesses to marriage ceremonies makes us wonder what may be on her mind. At last, the electricity returns as I lose the decider and the evening breaks up. Our speculations are ended the next morning when Melanie announces her engagement to Moses, a January date has been set and we’re invited.

Birthday celebrations start early!

2010-10-03T23:34:00.000-07:00

Melanie and I almost share the same birthday..just one day and a few years separate us! We had a small party for friends at the weekend....what a great time was had by all!

The tree that is....not!

2010-10-01T06:39:00.000-07:00

Since finishing my training with the scanner at ISAE, it’s been rather tranquil here in Nyanza. The second session of training took almost a week and concentrated on Ferdinand, the most competent of the trainees identified during the first session. His other attractive quality was that he was the only one who turned up regularly and did not have some excuse to be somewhere else. The problem of the lack of cows at ISAE had not been addressed. My suggestion of using ISAE’s other herd at Rubrizi near Kigali was met with objections on grounds of budget; the college could not afford the transport and accommodation costs. Transport I could under stand, but accommodation? It would take 2 hours by public transport to get there, say 4 hours on the farm and another 2 hours back, we’d all be safely tucked up by 6 latest. If we’re looking at accommodation then there’s a serious problem with their cattle handling system.
I obviously have yet to convince the Dean that he has a valuable asset to offer other herds and that in any other country this service is worth a lot of money. It isn’t ISAE that should fund the travel to other herds but the other way round. Perhaps it’s the managers of these other herds we need to convince that spending time and money on fertility is worth the effort.
So the long suffering ISAE herd was brought once more into play. It was pretty useful to compare the same cow over an interval of 7-10 days and to see the advancement of some of the very early pregnancies. We also identified one or two that needed treatment to bring them into oestrous and allow them to be inseminated. However, it all came to naught when it was admitted that there was no semen to serve them with even if they did come on heat. How exactly this has been allowed to come about remains untold. There is talk of a manager dismissed-revenge? Incompetence? The return of normal service could be weeks away. Inseminations were believed to have ceased in the middle of July, so where the 2 pregnancies have come from that both date to August, we shall see next May.
The rainy season has taken a rain check and every day for the last fortnight the sky has been blue with the promise of clouds building in the afternoon but no delivery of rain. It is tantalising to have had the mains water restored for the whole day during that brief wet period. Now it’s back to 12 hours on, 24 hours off. Farmers without irrigation, and there’s a lot of them, must be worried for their young plants just put out. My courgette and sweet corn plants started outside are doing much better than in the beginning of the year. One reason may be that my compost heaps are more mature and probably at last doing the surrounding soil some good. I have even been able to call in a favour from Aphrodise and added some cow muck to the mix.
I thought a fork was out of the question here, but Melissa has proved me wrong. She found one in Kigali and although it is styled muck fork, and its tines are a bit curved, it’s allowed me to dig the ground previously opened up with the big hoe. I can get a much better penetration with it and I’m turning up all sorts of rubbish that my last effort merely skated across. Basically, the soil is good albeit on the sandy side and pretty deep for an urban garden. I’ve learnt now to leave the main digging until there is some moisture in the soil, if you don’t it’s like concrete. They make mud bricks out of soil not dissimilar to this; it only takes a few days in hot sun to render them as hard as kerb stones. The tines on this fork are a wee bit bendy if I hit anything hard but it’s a vast improvement on the hoe and I don’t have to walk on the sections I’ve dug.
What’s more, I put it to its proper use in claiming the generous donation of muck from next door. While there, Aphrodise proudly showed me his new enterprise-rabbits. He’s only got 17 but obviously he’s hoping for more. He has no buck at the moment, he’s afraid of cannibalism by a male, but he has had one litter of 6 about 10 days ago, presumably she was bought pregnant.
Jacky had more work than she needed when the clothes line broke and one of the bed sheets hit the dust. I had some spare line that I had bought for another use so I was able to restring it fairly quickly while Jacky rinsed the dust off. Looking at the other two lines, and seeing the break in this line was not where it goes through the metal pole, I thought it best to renew all three to prevent a recurrence. The sunlight has patently got to them, the new line being a much stronger colour than the ones I replaced. Even though they’re nylon, conditions here are extreme for plastics.
I have mentioned before about the easy chairs in the front room. Easy they are to make, mostly crudely finished and held together with nails, but not easy to sit in. Thin foam on wooden slats numb arses make. While at Zebounissa's we saw some chairs made from thin wooden poles and banana fibre, a bit like rattan chairs but a bit more rustic. At least they were wooden slat free. And they were cheaper than a new set of cushions. The ones we saw were too small so with the stipulation that they would be bigger, we asked her to get her man to make us some. Monday last he came out to the house with the finished articles and a coffee table to complete the set. They still looked suspiciously small so I needed to road test them before paying up. As I thought, the dimensions of chairs must be handed down father to son because these had been made to a genetic code with no variation for bigger people. I had difficulty explaining this to him as he couldn’t see the snag. It was not until he saw me half way out of the chair with it still jammed on my bottom that he conceded there needed to be alterations. I felt a bit mean as he walked away crestfallen but at least he won’t lose out, they’ll still sell in the market.
Saturday marks a first for us, we shall be hosts for a party celebrating both Melanie's and Melissa's birthday. There is only one day separating them but a perhaps a few years. Parties here come in two main forms, birthdays and leaving for home after your placement is over. Most are held in Kigali as it’s a natural centre to the country with good transport, plenty of cheapish guest houses or a generous supply of volunteers’ floors. We hope about 30 to turn up which is well over the floor capacity of our two houses combined. Melissa and Melanie inspected some of the rooms available to book in town. The standard of rooms is not great; exposed concrete and hole in the floor loos. Nyanza has still a way to go before it hits the levels expected of the more recognised tourist destinations. Much planning has gone into this communal effort but we shall bring in some catering to cook the brochettes-we don’t have the savoir-faire to thread and spice them the way they do in the bars throughout the country. I have undertaken to supply as much bread as I can bake, I reckon about 7 or 8 loaves is doable in 3 days. It stays fresh for long enough and most people won’t be that fussy. We can supply a crate of beer and two wine boxes but the rest will have to come from the local bar just up the road.
Just opposite this bar has been a large and somewhat gnarled eucalyptus tree just shy of 3 feet in diameter. A new house had been finished a few months ago with this tree in its front yard. Over the last weeks this tree has been whittled down to a contorted trunk about 35 ft high. At the beginning of the week men began labouring on its complete felling; all done with home made axes with rather short handles. Saws are not favoured for this job and even the cutting up of fallen trees is done by axe. The wedge cut out of the trunk to direct its fall had gradually deepened until it was held by less than half its diameter. The amount of unencumbered space they had to aim for was pretty small but one morning there it was placed as neat as you like parallel to the road awaiting ultimate disposal. It will take quite a bit more work before it can be carted away; probably end up by being sat on as another batch of easy chairs.

The rains cometh?

2010-09-13T00:03:00.001-07:00

It looks as though the rains have begun, but they may be a bit early according to precedent. Late September or early October is more usual. Nonetheless, 2 months without rain is quite long enough. The dust, as in Quentin Crisp's flat, had got only so deep and then had appeared to stop accumulating. What has been obvious is that the ditches at the side of the road have filled over the months with litter and rubbish, almost choking them. We had an inkling that the weather had begun to change when we came back from Kigali last weekend and the bottoms of the ditches were damp but the detritus was still there. A measure of the strength of the rain over the past week; the ditches have been scoured clean.

Another measure was that we were without electricity for 48 hours. It went off just as this major storm began at about 4 in the afternoon; there was a fair bit of lightning just overhead and some powerful gusts but nothing extraordinary. Normally the power goes off for no more than 2-3 hours but by morning we guessed it was a bit more serious. Melissa discovered the cause on her way by moto to a school she was visiting that morning. The extreme two wooden poles of the row at the end of our road had been blown down. The fact that both poles had long been the restaurant of choice for the local termites meant that it had been lucky they had not toppled before when the road could have been full of people. Replacement poles have been lying in readiness at the roadside for the last 5 months. Perhaps it's because the end of the line supplies the baby clinic near the hospital that the repairs only took 48 hours.

48 hours was enough to unstick us and our increasing reliance on the fridge for storage of our cooked food. The first 24 hours we could weather but after that the meals for the next 3 days had begun to bubble. There was no evil smell but the fact that gas was being generated and the local hospital has no great reputation in an emergency led me to dump the lot. You all would expect put it in the bin but that's out here, there are no bins. Jacky's refuse disposal service is OK for inert stuff; I did not want to be responsible for poisoning livestock or anyone prepared to take a chance with seemingly edible food, so it went down the lav.

The onset of a change in the weather has prompted me to attempt the sowing of seeds again. We had limited success with the first growing period; you can't really talk of seasons. The herbs have all done well, the basil in particular; it has even survived long enough to produce good looking seed something it never does in England or in France. The sweet corn were a total failure but I think the seed got damp in transit. Courgettes grew but only finger size and were plagued with an insect that bored into the fruit and stunted them severely. The carrots have done really well and with the bonus that there seems to be no carrot root fly here so all the carrot can be enjoyed. I have sown courgette and sweet corn and checking if the coriander has managed to self-sow. The room for cultivation is very limited but it is more secure from the browsing goats that have free run of the patch that Aphrodise has allowed me to use.

It was PK's inauguration for his second term as president on Monday – hence a public holiday. This week is the end of Ramadan but the exact day of Eid appears to be a state secret. That will be a holiday also but whether it's Thursday or Friday we'll have to see. Public holidays are usually announced the evening before on the radio. As there is no English version broadcast we have to rely on a grape vine to know when to stay in bed. In view of the disrupted week I chose not to go back to ISAE until later to continue the training on the scanner.

The first week went well and I think everyone is convinced it's going to be a very useful tool for clinical use as well as teaching. The first morning was passed puzzling out how it all went together. Then someone discovered the manual that had been left in the packaging during its unwrapping last week before I arrived. It's very sophisticated compared with the scanner I used to use in practice. It took a little time to get into the swing of scanning after a 2 year break but this machine made it all quite easy.

The biggest problem in training the staff who want to use it or teach with it is the lack of cows on the college farm; there are only about 25 in total and they seem to be always scattered over the hill side when you need them. The paucity of the most elementary handling facilities really begins to become significant. It takes 60-90 minutes to assemble about a dozen cows and guide them into the back of the handling race. They know what's up and are mostly unwilling to play ball. I may have said before but there is no pen of any sort to confine these cattle while we chivvy them into the race. You get two in and then it's a sprint around the college buildings gathering up a few more. Very frustrating.

When at last they are in a position to be examined we have come up with some good examples of the standard conditions seen in most cows and some surprises were made on cows thought to be pregnant and vice versa.

Melanie has taken up with Moses, a signer for the deaf who has a Ugandan father and Rwandan mother. He spent his formative years in Uganda and would qualify for dual nationality but has not chosen that option and remains Ugandan. At the moment Moses works for RNUD, or the Rwanda National Union for the Deaf. Rwanda has taken a pretty enlightened stance on access for the deaf and Moses was chosen to interpret for the president's speech on television at his inauguration. There was much rushing about the weekend before the investiture trying to get all the necessary paperwork in place so he could widen the potential audience for the president. But as often happens here, it all came to nothing and the speech was made without Moses at his side. Nevertheless, Moses was interviewed by various foreign television stations about the perceived advance in Rwanda's attitude towards disability and he has been offered a permanent job on RTV as interpreter for the deaf.

Our visit to Nyungwe forest to see the chimpanzees was not without incident. It had been planned for the weekend after our return from Ethiopia. Accompanying us was Dorothy who had been with us to Tanzania and will be returning to the UK in October and a friend of hers from Bristol, Lynne.

It's a long way to Nyungwe and the bus doesn't usually stop at Nyanza even though it goes past the door, so Melissa had reserved tickets for the bus a few days before when she was in Kigali. We had to be at the road junction in good time in order catch the bus-once missed there was not another one for days. In addition to booking the seats, she had had the option of reserving places as well. This is an unheard of luxury; seats are normally on a first come first get the comfy seats basis. It's always bad news when the bus is fully booked and late as there is a total loss of order and dignity as passengers literally scrum to board the bus first. Usually they don't have the gumption to let the arriving passengers off first so it's a heaving chaos.

We were pushing our luck by boarding relatively far on in the bus's journey and indeed our seats had been taken even though Dorothy had done her damnedest to keep them free. It took the best part of 15 minutes to persuade the couple occupying them to move even with the driver weighing in and the other passengers getting thoroughly fed up with the whole affair. Places as well as seats had been reserved for the journey home, but when it was obviously going to involve same rigmarole and delay, we settled for the bucket seats in the middle and kept quiet.

Chimpanzees nest overnight in trees, begin the day with a bit of light feeding and social interaction and then about mid-morning descend to the forest floor and move off at a fair lick to a different part of the forest. The aim of our visit was to see them in a relatively fixed place before they became impossible to follow in the undergrowth. This meant a very early start to get to their roost and allow us reasonable observation time. A 4.30 a.m. departure was set to give us time to be driven close to where we should begin the trail through the forest. Dorothy is about our age and asthmatic and has extreme difficulty maintaining any pace up hill and it was only the prospect of a short trek that made her think this was practical.

We had booked our driver on the recommendation of a reliable friend. He had said that his vehicle was in for repair but that he had a replacement and in view of this he needed another $25.00 on top of his agreed fee. We were not best pleased when we saw that we had to squeeze into an ordinary and pretty old Toyota Carina saloon. With 3 in the back we went off to meet the guide who would take us to the area the chimps had been last seen once the car journey was complete. The guide was waiting for us at the visitor centre some distance from the village nearest the chimps and we assumed he would have his own vehicle, but no!-he had to bunk in with us. So now with 4 in the back we began to make the descent to the village close to the start of the trail.

Once on this road, the inadequacy of the substitute car became apparent. The road into the village is normally used by villagers on foot to and from market and by rangers in 4x4s. There were deep ruts and many loose rocks on its surface and even with progress at less than walking pace all of us winced at the noise of the floor pan being scraped and had the unpleasant sensation under our feet of the metal flexing upwards in response to the rocks rolling underneath. The car couldn't stand much more and even with us getting out to relieve the weight in the back, we could still walk faster than the car. The inevitable did not have long to wait-it nosed into a trough across the road, the sump lifted the wheels clear of the ground and we could neither go forward nor back.

We had no option but to continue on foot. The driver, now thoroughly out of favour, stayed with the car to puzzle out its recovery. At various times we had tried to get an estimate of the time or distance left before the village but they were vague in the extreme. We began to follow the course of the road but the guide, while acknowledging the ease of the surface felt that the distance along the road was too great compared with the straight- down-the-hillside approach. This was a bare mud path used by the villagers. In places it was treacherously greasy and very steep. I find going down hill just as tiring as ascending and we had about 1500 feet to descend. With frequent stops and a lot of helping each other we made it to the village in just over an hour. A breakfast stop was absolutely essential making it about 9.00 before we were in a position to begin the trek proper.

Assessing the likelihood of us all getting to the known position of the apes, the guide chose to split us into 2 groups to give at least some of us a chance of seeing them. Melissa and I went in the first group and had mounting difficulty in keeping up with the guide's metronomic pace. Conditions on the ground got worse as we zeroed in on their reported position with the help of spotters. We did not expect Dorothy to be able to deal with the relentlessness of pace and the increasing gradient. It took us a further hour to be in the position to see 3 chimps far up in the canopy. Others could be heard in the vicinity but this small group obliged us by staying put long enough to get a good view of them with binoculars and camera.

They stayed for a further 30-40 minutes but eventually even by their moving a short distance through the tree tops they were lost to sight. 10 minutes later, to our utter amazement and delight Dorothy, looking thoroughly exhausted, came along the trail with Lynne. She was devastated to have missed them but we were astonished that she had made it that far; she had really pushed herself certainly beyond what she had thought herself capable. The killer was that we had to walk all the way back to the road in order to get out; no replacement car could get down the track to drive us out. It was about 2000 ft of climbing to have to do but we had all day to do it.

We regained the main road at 3.00. The car had somehow been released and was close by to take us back to the visitor centre. The serious fun began when the driver expected to be paid. I retired a safe distance while he wilted under the combination of Melissa and Dorothy. To be fair, he maintained that he'd given us excellent service and that he deserved to be paid the full amount. He could see no grounds for any form of apology or refund. With that sort of attitude he earned the mauling he got in full earshot of the other guides and rangers.

The good news is that as the tale became more widely known, Dorothy and Lynne had the offer of another chance to see the chimpanzees the next day even though it meant officially the party was overbooked. In view of the circumstances, everyone in the tourist office felt they could stretch a point. We had to get back that day so we had no chance to see them after their second much more successful and less stressful encounter but word got back that they had had a very worthwhile experience.

Other primates spotted plus other things!

2010-09-01T05:19:00.001-07:00

My new family!

2010-08-31T03:55:00.000-07:00

Visiting this troupe of wild chimps was a huge adventure in many ways...more later!

Ethiopia: Down south

2010-08-25T04:27:00.001-07:00

Guides really make or break a holiday and you're bound to get a fair spectrum on the index of compatibility during a 2 week trip. When we able to go further afield abroad without the financial burden of having to take all the children as well (sorry, kids!) we went with large groups. It was cheaper, but the guide was remote; it was difficult to ask all the questions you wanted, and when the chance of a moment with the guide came up, the immediacy of the question was often lost. When we self-drove as we did in America and South Africa, we had no guide and there was a lot of empty speculation between us in the front seats as to the significance of things we saw around us. A good guide anticipates questions and likely problems as well as knowing good places to eat and help with the bargaining in markets.

In Gonder, we hit a good one. His name is not particularly memorable and it's only because I have his card that I recall it at all. Like most of the guides we had, he was only with us for a few days but he brought out the best for us in Gonder.

What's the best of Gonder? Well I promised not to get too traveloguey, enough to say the notable castles in the town centre that were occupied by the Italians during the war had their roofs blown off by British aerial bombardment. Embarrassed shuffling of feet on our part as we see restoration still to be completed. The guide could have done more to ease our vicarious guilt by shifting the blame onto the Italians for being there, but he didn't. Other notables were the preparation and cooking of injera and visiting a women's' collective producing pottery and cloth.

Back on the road to Bahir Dar; we had lost our good guide and had to rely on the driver again for information and pit stops. Around here the wet season had obviously not yet finished; the fields were flooded for miles around and being very flat the water was not in a hurry to drain away. The livestock were thus deprived of grazing and sought refuge on the only high ground available-the road. It was a long straight stretch of road and the dead donkey index rose quite a few points.

Bahir Dar lies alongside a vast lake out of which flows the Blue Nile. The hotel was right by it so we were able to spend some time watching fish eagles and kingfishers. The hotel was the third one we had stayed in that looked as though it had been put up during the period of communist rule in the '90s. They all followed the same pattern of room layout and exuded the same air of genteel dishevelment. Nonetheless, the food was good and who needs hot water anyway.

Returning to Addis to begin the southern half of the journey we met Danni, our guide for the rest of the stay. Instead of the town minibus we had begun to get used to we had a 4x4 to lounge around in. The minibus had not aroused much interest in the people we passed on the road. The only emotions they displayed were deep disappointment when their signals for us to stop for them were ignored and some fairly international signs directed at us when left them in our dust. Once we changed to a 4x4, especially as the roof rack was charged with jerry cans full of extra fuel, our livery had changed to "tourist". While we were still way off from the groups of boy herdsmen, the approaching profile of the car set them off into their party pieces designed to attract our attention, weird distortions of traditional dancing, standing on their heads, or simply yelling and putting out their hands for the expected money or sweets. This was the pattern of the encounters for the whole of our southern journey; the only differences were the variations in the style of stereotyped dance.

The devotion of the southern population to the Orthodox Church became clear in Arba Minch, a town about half way through our itinerary. The church has periods of fasting during its calendar and these fasts usually extend to the food available in the local restaurants. "Fasting food" or food made with no animal products is usually seen as one on the choices available on the menu. Our visit to the town had coincided with the major fasting period of the year. It was on the Sunday morning that we were woken with an apparently new move in community worship- the service and prayers to celebrate this holy week were being broadcast through loudspeakers from the next door church. All this at 4:00 in the morning. At first I thought it was the Muslim call to prayer that I'm used to in Musanze which only goes on for 5 minutes or so and is relatively musical, but this was a real dirge and kept on for 5 hours.

Danni when questioned about it later said he had not experienced it before and that many of the locals were upset and angry about it. Being so close to the church hadn't helped and it can't do the hotel's business any good.

As we travelled on, it became apparent that we were entering the tribal territories from the change of dress of the herdsmen from jeans and t-shirt to more traditional costumes. Photographing from the car now became more hazardous as money was expected for each shot. Danni took us to see the first tribal village, that of the Mursi whose traditional ideal of feminine beauty is embodied by lip plugs and similar distortions of the earlobes. We got there early, before any other visitors. Most tribes people were doing morning chores or eating but as soon as we got out of the jeep we were faced with a crowd of not too friendly girls and women demanding money for photographs. Their poses expressed aggression and resentfulness, but the more we stared and backed off, the more people emerged from huts arrayed in more outlandish dress until it dissolved into a freak show.

The men sat apart nearer the road and eyed us suspiciously. Every second man had a Kalashnikov and Danni told us afterwards most of them were already drunk. He had not yet paid to the headman the hefty fee for us to be there. An armed ranger who had accompanied us from the park gate was conducting an investigation with the men into a missing wallet taken from a tourist the previous day and voices were becoming raised. Melissa had only a limited amount of small change for photographs and demands for double payments were made if two people happened to be in the same shot.

I've never been more relieved to get back in a car. On our way back we passed a number of other cars heading for the same village and I wouldn't have wanted to witness their reception-we had really pissed them off.

Other tribal villages followed more or less the same pattern but with much less threat or aggression. Because of their rigid idea that no money would be given if they did not stand to attention and look sullen the opportunity to take photos of people going about their daily business was denied. Equally, there was no-one prepared to give us a chance for a clearer insight into their culture or technology. The perception that the only way they could make money from tourists was by selling the right to be photographed was widespread. The fact that I did not carry a camera made no difference to the demands made on me. Once the change ran out, bitterness grew because no more photos were being taken. There was always a scrum to be in the viewfinder and those excluded were obviously resentful. It became an unpleasant experience to be in these villages and we did not look forward to them. The sustainability of this as an enterprise is very limited.

The Hamer tribe have a spectacular ceremony of bull jumping that has become better organised in respect of the access for tourists. In return for a fee of 200 birr, about £10 each, you could have unlimited rights to photograph. The ceremony itself is to grant a man the right to marry once he has successfully completed the not inconsiderable task of jumping over a line of bulls. Preliminary to this his young female relations submit themselves to be whipped, something the girls themselves actively encourage, goading the man whipping them with a thin cane of willow to do it again and again. The welts and blood on their backs testify to their devotion and regard for the man who will later jump the bulls. The ceremony attracts Hamer and tourists equally, the Hamer travelling great distances to reach this site. The rite is held every 2 or 3 days at this time of year and demands a considerable outlay of money from the families involved; we were assured that the tourists' fees go some way towards the cost. There must have been well over 150 tourists present at the time we were there.

As you may imagine, the opportunities to photograph were endless especially as most Hamer were too involved in the ritual to spend time posing. The fact that the man jumping the bulls is entirely naked had nothing to do with the enthusiasm that Melissa put into the task of photographing him from every conceivable angle. She'd have bankrupted us if we'd had to pay per shot. Any requests for the photos we daren't send to the chemists may be made by anonymous email.

The final tribe we visited, the Dorze, was led by a man who had gone away to college to do a diploma in tourism. It showed. No pestering or importuning, demonstrations of food preparation and weaving and unsolicited invitations into huts to watch spinning and the pounding of coffee beans. They have accommodation for tourists who wish to sample the tribal life for a night or two and a shop selling the crafts they produce. All very low key and an altogether more pleasant experience for us and a good deal more profitable for them

We had just about finished our road trip in the south and were approaching Arba Minch for a second night in the hotel Mosh Pit. We were climbing up a pretty steep incline when without warning the engine over-revved and we came to a jerking stop. Danni seemed unable to master the situation and the engine continued to scream. At the same time clouds of the blackest smoke flooded from the exhaust blanketing the road. Something pretty terminal had to have happened and we got out damn quick in case anything caught fire. Albeit that the driving standards in Ethiopia are worse than Naples at least people stop if they can see you're in trouble and in no time Danni had the offer of a tow to a garage in the town and we had secured a lift to the hotel.

There followed an evening of consultations and phone calls to find a substitute vehicle to complete the journey back to Addis. The 4x4 had burned out 2 fuel injectors and no replacements were available locally; they had to come from Addis 300km away. In the end we arranged to hire a vehicle from Arba Minch and to meet this 4x4 from Addis the following night at our next hotel. Danni said he'd do his best to get an equivalent 4x4 for the intermediate journey.

Imagine our delight in the morning to see a town minibus waiting for us complete with peeling plastic shading on the windows and a furry dashboard cover. The mileage was nearing 400,000km and the steering was shot but it did get us there with only a modicum of fright.

So ended a memorable holiday in a country we would like to visit again next year. Once back in Addis the company had invited us to a traditional dinner to initiate us into the wonders of injera and its accompanying music and dance. It gave us an opportunity to discuss the finer details of what went well and not so well but the company definitely came out on the plus side.

Ethiopia: a tourist’s tale

2010-08-19T22:55:00.001-07:00

Ethiopia would not have been top of the list of our holiday destinations while huddled round the fire on a winter's day in the UK. Truth be told, we only went because it's virtually on the doorstep but I'm glad we did.

Ethiopia's a large country and we only had time to sample the north and south in the 2 weeks we were there. The north is coming out of its wet season and you somehow don't think of this part of Africa being so green and productive.

We arrived in Addis in the rain at night and we had to leave very early in the morning so it was only while looking from the plane flying towards Lalibela that we had some idea of the richness of the countryside. Villages mostly constructed traditionally from wood and mud with grass roofs lay within a stockade; not to keep anything out but to provide overnight enclosures for the herds of cattle goats and sheep. Initially we were mystified by the occasional presence of a much larger round hut in its own enclosure until we were told it was the church. Ethiopia is very bound up with religion, a small majority adhering to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church with Muslims a close second.

Surrounding these settlements were large fields; much larger than we are used to seeing in Rwanda. The gentler slopes and the use of oxen to pull ploughs go some way to explain the difference. Farmers here have some difficulty in understanding why Rwandans don't use ploughs of any description and stick to teams of people digging with hoes, especially considering how many cattle there are in Rwanda.

Once away from Lalibela airstrip and with some 20 km to cover before reaching the town, we could get a better idea of the intensity of the cultivation and the extent to which cattle, sheep and goats figure in the system. Even though many of the fields were water-logged, ploughing was still going on. What crop was to be planted in the freshly turned soil, especially so near to the next dry season, was not clear.

As we approached the town, the landscape became steeper and the fields more terraced. It was the main day for market and we passed endless streams of people taking goods towards Lalibela. The main difference between the market crowds in Rwanda and Ethiopia is the use of donkeys as pack animals; no animals at all are used for pack or draught in Rwanda, and those people that do carry goods in Ethiopia use their shoulders not their heads. All Ethiopian men can be seen with a stick about 3 feet long that they use to help spread the load on their shoulders; the object to be carried is placed on the left shoulder with part of it projecting behind, then the stick is held half-way over the right shoulder and used as a lever under this projection to support the load using both shoulders.

The other huge difference between the two countries is the interminable presence of herds of cattle, sheep and goats on the road. Everywhere we went, in towns villages and deep in the mountains, you could guarantee to come across animals sitting in the road, just about to cross the road, herds blocking the road or being herded along the road. When animals were not being driven but grazing then you knew not far away will be a collection of small boys nominally in charge. Cars and lorries seemed to take little notice of the risks posed by the presence of these animals, hardly slowing when weaving through them. The animals themselves were as bad, taking no heed of horns or oncoming vehicles, walking at a steady pace across the road with their gaze fixed ahead despite the traffic. We saw at least 3 dead donkeys in the road and dogs and vultures gnawing at skeletons of other cattle or donkeys killed by the side of the road.

Lalibela is famous for its rock hewn churches; that is to say they have been carved and sculpted in situ and so rest in the resulting pits. They are all actively in use and each one has its resident cleric on duty to oversee the behaviour of visitors and protect the church's sanctity. The ravages of erosion and rain have led to UNESCO erecting steel roofs over the bigger churches, so rather diminishing their splendour. However, once you've seen one rock church…

We elected to trek to see a monastery constructed in a similar style but as a cave and not a pit. It was about 600 metres above the town and 4-5 kms away. It's perfectly possible to walk there but our special treat was to ride there on mules. I have not been on any form of equine since the trip to Morocco we made before the children were born, so the prospect of mounting this thing and then being led through the town while still getting used to hanging on did not appeal. I had a bad feeling when I met my mount and it seemed to take an instant dislike to me; it needed the two handlers to both have it in a headlock before it would stay still enough for me to get on.

However, once into the swing, it became a more pleasant experience. We dismounted on the steeper sections to ease the burden on the mules and to avoid slipping on the rocky path. Stirrups too small to get your feet in properly were another reason to take it steadily. The monastery itself was in many ways more remarkable than the churches; isolated and enveloped by cloud. A congregation had just been worshipping and were gathered outside on a large rocky plateau and in a hut having some food. We were largely ignored while some of the assembly took the opportunity to discuss heatedly a disputed family issue over property mediated by the cleric, according to our guide.

We visited the market and were struck by the friendliness of the people and the range of things on offer; from the usual clothes and pots to all sorts of grains and pulses. Leaves we thought might be "chat" turned out to be bitter leaves used as hops for the local beer. Attractive home spun cloth caught our eye as well as herbs and spices; chillies displayed in such quantities that to be downwind of them meant coughing and sneezing. The cattle for sale were not penned or restrained at all, just standing around in groups as if in a field. It helped considerably to have a knowledgeable guide who's home town this was and could help with explanations and bargaining.

We asked him if we might find a restaurant by the market in which to have lunch and try the local specialities. It was here we had our first encounter with injera. Injera is the basis of the Ethiopian diet in much the same way that pasta is for the Italians. It is formed from tef, a tiny grain who's parent plant looks like grass. The cereal grows only about a foot tall and is easily swamped by weeds. It's bizarre to see teams of people on their knees weeding a field the size of a football pitch by hand. How they don't do more harm by trampling on it I'm not sure. The weeds removed are not wasted; they get fed to the cattle.

Injera comes in the form of a giant pancake and is served on a metal tray about 2 feet in diameter entirely covered by the injera. The accompanying meats and sauces are usually already on it. Injera is about 5mm thick and has one side smooth and one honeycombed. To me it has all the appearance and colour of tripe. Unlike tripe it is easily torn and the pieces used to wrap the meats and sauces. The hand alone is used to convey the package formed to the mouth and altogether makes a pleasant and very filling meal. It's the best food that some of the hotels we stayed at could come up with- offerings felt by them to be more tourist friendly usually looked pretty poor.

Aksum, in Tigrai province further north, near the border with Eritrea, is the home of the stelae; upright stones that used to be grave markers but then got out of hand and grew according to the perceived status of the king who was in power at the time; the largest standing in the town is just bigger than Cleopatra's needle. A monster at a reputed 500 tons but 33 metres high still lies shattered where it fell during erection. Perhaps Aksum's powers to seduce failed to work on us because of the guide we had. It should be a town with enormous potential to intrigue and fascinate but his rather hectoring manner and failure to listen to anything that was being asked of him put us off.

The journey south to Gonder by road was going to be long and meant an early start. We were met at the hotel at 6.00 by a driver and "assistant" with a Toyota van that had recently been used as a town bus. The combination of the bench seats and the atrocious state of the roads led us to take turns in the only comfortable seat: next to the driver. During the course of the trip we passed a vast assembly of dwellings some shanty with plastic sheet for roofs, some newly constructed from stone but all in a rigid grid pattern. In the midst was at least one securely fenced food distribution point with perpetual lines of refugees, as we found out later, waiting for their turn to be fed.

For all it was a refugee camp established to accommodate those who fled from Eritrea, it had shops and bars and video lounges all adding to the feeling of permanence.

Before we were due to arrive in Gonder, we were to stay in the Simien Mountains. To get there it was necessary to negotiate some pretty fearsome roads that have been designated in need of upgrading. This means the roads over the many mountain passes are in the throws of radical rebuilding. Traffic mingles with enormous earthmoving equipment; earth and rocks slide down onto lower stretches of road while bulldozers carve new cuttings and embankments higher up. The rains don't help; some stretches of road are entirely made of mud and clay rendered lethal by the water on them. Our bus became mired up one such slope but it was heartening to see everyone pile out of the bus in front to help push us out. It was also the only time the "assistant" woke up and moved out of his seat. It is still the main route for road freight and one lorry and double trailer had become so irretrievably stuck that they were building the road round it rather than try to recover it.

The lack of anyone in the driving team who spoke passable English caused us problems. The journey throughout the morning did not seem to have scheduled anywhere to stop for a pee. Since we had been on the road since 6, by 11:30 I for one was getting considerably stressed. As I have already alluded, you can't go a kilometre without the presence of herds and their attendant groups of boys. All these boys have it fixed in their minds that foreigners equate with money or sweets so as soon as they get wind of our presence they home in unerringly. I was becoming more and more focussed on the road ahead assessing it's suitability as somewhere to stop; tree cover, near or far from a village and above all freedom from herds and boys. You know how it is; a likely spot is discounted in favour of a better one round the corner and all the while the bladder clock ticks away. It was within our powers to say "Stop!" at any time but without being able to explain why or to be able easily to abort the halt because of the sudden appearance of people posed its own problems. In the end I just trusted to luck on a mountain road and after stop was called the driver and assistant also tumbled out equally desperate. Even then we could hear boys coming closer but there are times when you can't rush things and this was one of them. After we returned an indignant Melissa said"What about me?" Her complaint was entirely justifiable and I didn't envy the tirade she gave the driver for his lack of consideration. We were lucky to find a modest hotel in the next village that catered to her needs.

The Simien Mountains are havens for wildlife in particular the gelada baboons that live on grass found on top of the cliffs and use the same cliffs as shelter at night. It's high, more than 3000mtrs and it's cold especially when the clouds fail to clear the peaks and hang clammy late in the day.

It wasn't until the next morning when the cloud had cleared we were able to find the baboons and unlike those met in game parks that are inclined to be aggressive and bad tempered these were eminently approachable and practically oblivious of us. You can see from Melissa's photographs what fine specimens they are especially the males. We could have stayed all day watching them but they kept on the move and we had to complete the journey to Gonder.

A taster of Ethiopia

2010-08-17T00:57:00.000-07:00

The rise and fall of our night guard

2010-07-28T00:52:00.001-07:00

You may recall that since the end of February we have employed a man to act as night guard for the house. Most of the volunteers have one, and if their placement is in a location rated as being more isolated or dodgy than average, they may even go so far as to have a day guard as well as a night guard . VSO considers the employment of one to be desirable to the extent that it will subsidise his wages. Superficially they act as a deterrent but in practice their duties range from gardener or water carrier through to evening cook and gatekeeper.

The area we live in is pretty low risk in terms of crime or danger to the person. In many ways the inconveniences of having someone about the place at night outweigh any possible increase in our security. Because most of the outside area is paved, we need very little help with maintenance or cultivation. When the water is cut off, which at this dry time of the year is most days, watering using the mains is limited. As the water stops and returns at unpredictable intervals, we don't usually wait until the guard turns up before refilling buckets and jerry cans in case it's off again when he arrives. It is an unnecessary faff to wait for the guard to open the gate when all we need do is unlock it ourselves, so we don't need a gate keeper.

However, unemployment in general here is high and it's not a big deal to allow for the presence of a third party at times we would normally expect to be alone. So despite there being no real need, we employ a guard. He should arrive each evening at about 6.45, when it's just about fully dark and leave before daybreak at about 5.15. His duties are not onerous, just an inspection every so often around the yard with his torch and a chat with next door. After we have washed up and gone back indoors to watch a film or read, he settles down for the night. He has a key to the gate so is free to come and go.

Our present guard, Mathieu, came recommended by Zebounissa. His time keeping is somewhat variable and there has been a suspicion that the heaviness of his eyelids and tendency to sway when standing is not fatigue but intoxication. It has got to the point where Zebounissa has had to talk to him about it.

Two evenings ago, Mathieu arrived in a very agitated state claiming to have been robbed. He had a lump on his forehead and a small cut on the bridge of his nose. He still had his phone and his torch but had lost his wallet. We have always had difficulty communicating with him and even with his mimes and the knowledge that "ibisambo" means robbers, we still needed to ring Zebounissa to get a clearer picture. She confirmed that we needed to ring the police to help sort this out. In the interval before their arrival we nervously looked about outside the gate to see if anyone was lurking. Within only 10 minutes police began to arrive, the first on foot and the others by moto taxi. In the end we had about 6 police in the yard, only the constable with the Kalashnikov clearly on the force, as he was the only one uniformed. The interview with Mathieu was polite and initially sympathetic. Mathieu was still upset and when I caught the police using words for beer and drugs. I assumed that his attacker was either drunk or high, but it gradually became clear that it was Mathieu they were accusing of being incapable. It transpired that the robbery had happened, not on our doorstep as we initially thought but towards the town at a small shop. The police decided to escort Mathieu to this spot to help identify his assailant and left to return in 15 minutes with the man responsible.

Throughout the police were eager to put us at our ease and were very helpful. The officer the others deferred to told us that Mathieu and his mugger were known to each other and the robbery was as a result of a score between them and not related to his work as our guard. He confirmed that Mathieu was already drunk before coming to us that evening. He felt it best that both parties spend the night at the station and they would examine the case further in the morning.

Aphrodise looked in the next morning to ask what all the fuss was about and after hearing the gist told me he had often seen Mathieu drunk. After weighing up all the evidence we could see no other course than to give Mathieu his cards and pay him off. With Zebounissa's help we now have a new guard, Alouis. We'll see how things go with him and hope there are no problems while we are away in Ethiopia.

The dry season continues

2010-07-22T04:36:00.001-07:00

For all it's the dry season, the sky is often dull and overcast, especially in the mornings. There is a breakthrough by the sun about 11 most mornings but it is not getting oppressively hot. The dust continues to annoy. Despite Jacky's washing of the floor, the soles of socks worn in the evening to deter the attentions of the mosquitoes pick up further accumulations brought in under the door during the often windy days. The herbs in the patch of garden at the front are suffering from their layer of grime, a layer that is not readily removed by simple irrigation with the old washing up water they receive. We have begun to rely on the ready supply of fresh herbs to enliven the flavour of the food and we're distressed that they all look as though they are going to seed. We should get a good crop from those seeds when the dry finally breaks but we'll probably have to wait until the middle of September for that.

The scanner, generously supplied by BCF, arrived in Kigali 10 days ago but it is still languishing in customs waiting for all manner of forms to be completed before its release. Most of the action is centred on Busogo where the exemption forms and memoranda of understanding have to be signed. These free the scanner from attracting import duty and VAT. Communication between all parties has been a problem. Complaints by FedEx about unanswered phone calls and warnings about the whole package being liable to be sent back have made us very anxious over the whole process, especially as there is still quite a lot of money owed by ISAE in the way of storage and release fees.

We have planned to be out of the country during the immediate run up to Election Day. Some while ago Melissa booked a fortnight in Ethiopia and we fly to Addis Ababa on Friday week, 7 days before polling day.

We attended another wedding last Sunday, the bride, Jacqueline, being a head of school and an acquaintance of Melissa. It was at the Catholic Cathedral in Nyanza, not far from where we live so a relatively easy stroll. Unusually for a Rwandan event, it started pretty much on time. All the wedding cars had arrived before we got there but for some indeterminate reason, the interested parties stayed in the cars for a good 15 minutes before getting out. It did not seem as though they were waiting for anyone else and after some unseen signal they assembled and things got under way. The entire congregation pressed around the main doors while the priest welcomed the couples with a preliminary address. (This was a marriage in tandem; whether the couples were related or knew each other, or merely an arrangement to split the costs was not obvious) After the priest had completed his oration, the couples entered followed by the guests in a scrum for the front seats. It doesn't do to stand back and be polite in this country. If there is a perceived shortage of good seats, you'll get pushed out or trampled on. In this instance, we were not anxious to be to the fore, but when it comes to, say, a place on the bus you need to be brutal or endure the journey on the uncomfortable gangway seats.

As it was, all the seats in the cathedral were equally uncomfortable being low wooden benches fixed to the floor. Marriage services here are hard to follow being obscured by the language and appearing to be more religious in tone. There are no hymns to speak of but a choir had been engaged to bolster any singing and to divert the audience with their repertoire before the main business began. There was much recording of the event by teams photographing and videoing; a lot of it looking pretty intrusive to the ceremony especially with the use of a halogen light on a pole to overcome the rather gloomy interior. Regular excursions up and down the aisles filming those present seemed a requirement; it's hard to ignore a camera pointed for prolonged periods at you.

All through the afternoon, there was a constant flow of people in and out of the church; I don't think it was for fag breaks as very few people seem to smoke in Rwanda. In the same way there was no general agreement among those present about standing or sitting during the more important moments of the service. Whether this expressed a relaxed atmosphere and peoples' freedom to interpret the moment or a disregard for any gravity in the day I wasn't sure. Our attention was held by the efforts that had been made by parents to dress up some of the children. The sight of a pair of very young boys in white suits and tail coats parading in and out of the church pursued intermittently by their mother kept us amused. I was also interested in the construction of the interior. The roof is supported by a spiders' web of eucalyptus beams, mostly unsawn, each section's geometry being subtly different from the next. There is a graceful catenary arch separating nave and chancel. Not being a connoisseur of church architecture I don't know if this form is unusual but it's something that certainly adds to an otherwise rather plain building.

Having gone up with the other guests to present the couple with gifts of money, and noticing that communion was being offered to all, we decided to go with the flow and leave before the end of the ceremony. On reaching the front of the church it was plain that many of those who we had seen leave were gathered in groups waiting for the couples to emerge. Melissa greeted and talked to a number of head teachers she knew but after that we decided to head home. Rwandan wedding receptions are not occasions of eating and drinking; very sober affairs with speech making and a bottle of sugary pop at the end so we decided a cold beer at home was the way we wanted to celebrate the day.

Whirlwind week

2010-07-11T05:19:00.001-07:00

A whirlwind week which will stay with me for a long time! On the first day of July, the Rwandese celebrate, albeit modestly, Independence; the main activities..music, dancing and merry making are three days later or Liberation Day. It was a bright sunny day without a hint of rain...we have not seen clouds in anger for over a month. The dirt roads are dusty to say the least, spewing a fine film of sandy mica every time a moto passes. Everyone's clothes are turning slightly uniform khaki in colour which may be where the idea of camouflage was conceived? After a lazy breakfast of porridge, sweet small bananas and the finest Rwandan coffee (which is as good as anything that you can buy in France) we embarked on an exploratory walk to find what was rumoured to be the best goat brochette seller in Rwanda. Walking through the town, it appeared that all those in Nyanza and beyond were making the most of the opportunity of the midweek holiday, the market was heaving with everything from baskets, mats, a huge assortment of fruit and veg, live chickens tethered by their feet in groups of up to ten, pots, pans, brightly coloured plastic bowls and several enormous stalls of carefully sorted second hand clothes. We resisted the lure of bargaining for a new outfit for the forthcoming wedding and continued our amble up the hill to the main road, passing a long snaking open earthen trench which is slowly meandering its way from Kigali. This is the second countrywide optic fibre cable network. In a few years the ambition is for all to have the opportunity to access free broadband alongside the one laptop per child programme. A minor problem is the current lack of widely available electricity, but there are huge hydro and biogas projects underway to help resolve the shortfall. Solar energy is in its infancy but is being installed in a few schools and local rural public offices.

The buvette was obvious, bright Rwandan sky blue walls, Primus murals, a cacophony of chatting emanating from an array of small outdoor open rooms which encircled a central courtyard. We managed to find a vacant table with two plastic garden-type chairs and ordered food with an accompanying beer. At the next door table a couple of male Rwandans were diving into what looked extremely appetizing skewers, full of lean hot meat. On seeing us drooling, they invited us to join them to share their feast. Not wanting to upset anyone...we did..and gosh was it good! Lean goat loin on multiple skewers, hot and well seasoned...it soon disappeared. We got talking and discovered that one of them was part German. The conversation seemed to be centred around football, naturally. He invited us to his house to watch the forthcoming Germany v Argentina game. What an experience....cold beers, surround speakers, huge TV, freshly roasted peanuts just for the three of us. Luckily Germany won, he was delighted. Our paths have not crossed since, so with Germany's demise, his euphoric mood may well have been short-lived. Nevertheless, his hospitality was very generous and his company very engaging.

At very short notice, I was informed by the District that the Minister of Education was spending Friday 2^nd July in Nyanza. All schools were to be closed, as all teachers had been invited to a meeting with him to hear the plans for the future of education and to have the opportunity to voice their opinions. The District Education Office was sent spinning; preparing speeches, handouts, arranging the delivery of 1500 bottles of Fanta, flowers, bunting, intore dancers/singers to be engaged, let alone benching for the masses. I thought that I was to play an invisible role...far from it! Second row, chief photographer, the only 'muzungu', traditional Rwandan dress, all contributed to a fairly high profile time. The Minister's hour and a half long speech in Kinyarwanda contained about five minutes in English referring specifically to VSO and indirectly to me...what an honour! After about ten questions to which his responses were detailed and warmly received...we danced, sang and clapped as only Rwandans can...the atmosphere was very positive and upbeat. Although, Abdullah, the Mayor, closed the formal proceedings, whisking the Minister out, the merriment continued. To my surprise, I was invited to leave the 'party' and join the dignitaries for lunch, still in my Rwandan dress. With only about a dozen local officials enjoying the melange of beans, spinach, rice, potatoes, chicken and pineapple, there was ample opportunity for me to thank the Minister for his kind words. He has a very positive vision for education in Rwanda over the coming years.

On Monday we arose at dawn, six o'clock is a beautiful hour to see the countryside across the valley, the light takes on all sorts of hues that are impossible to do justice to with a camera. Unusually my phone rang at 6.30am. Odd but I answered it only to find out that the President had called today a public holiday....work clothes were quickly shed and jeans put on. Public notices are often conveyed over the radio in Kinyarwanda. Without the linguistic ability to understand such announcements, we are totally dependent upon friends to inform us...luckily the brush telegraph was working well and we could make the most of our extra day holiday. I had a presentation to prepare for the VSO Education Sector meeting later in the week and Melanie and I had the last training day to fine tune.

After nine sector-based whole days training sessions it seemed unbelievable that we were nearly at an end. Early in May, we had had the apparent hair brained idea to deliver a three pronged training programme to all 1075 teachers in Nyanza District. This would involve closing all schools in the sector for the chosen day, only the P3 and P6 students (11/14 year olds roughly) from the host school would be required to attend. The day comprised of three two hour sessions, within each teachers observed a model lesson delivered by a VSO methodology trainer, lesson planning discussion and group activity, lesson delivery by a Rwandan teacher, followed by an overarching plenary. The subjects covered were English, Social Studies and in the case of P6 Mathematics. There was an added complication, double shifting. With large numbers of children eligible for schooling, early year groups are split in half with group A attending in the morning, whilst the remaining ones, B, are schooled in the afternoon. This process is alternated over a two week period. This all meant that the students in the lower school would be different in the afternoon, although, normally we cause such excitement, it just meant that the two groups were combined for the afternoon lessons, in one huge class. Yes, chaos, but great fun as we then round the day off with sport Rwandan style, balloon, potato and spoon, rice sack and three legged races. The children love it and the teachers all have a good laugh at our demonstration runs. The third part of the training programme involved me briefing all the attending Heads on a detailed analysis that I had done on the previous year's National exams. For each sector, I had produced a ten page school specific document that was capable of confusing all, especially me!

The final training day had been postponed from early June, but this delay had enabled VSO Programme Office in Kigali to schedule the training into a visiting media team's itinerary. Help! VSO UK was sending out for a week a reporter and photographer specifically to Rwanda to help future recruitment, global publicity and raise awareness. Our training was first in line! Normally it was me taking the photographs, to be on the other side was going to be something else! There was added pressure, VSO Country Director was attending as was a representative from another training agency. To have so many 'white' people in a rural school had huge potential for problems. At least one group of students would not have been briefed on the previous days preparation visit. It was my role to ensure the smooth running of the day and host the visitors.

Bugger! We woke on the day...no water, no electricity and two of our usual moto drivers occupied elsewhere..things did not bode well! Sarah, the third member of the team today, had driven up by herself on her own motorbike. Brave lass! But there was an hour of rough dirt roads ahead even before we start training...what did we wear? Dresses/skirts and motorbikes did not mix. Hair with crash helmet was a disaster zone. There was no privacy at the school...maybe we could find a cupboard to change in? We set out nervously, just after 6.0am, with a sense of foreboding.

After three quarters of an hour ride down bumpy tracks, we arrived dusty. The classrooms had been cleaned, blackboards still needed washing, but the Head was overseeing the process. Luckily, our VSO visitors did not arrive for an hour, by which time the day's timetable was in full swing, teachers discussing lesson planning and the students fully settled. Glad rags on we were ready to take on the world! The day unfolded without many hiccups..well until lunchtime, by which time many photographs had been shot and interviews conducted. It was market day in Ntyazo sector, one by one all, well, most of the teachers, wandered off site in the direction of the centre of shopping activity. We were glad of the break. However, it dawned on us that we needed at least a few teachers to make the afternoon session work...but how do we encourage them back? Headteachers to the rescue, within half an hour most of the teachers had meandered back plus brown bags full of local produce...no goats or chickens fortunately. All that remained was 'sports' day'. Well it proved to be hilarious, dust everywhere, balloons escaping only to pop with a large unexpected bang, causing nervous giggles amongst the girls. Three women trying to demonstrate the balloon between the knees race with skirts on was a spectacle that the students will not forget in a hurry! Rice sack racing was a chaotic hit, we were laughing so much at the huge variety of techniques that we forgot to declare a winner. So the whole race had to be carried out again! At one point I looked down at my sandaled feet, they were almost universally black with grim. Having dismissed all the pupils, I called the teachers together, thanking them and drawing the day to a close. Many of them had a two hour walk to their homes so a 4.0pm finish at least meant that they could get back there in daylight. We still had clearing up to do and interviews to be completed. At 5.45pm, tired, dirty but immensely proud of our achievement we arrived back in Nyanza. The thought of travelling to Kigali for the VSO Education sector that night put off until tomorrow.

Dawn brought another day, another set of challenges. The two day meeting in Kigali was a biennial gathering of all education volunteers and associates. We were to present a report on our training. Considering death by power-point a no-go area, but with little other than the many pictures that I had taken to draw upon, we devised a pictorial presentation. But when the agenda was finally circulated there was no apparent slot for us. Not to be phased by this, behind the scenes negotiation released a ten minute slot each, twenty minutes, brilliant. No problem! However, the day's schedule was already slipping and we had been squeezed in before lunch. We needed to make it good, snappy and engaging. Modestly, though I say it myself...it was. It fitted the bill exactly, Melanie and I rocked! The feedback will prove if it was just us who felt that way, but maybe, all will be revealed at a later time? Who knows? Who cares? We felt that we had achieved much in our minor way over the whirlwind week and that's what matters!

Our house and grounds

2010-07-01T07:07:00.001-07:00

Final teaching for now

2010-07-01T06:49:00.001-07:00

I have finished my spell of teaching and practicals at ISAE and now I have the sobering duty to mark the exams I have set. It's pretty nerve racking going over the papers hoping they have not made a compete hash of things, because that's really down to me and my methods. They should do alright after all the questions they posed me during the exam itself. I was supposed to be present at the beginning of the 2 hour sessions to clear up any points of English that were not readily understood. It turned into more of a duel between me and the class; their idea to all but wheedle the answers out of me.

Never having set exams at this level before, I had already presented the papers to Dr Anselme for his assessment of the clarity and relevance of my questions, and he seemed satisfied all was plain and comprehensible. He needed to scrutinise the papers and ensure their security before the exam itself. There is a whole college document about setting exams, 9/10ths of which is making certain that the papers are not sold or stolen for the benefit of the examinees. I also took advantage of all the teaching skills available among the VSO volunteers to get some tips on marking. The most sensible seemed to suggest reading all the scripts before laying pen to paper, to get the general level and to see the standard of writing and of English.

To this end I had attempted to have by me samples of their handwriting by getting them to copy some sentences. These I had made up with combinations of letters in words I thought might be difficult to decipher; but in the end all it gave me was the chance to put the names of the students to their exam number identities using their style of writing as the clue. Mind you, I don't yet know them all by name by any means. Attendance registers are the "CP's" (Class President's) duty and probably due to my inexperience I have not tried to go further than just to recognise all their faces. Probably all for the better when it came to marking the exams as I had no prejudice as to who ought to pass or fail.

It became apparent after the first paper that I had over elaborated the multiple choices at the end and that the principle had not been fully understood. The answers were pretty random, no better than chance so I decided to discount the individual responses and give them all the same mark. After this wake-up call I needed to modify the subsequent papers.

It also showed me that they are good at reproducing lists of points for and against but when asked to use the information to solve a problem the point was usually lost. That's my fault for not setting them problems during the course. I shall know better in future. Even so, only a small proportion of the class have actually failed.

It's been cold in Musanze despite the approach of the dry season. It has not really rained for the last 2-3 weeks but it's been overcast and fresh enough for me not to take my jersey off all day. The nights however have been clear and it's really been pleasant to walk back to the hotel under a full moon. At least it lets me see where the rocks are sticking up in the road and to avoid tripping painfully over them. The roads are dusty in Musanze but there is very little traffic along them except the ubiquitous moto-taxis, and they don't travel fast on the rutted streets.

In Nyanza however the road outside the house is a route between the town and Lake Kivu 60km away. It is not paved and the dust has accumulated to levels where footprints are always clearly visible and your shoes get a powdering the colour of old lady's rouge after only a few hundred metres. Being a throughway, lorries and buses kick up a real fog that settles everywhere. I'm not sure whether being below the level of the road means it floats over us or settles preferentially. Either way the floor has a perpetual record of footprints and Jacky has a job to keep up with the inflow of dust under the doors. Saturday night we watched the USA get beaten and returned home under the full moon. The dust was illuminated white and with it softening the roofs and trees gave the appearance of a fall of snow, especially with the tracks on the road. The feeling that we should be cold and at least see our breath on the wind and the sparkle of frost was overwhelming.

Whether it is a co-incidence or not, the water supply has been very intermittent to say the least. There was a debate recently among the volunteers as to which they would rather not go without: water or electricity. A lot had thought when they first arrived that to be without a water supply would be more intolerable but most have changed to the opinion that electricity is the most indispensable. It's true that with a good collection of jerry cans, we have 6 x 20 litre plastic cans, and strategies that include the use of the shower water to flush the loo, or the washing up water to soak the compost heap those cans will last perhaps 3 days so long as the clothes washing takes a rest.

Lack of electricity on the other hand means candles or the dreaded kerosene lamp in the evenings and having to light the charcoal for hot water to wash up, no film to watch and reading by candle light. This is harder to bear and we have been lucky that any cuts we have had up to now only last for a couple of hours max. The loss of power during the England- Germany match was a case in point. When it went off, we were 0-0, on restoration 2-0 to Germany. I wish the power had been off for the whole of the second half. Dismal.

The parcel has arrived!

2010-06-21T01:26:00.001-07:00

May I first say thank you once again to all those involved in organising and contributing to the parcel. I believe Linda was the chief instigator and I have just had the delight in unpacking it. It has not been an uneventful journey between Rugby and here. Tracking it on the web was instructive but ultimately frustrating as I could see it getting closer but being in Nyanza for the week I was not able to receive it.

When I returned to Busogo on Monday there was a general air of mystification. I had expected it to be already at the college campus but no-one had any inkling of its arrival. According to the itinerary on the website, it had been in Musanze for the best part of a week. One "C. Stamp" had signed for it at 10.27 on Tuesday 8 June- 6 days ago. Not a very Rwandan name and suspiciously open to misinterpretation. It was not at the post office and no-one could locate the FedEx office in the town. Perhaps it was still in the capital, but the tracking seemed to say not. I have to be very grateful to Dr Anselme Shyaka for taking the matter in hand and sending his secretary to Kigali. There she discovered the location of the agent in Musanze who had the parcel. How long it would have sat in this shack unclaimed is unclear but all is well now.

Why was I in Nyanza last week? Well, the programme of practicals finally became unstuck and I was given 10 days off while materials and animals were assembled. I had just about finished the lectures and the students were fully occupied with other courses so I was not unduly missed. Initially I was only to have 3 days "holiday" but it became apparent when I was emailed the timetable my garden leave was to be extended. I left Anselme to explain to the Bamboo inn exactly when they could expect me back.

I idled about for most of the time, doing a few odd jobs but I took the opportunity to revisit RADA or Rwandan Agricultural Development Authority. I had been before but had no opportunity to see what materials were available to help train vets for surgery. It was a very enlightening morning; they have lots of material that ISAE could do with and some glaring deficiencies. I met a charming Japanese vet, over here to advise and implement a programme of embryo transplant to improve the cattle breeds. She has been distracted by being roped in to assist with some emergency caesareans already. The conditions she finds once she gets on the farms are truly awful by the sound of it, real last resort stuff. Farmers seem to feel it their duty to try everything rather than call the vet and consequently the cows are basket cases before she starts. Dehydration and shock are serious problems and I think she has done well to save 2 out of 8 cases. It makes me think teaching students with a standing cow is a waste of time. They need to know how to deal with cases they will meet in the field and I shall compose some lectures to that effect.

One thing that struck me on my return to ISAE is that the men on the gate seem more determined to enforce "security". I don't know whether someone has decided to crack down or they are practising in earnest for when the elections begin. Instead of waving the bus through the main gates in the mornings they now insist on all staff wearing their identity cards and getting off the bus outside the gates. The staff think it's a huge joke but with quite an undercurrent of grumbling. Their misgivings are justified if you consider that there is no effective fence around the place for more than half its perimeter.

I am coming to the end of my stint at ISAE, the exams are set for next week and there are only practicals and revision to do. This afternoon the class have an exam in another subject so I am seated in the clinic building on the opposite side of the road from the main campus. The main road between Musanze and Gisenyi runs just outside and unfortunately it's a good straight road with proper tarmac in good condition. This gives all the drivers of buses, articulated lorries and vans carte blanche to race past blaring their horns despite the nominal limit of 40 kph. There is no pavement for the streams of people using the road as a highway into Musanze. Some days the people look like crowds thick enough to be coming from a football match except they have not been enjoying a good time. A certain purpose and grim determination pervade them. The women seem to be the burden bearers; enormous plastic sacks on their heads, recycled rice sacks, full of just about anything and if full of potatoes weighing well over 50 kilos. Just a few men pushing home-made barrows loaded with rice sacks or carrying long wooden poles for building, the poles whipping up and down on their shoulders. Bicycles are, however, a men only preserve, a seemingly Victorian attitude to the idea of women showing legs or astride a saddle seems the norm. Yesterday I had the illusion that dogs were back in fashion here; from a distance there seemed to be an army of dog walkers. In reality the women were taking sheep and goats, each one on a lead, to or from the market. The way they co-operated and behaved better than a lot of dogs would have done was an endorsement of habit overcoming instinct.

With the advent of the parcel, some decent suture material I could contemplate surgery on cattle instead of just the long-suffering sheep. In addition to operating on sheep this week, I undertook to demonstrate laparotomy on two of the farm's local cattle. The first was about 6-7 months in calf and there was a call to perform a caesarean. I was prepared at least to bring the uterus to the wound and estimate the size of the calf but to return it if it was obviously too small.

There is no designed space to operate on cattle at the college. The cattle races are not ideal being too low or too wide and there is no cattle crush. The clinic's animal accommodation block has no rails or rings that could be used to secure a halter. The possibility of operating near the race by the clinic is ruled out by its proximity to the road; the thought of the crowd we would pull from the passing throng made me shudder. The race in the middle of the college itself seemed the best option.

After a lot of adaptation using planks of wood and branches of trees, the race was made more escape proof. The cow, secured with two halters, was placed at the end of the race with the decent floor and we began. After an initial nervousness, the cow settled very well and the laparotomy went ahead as hoped with a couple of students as assistants. The calf did indeed prove too small and was returned to continue to full term. The student who helped suture the flank and skin showed real flair for the work and got on with it instead of the customary dithering.

The afternoon's session was very different. This heifer was barely pregnant so exposing the calf was not really practical. She initially reacted very little to clipping and shaving but as soon as I began to inject local into the muscle she took off. If it hadn't have been for the use of two halters she would have been gone. As it was she broke half a dozen needles and a syringe with her bucking and twisting before I was able to complete the anaesthetic. For all my extolling the merits of not sedating cows I decided this one needed slowing down. Despite the sedation she still plunged and kicked without notice, not reacting to cuts or manipulation but probably resentful of her lack of freedom. It's a shame that because of this I did not let the student assistants do anything for fear of their safety. But at least they can see that the precautions we take in case of trouble are worth while.

At the beginning of the week ,we had identified a farmer's cow as being heavily pregnant; he estimated that she was probably overdue to the date given by her insemination. I don't like doing caesareans on cows who have not yet started calving naturally and we agreed we would not operate until she had been calving with no progress. On Friday morning the circumstances were just so. The heifer was down at the clinic on the other side of the road from the campus where the facilities for operating are worst. When I approached her with the intention of putting on a halter and perhaps leading her up to the place we had operated on the other two cows she put her head down at me and made to charge. Oh! I thought, one not to play with; better find a way of doing this without taking her the half mile to the campus. She wasn't too bad in the race by the road once we had two halters on her and we worked out a way to secure her in the big room in the office block of the clinic.

The windows of all rooms in even the lowliest of houses in Rwanda have bars securing the window spaces. One good design point of the clinic is that the widow casements are on hinges that allow the window to be lifted off. Without the fear of broken glass we could use these bars to tie the halters and have a good enough light to operate inside the room. The floor is really too smooth for cattle but sand liberally spread under her kept her feet secure. With all the class as spectators and the farmer in the front row all went gratifyingly well and a nice live heifer calf was delivered, albeit the calf coming backwards complicated the operation a little. The students closed up the wounds and everyone was happy, the farmer particularly so as female calves are more valued than bull calves.

I have been in contact recently with Gavin Mitchell, sales manager of BCF who make ultrasound scanners in Scotland. I had asked him to see if he had any old models that might have been used in part-exchange that perhaps he could send our way if the college paid the shipping costs. He replied that he was sympathetic to the idea and he'd look into it and see what came up. I thought I had better let Anselme in on the idea and make sure that the college would indeed pay for shipping. He surprised me by saying the college had a budget for medical imaging they had not yet used; he had had the idea of getting an X-ray machine. For an institute that deals almost exclusively with cattle and small ruminants and never has dogs or cats near the place, an X-ray would be inappropriate. I told Gavin that there was the opportunity for the college to explore the possibility of a new machine with maybe the part-exchange as back up.

I had looked at their web site to see what they had and remarked on some very slick looking portable machines with large monitoring screens; ideal for students to see what was going on. What's more, these screens are supplied wirelessly so no cables to get in the way.

Yesterday Gavin has offered the college a demonstration model of the latest battery operated scanner with 2 monitoring screens for £1000.00 all in including shipping. The machine alone is estimated to be worth £6000.00 That is extraordinarily generous. I earnestly hope that the usual bureaucracy and requirements for a tendering process will be bypassed to take advantage of this offer with as little delay as possible. I have yet to present this to Anselme who in turn has to sell the concept to the Rector, the head of the whole institute.

Training sports day

2010-06-16T01:07:00.000-07:00

We had fun with rice sack races, potato and spoon race and the three legged challenge!

Quiet weekend away

2010-06-06T23:48:00.001-07:00

We have just spent a couple of nights this weekend at a hotel beside Lake Kivu a few miles outside Gisenyi in the north west of the country. Over the lake, intermittently visible are the mountains of the Democratic Republic of Congo, their heads disappearing into clouds or their bodies merging into the blue of the haze.

The hotel is right by the shore; the sounds of the waves all pervading during the day with a refreshing on shore breeze taking the edge off the essentially sunny weather.

Our journey on the Friday afternoon was made separately even though the bus to Gisenyi passes through Busogo and the campus of ISAE. Our buses were barely 5 minutes apart but Melissa's was full so I enjoyed a ride in a bus half empty unaware that she followed close behind.

Meeting up at the bus station we took a moto each to the hotel, about 8 kilometres to the south Melissa is used to motos but I still have the feeling whenever I mount up that all is not going to go well. My crash helmet was held on by faith alone, the strap had no buckle. Exploring the hotel's garden by the lake we found a wealth of flowering shrubs and trees and an equally fascinating collection of insects reptiles and birds.

Fish eagles patrolled and kingfishers hovered over the clear waters and seemed to favour one particular tree on the shore of a seemingly accessible promontory across the bay. However, time was getting on and the weather and the hour combined to signal beer time, so exploring would wait.

The dining room was practically al fresco; just a roof with a gravel floor and an abundance of plants and shrubs cascading in through the window spaces and climbing the roof columns. Candles supplement the slightly harsh low energy bulbs almost universal in Rwanda but the wood fire in a pit at the centre softened the shadows. As the meal came to an end, the sound of drumming and a woman singing signalled the entrance of the intore dancers. Only the men were in costume and even though few in number they had a different more energetic repertoire than troupes we had seen previously.

Saturday was just as pleasing a day and we put into action our scheme to visit the promontory and try to view the eagles closer at hand. Our route took us past the beer factory at the head of the inlet, well known now as one of the industries powered by methane recovered from the lake bed. There being no maps or guides, we had to go by first principles to gain the neck of the promontory and decide on the best way round to the tree we had seen. One of the hotel staff had said as an aside that there were hot springs nearby but it was only when we stumbled across a group of youths washing themselves, their clothes and their motorbikes that it was apparent they were doing so using water from these springs. We had supposed that there would be some exploitation of this resource, but no, it simply bubbled up by the shore and drained directly into the lake. Only after I could tear Melissa away from the bathhouse could we continue along an indistinct path through close dense vegetation. It was a relief not to attract the usual motley of kids as our progress was masked by elephant grass and bamboo. Butterflies in profusion kept Melissa busy with the camera until we emerged onto the promontory head and a grassy meadow by the shore. From here the path was easier to negotiate and the children appeared as predicted.

It was a disappointment to find no nest in the tree but we were able to observe the eagles and kingfishers at closer quarters. On returning to the neck of the promontory, we passed another hot spring with no signs of any regular use whatsoever.

We spent an enchanting evening having dinner on Saturday in the hotel grounds. It was very agreeable to be able to enjoy each others' company in such pleasant surroundings. Fish freshly caught from the lake accompanied by a floor show of geckos climbing the thatched awning of the table. They are made insubstantial by the candlelight and seem equally at home under or on top of the wooden surface. Humming bird moths supped at the geranium hedge. Fire flies by the shore and over the water harmonized with the lightning glittering in towering clouds 30 miles away over the Congo. Too far off to be heard a splendid adjunct in the full moon and not at all a threat.

The wind has calmed under the starry sky but the wavelets still rustle on the shore 5 yards away. We allow the night's performance of the Intore dancing to remain imagined in the background. The fire they dance beside projects energetic shadows but we linger listening to the sounds of the night.

It's a shame we have to leave when we do, but it is up at just gone 7 to give time for Melissa's 5 hour bus ride to Nyanza while for me Musanze is only an hour away. At least we manage to get on the same bus and admire the views on the steep climb out of Gisenyi. The hills here are unusual in that some are bare rock, the face of the cliffs too vertical to support the rich volcanic soil. Tea plantations cover some of the broader valleys though it was remarkable that no-one was picking. It was Sunday.

Training Rwandan style

2010-06-01T07:33:00.001-07:00

The mechanised alarm resonates in my dream. I turn over open one eye, the sound continues. It is five o'clock in the morning, the first hints of dawn permeate through the thin green floral curtains, a mosquito buzzes close by, the temporary noise hiatus stops. Silence. My mind shakes into action. It is the third day of our district-wide training programme. Motos will be here in an hour. With a sense of expectation I brush aside the mosquito net, swing my legs out of bed and head off for a shower. This is an interesting exercise in itself. The shower delivers only cold sand coloured water. So the previous night, water was boiled, thermos filled, awaiting this moment. I walk bare footed along the still dark corridor into our living area. A large empty red bucket is charged with the still hot water. I carry it back to the shower room, double its contents with cold cloudy water. The bucket shower lasts all of a minute, but long enough to awake me fully. There is something moving in the corner by the closed door. The shadows cast by the energy saving light turn the toad into an enormous monster! It is the same colour as the floor, so I carefully dry myself whilst keeping a close watch on the moving object. It is trying to escape through the closed wooden door. Failure! The empty red bucket now comes into its own. On its side I corner the warty creature and shovel it into the container. Once upright the toad is secured, escape foiled. With a towel wrapped around my torso, I open the back door, safe in the knowledge that the night guard has already departed to his family and breakfast. The struggling reptile is released by the back culvert. Its life expectance is further extended by the unusual lack of pied crows this morning. With every passing moment the sky and clouds are changing. The array of colours is extensive, reds, oranges, purples and eventually yellows. An artist's dream. But not for me today.

Clothes on, breakfast quickly consumed, rucksack packed, I am ready. I await a beep from Melanie. The extensive use of mobile phones in Rwanda puts western society to shame. Beeping is a free way of communicating. Two rings then hang up. The caller is identified as a missed call. We have a pre-arranged agreement to utilise this when we are ready to go. By the time the phone does beep, the sun is breaking through. No sign of rain. The rainy season is drawing to an end, dust is already penetrating even the smallest creaks. Three motos and drivers are waiting. Impressive for Rwanda, as time keeping is very flexible and varied here. The words for time are based on the sun as a clock, starting at sun rise or 6 a.m. or one o'clock Rwandan time. However, clocks themselves are a rare commodity. There is total reliance upon the ever versatile mobile. Loose that and time really does stand still! Tugende! We set off for an hour's cross country trek to one of the farthest sectors in the District.

Our training concept seemed a good idea at the time. Having visited well over two thirds of the 76 primary schools in Nyanza, it was obvious that teachers needed some guidance in lesson delivery and variations in basic methodology. Our idea is, in each of the ten sectors, to base a day's classroom training in a centrally located school using two sets of pupils, one each in upper and lower school. The rest of the school and all other schools will be closed in the sector for that day, as all teachers would attend the training. The logistics to achieve this have been challenging, but thus far there has been an impressive teachers' attendance rate of over 95%. We have two qualified VSO primary teachers and me...! The idea is to teach throughout the school day starting at 7.20am. The teachers would see a model lesson, have the opportunity to analyse it, create a lesson plan and then produce a lesson for one of their colleagues to deliver. At each stage there is opportunity for critical discussion. For the most part, the teachers are engaged, positive and absorbed in the whole process. They are grateful for any guidance and are delighted when praised, something that we try to do often. However, there are those few who sit at the back, chat or just fall asleep! I know that the some have trekked for over an hour to get to the training, but .....sleep! There has been a small amount of snide comments (mostly over food), resulting in me on one occasion delivering a parable to around 150 teachers! I must admit that the effect was immediate and we had a great afternoon, all fully engaged. I must try it more often! This form of training is a first for Rwanda which in itself is a huge accolade but quite a responsibility. It will have cost nearly one million Rwandan Francs when we have finished. But it will have been delivered to well over 1100 teachers. We might end up presenting our evaluations to non-government agencies in an effort to obtain additional funding, with the notion that this programme might be extended to other districts. The District has been very supportive, covering almost a third of the costs. They have built the training programme into their performance management targets for next year. Exciting and challenging at the same time.

Today's training started with magnificent views from the hill top school. Low clouds lined the valleys, whilst the early morning sun shone on the verdant exposed hillside. The different shades of green from the various crops shimmering in the light breeze. Sogem, maize, cassava, sweet potatoes and pineapples. The teachers start arriving, by 9.0am most have managed the rough stony tracks to get to the school. By this time we are on the third part of the training cycle. Oh well, they catch on the second round. They are keen and very eager to observe. It is a struggle to prevent them entering the classroom and distracting the students. But I have partial success and divert most of the latecomers to the reception waiting room. The morning swiftly passes, everyone seems happy with the lunch of fanta and dough ball (mandazi). Around the corner on the sports pitch an impromptu game of volleyball was in full flow. Secondary students versus spritely teachers. I joined for a laugh...but...first shot of the ball fell flat on my arse much to everyone's amusement. Nothing hurt, just pride. But it did mean that the afternoon passed humorously albeit at my expense! Having had a frenetic morning, spent a delightful afternoon alternating playing with class full of pupils and briefing Heads on their students' performance at last year's public examinations. I have spent many hours generating the rafts of statistics, no one seems to have thought to produce them prior to me. The Heads are fascinated by the data, and beg me to train them further. Wow!!!!

After a tiring day, with handshakes all round, smiles and farewells from the lingering children, we depart, bumping on the back of a moto for the next hour. Three down, seven more to go!

Gisenyi photos

2010-05-31T00:04:00.000-07:00

Animals still live!

2010-05-27T21:41:00.001-07:00

My sheep prosper, albeit I have to constantly remind the staff at the clinic to provide water for those tethered sheep felt to be likely to stray. We have not enough local anaesthetic or sufficient sheep to continue with operations, but with the help of Dr Olivier my oppo in things practical we have organised another session with the cows in the "couloir de contention" or a passageway where the cattle are held for examination.

I had given a 2 hour lecture on dehorning that morning and had to try and explain in French what a yoke is. A yoke for those not in the know is a device for trapping a cow's head so it can neither move forward or back and essential for restraining a cow before dehorning. After doing all the internal examinations, there remained one cow with wall eyes and enormous horns.

What exactly did I mean by a yoke? came the question, and like a mug I rigged one up at the end of this passageway and showed that it did what it was supposed to do in a rather Heath Robinson way.

So you could dehorn this cow could you? I answered cautiously that yes I supposed it was possible with some strictures, bearing in mind I had emphasised that dehorning an adult was not a task undertaken lightly; you should have a good reason.

I am used to using a saw for dehorning adults and the only saw available was a hacksaw. They are notorious for having extremely brittle blades that are too narrow to really hold a good direction when sawing. They did however have miles of dehorning wire that I detest. I have not used wire to dehorn an adult for the best part of 30 years. There was only 30 ml of local anaesthetic to be had and I usually would use at least that for an adult with horns as big as these.

I decided in the end that to not demonstrate what I had been lecturing would be a bad move. With some trepidation I agreed to dehorn her that afternoon. Many is the time that cows have vented extreme displeasure during dehorning, they don't like being restrained and occasionally the local anaesthetic is not 100%. It could be noisy and bloody.

The yoke composed of a thickish branch and a plank of wood wedged across the end of the passage way needed a lot more co-operation on the part of the patient than the average British cow would have given. Once in and secured with a halter, the anaesthetic went in easily. It was fortunate that I had been thumbing through an anatomy book and found a good diagram of the innervation of the horn and decided I had been going in too deep all these years and my technique depended on flooding the area!

To use a wire to dehorn, you need to make an initial cut around the horn with a scalpel to guide the wire and keep it at the right depth. I thought this would give me good warning if the local was not adequate but she didn't move. Confidence rising, the horn came off with the wire without a problem and the students were impressed by the bleeding confined to the one large artery which was easily clipped and twisted. The other horn I tried with the saw. Half way through it jammed and shattered. I had planned for this eventuality and the only spare in the college was close by.

There are always large holes left in the skull connecting to the frontal sinuses and I resisted the demand to fill these with gauze to prevent infection, feeling that gauze would cause more trouble than it would solve. She went into a shed for a few days to enable us to monitor progress and check for trouble with flies. I did another one the next day and so far the two of them have progressed well with no obvious infection or fly irritation.

Home again at the week end with none of the traumas of the previous week. I now hang a small purse round my neck with a bootlace to make it more difficult to steal and the cheque sits in my rucksack and not to worry about any creases in it.

It is really pleasant to get back; we seem to get on so well for those 36 hours we should make a habit of it. However it is a strain for Melissa to do the daily stuff when she doesn't get back until late and I also have the problem of which restaurant to eat in each night. Jacky has been left on her own with just written messages for the market, Melissa only seeing her if she gets back for lunch. She has been taking the initiative as to the tasks she should busy herself with. I came back this week to find she had disposed of the compost heap lovingly constructed by me over the months to nourish the rather poor soil. It's next door in the corner of a field collecting someone else's weeds. We have negotiated with Aphrodise to use some of his cow manure but it still means we have to collect and shift it all without a barrow.

To really bring home the appalling lack of planning at the college I'm being asked to only come for 2 days next week as there is still no material with which to do operations. I can use the time to try and prepare some exam questions. I have just found out that our planned sheep caesars have been vetoed because there are no pregnant sheep. It is suggested some one goes out and buys some, but that could take weeks. It is hand to mouth as what we do in the way of practicals each day. Today I had the pleasure of allowing the students to remove the skin sutures from the 6 sheep done about 10 days ago and they all look very well, hardly a lump and no signs of infection or discharge. I have had to veto the suggestion of performing an ovariectomy on sheep as we can't get anaesthetic for dogs. There is no justification for such a procedure on a sheep and there are certainly no parallels with the operation on a bitch. I have suggested we demonstrate it on a dead dog but that seems also to be a problem; there is no humane method of euthanasia available for dogs.

I voiced my frustration at the general state of things this morning in the company of Dr Shyaka, (Anselme) and Dr Juvenal, the dean of Vet. Med. The planned (when is anything planned here) visit to the hospital has been postponed because the hospital is too busy. The visit that had been planned for me to see the ultrasound machine has equally foundered. That set me off as to the failure of anticipation all round in respect of the practical sessions, the mysterious method of ordering, and my exclusion in the consultation process. They promise changes but not yet.

School facilities!

2010-05-24T01:17:00.000-07:00

These are typical of the rural school's basic facilities: hand washing, toilets, Director's office, staffroom and sport's pitch.

There’s good news and bad news!

2010-05-18T22:17:00.001-07:00

To continue the story of the unfortunate ram and the complications of a relatively simple op, it was still alive this morning and looks as though it will pull through if the sutures hold. The class and I had a post mortem, not literally yet, over what went wrong, what succeeded and how we should change the procedure next time. Much precious time was consumed and I outlined how we would do the same op that afternoon but using a different method of preventing contamination of the abdomen.

I also had to emphasise the importance of post op care as the poor brute had had to endure a night in the clinic's "in patient facility" without a scrap of food or water for 14 hours and behind locked doors. There seems to be a culture of extreme insecurity with every door locked as soon as the last person leaves and the person with the key disappearing for 2 hours for lunch or a meeting...

I thought I might as well try the in house instrument sterilisation service, i.e. the pot over the electric stove as today there was water at the clinic. It took 40 minutes for the water to boil and furthermore the maximum temperature I measured during the hour of boiling was only 89°C-we are at 2200mtrs.

I was further disheartened watching this afternoon's patient being carried upside down by the legs across the main road between the campus and the clinic. It then quite rightly refused to move and lay down on its side despite all proddings and cajolings. While on my way to the rescue of this animal I had to dissuade by gesture a 6 year old from belaying it with a stick. I had a depressing feeling that all would not be well and this one would not stand up for long.

Modifications had been agreed to the technique and I began the preparation with the ram on the floor while I clipped and injected the local anaesthetic. I did contemplate doing the whole op on the floor but my knees wouldn't have stood it. Once hoisted on the table, now with a blue cotton apron tied on the surface for anti-slip, and the antisepsis completed the operation went almost without a hitch. It was as good as gold, only threatening to go down a few times. I even had the confidence to allow some of the students to suture up. Let's see how it looks tomorrow.

I have come home this evening past the local electrical sub station, which is furnished with the only formal street lighting columns in the town. The scene reminded me of conker trees and autumn back home; children gathered in droves around the base of the columns looking upward into the dark at swarms of insects flying around the lights. Their object was to harvest these insects as they dropped from exhaustion or collision. The tension waiting for one to succumb was palpable and intense rivalry between groups was evident. As usual the youngest and smallest were left out and had only yells and howls to contribute, the Kinyarwanda equivalent of "it's my turn" or" it's not fair" I suppose.

The attraction is so great that even the next morning on my way to the college, children are picking through the rubbish or turning over stones to find stragglers. I have found these insects in my room at the guest house; we even had a wagtail in the classroom with one in its beak! They are slimmed down versions of locusts and a deep green. I can only suppose they are a great delicacy and only are seen occasionally but I have yet to find an authority to verify this.

This observation was made after having had the biggest meal since our stay here in Rwanda. I had to admit defeat. It was a bar/restaurant that I had marked down to visit on evening meal circuit. I had a beer and wanted to look at the menu. In this, as in many of these bars, there was no menu so I had to be guided by the waitress, our conversation in broken accented French. I gathered that rabbit was available to eat at 3000Rfr with chips and salad to bring it to a round 4000Rfr. What I failed to understand until later was this would be enough for 2 people. When she explained I thought "bring it on, it can't be that much". All I can say is they must have Flemish giant in this area. Not only was it a whole barbecued rabbit but included was the liver and the head split in two.

After hearing me talking to the waitress in French, the men on the neighbouring table fell into conversation in French about where I came from and what I thought of Rwanda and the climate in Musanze. I was able to offer them the uneaten remains and some chips. Altogether a pleasant evening from nothing really.

The first sheep continues to improve and now looks a good deal better than the second sheep who's operation went with hardly a fault. It's very enlightening to follow operations on farm animals. One rarely gets the chance in normal practice; the only time we go back is if there is a problem. We don't even hear until weeks later if it died, usually when the bill is due. I even have the opportunity to check a castration on a calf over a period of days which I've never done.

In order to plan my practicals for next week, I have been looking through some of the cows in order to find a lucky individual with a big calf inside so I can do an elective caesarean in the next week or two. However, when it came to examining them for pregnancy, the suggested dates are way out and none of the ones I saw are anyway near big enough. In any case we still have not enough material to do cow ops.

The route between Musanze and Kigali reminds me one some of the poorer maintained farm drives I have had the misfortune to drive along. In fact it's worse; the longest farm drive I know is about a kilometre, the distance of this road is 85km. The time it takes depends on the driver's knowledge of pot-holes and the bus's springs. The recognised technique is to slalom from one side of the road to the other in order to follow the smoothest path. The fun begins when another bus or truck is seen in the distance using the same ploy. A trial of nerves determines who stays on the smoothest piece of road and who has to crawl through the broken tarmac. Bicycles and pedestrians are the lowest in the pecking order; they have to hug the kerb or go onto the verge in order to continue unharmed. A severe hooting is their reward if they take up any more room than the driver thinks they are entitled to.

There is an effort to renew the surface starting at the Musanze end which is probably the worst section. Another lane is in the process of being consolidated but to get the whole carriageway replaced is going to take years. It should be a showpiece road, being the principal route for tourists on their way to see the gorillas, but their impressions will not be influenced in favour of the Rwandan infrastructure for some seasons to come.

Friday was not a good day for me; I had my wallet stolen on the way back to Nyanza. I should have realised something was up when some one gripped my elbow while I was crossing a busy Kigali road. I took little notice at the time thinking it was to restrain me from going under a bus, but after 5 paces I checked my pocket and the wallet had gone. The elbow trick had successfully distracted me from its removal from my pocket.

This left me with no money and without the bus ticket I had just bought. I rang Melissa and told her the good news and supposed she would have to come and pick me up. Then we thought perhaps someone in Kigali could lend me some money for a ticket. All the while, the time of my bus's departure was imminent. Melissa suggested I go back to the ticket office and tell them what had happened and see if they would do be a duplicate. I was sceptical but it was worth a try. There are times when it's worth being white and standing out. Indeed they did remember and conceded I could make the journey in the circumstances. It was only when I told Melissa I was on the bus that it hit me what had been lost. About 7500Rfr and 2 phone cards worth 5000Rfr were small potatoes, my VSO i.d. card might be more serious and with a jolt I remembered a cheque for my expenses for 2 weeks was in the wallet. It was worth a considerable sum and I could ill afford to lose it. The cheque had to be stopped.

I had a bad feeling that someone could use my i.d. and the cheque to cash it straight away, if so it would be too late to do much. It takes at least 3 working days to clear a cheque into an account so I hoped the usual Rwandan bureaucracy would work on my side. I had no contacts in the college's finance department and neither Anselme nor the dean had their phones on. Eventually I managed to make contact by text and by the time Saturday came, I had a reassuring text from the dean that on Monday after some formalities I should have a new cheque issued.

Monday has come and gone and the issue of the cheque still goes on. Because I have no bank account in Rwanda, Melissa has had to open one to deal with her expenses with VSO, the cheque had been issued to be cleared through her account. So the cheque was not crossed. I thought all cheques were automatically crossed but no so here. I may have to wait for up to 2 months for a replacement to be issued, if no-one has been allowed to cash it in the interval.

The sheep continue to surprise me with their resilience. All sheep are doing well and we have succeeded in doing all the ops with the sheep standing on a table for up to 90 minutes without them trying to jump off or lie down. I have also tried to show that you usually don't need sedatives; all these have had no sedation at all, just local, antibiotics, and phenylbutazone. This is an attempt to simulate conditions the students will see with cattle. I have never tried to operate on standing sheep before, not trusting them to pay ball, but it's a cheap way for the college to allow experience for students. After the first two that I did alone, I decided that providing they did not open the rumen they could do the laparotomies themselves. They have sutured the rumen to the skin and "closed" the rumen without opening it, too high risk to allow. Thus far all 6 patients are doing remarkably well considering the numbers of hands that have been involved in suturing and even feeling a pregnant ewe's uterus. It's gratifying to think that this should boost their confidence when it comes to doing a laparotomy for real. The difference between 38 years of experience and none seems quite small really.

First day nerves!

2010-05-11T22:19:00.001-07:00

Well, the day has finally arrived; I am in a cheap hotel in Musanze having done my first day lecturing and taking a practical. It might so nearly not have been.

An email sent on Friday night by Anselme, my contact in the college, detailed the coming week's timetable with my notable absence from the schedule. This, after assurances that I would start the first Monday in May caused me much upset. I left messages on his phone but no contact was established and Melissa and I had the feeling that I was due another idle week. So much so that we went out on Saturday morning to buy some paint, brushes and cement (to fill all the nail holes) in the expectation that I would have the time to decorate

The shower room is very dark because there is only a tiny window and the floor is plain smooth cement darkened by time. The space normally occupied by tiles round the shower is cement render painted the deepest of browns and the ceiling is still raw plywood. It's depressingly gloomy and what's more we can't see the mosquitoes that we can hear, so it needs doing on health grounds.

We got all the kit from the quincaillerie with the old boy shinning up a ladder that was only supported by a wobbly stack of paint tins. We had little choice of colour, a variety of cream for the gloss round the shower and a variant on ecru for the emulsion. We discovered on arriving home and reviewing our resources that we are short of cloths to clean brushes or to mop up spills. White spirit is unknown here so we have to use kerosene to dissolve the oil paint, it's probably no worse for smell and it seems to do the job. Probably OK for lighting the charcoal still.

Our shortage of rags and our fear of getting paint on the few clothes we have meant that Melissa was down to the nether garments while painting. A memory I shall cherish during my lonely nights at Bamboo, my hotel in Musanze.

When at last Anselme responded to my messages, he still maintained that the lack of chemicals was at the seat of the delay and nothing more sinister. It took a little while to convince him that I could do practicals without anaesthetising animals. I had already suggested that some cattle feet be sought from the abattoir and the students could cut and suture those. On that basis he climbed down and I started on the third.

This radically altered the perspective with relation to the decorating. I would be fully occupied during the week and have no time for DIY except for Saturdays. Melissa reluctantly agreed to don the skimpies and finish the room on Sunday afternoon. We hadn't time to warn Jacky that the paint might be wet, and Melissa would have left before Jacky's arrival. I hope the smell of new paint and the lack of kerosene would make it obvious. She's a clever girl.

Most of Sunday was very wet here in Nyanza and in Musanze. Anselme met me off the bus to remind where the hotel is and to show me where the buses to the campus leave. An evening meal was offered by Bamboo but I would have to wait until 8.00 before it was ready. Albeit it was served in my room (there is no dining room) it scarcely qualified for inclusion the next guidebook, being 98% stodge and cold.

Breakfast on the other hand was prompt. Over prompt really as I had to turn out of bed to unlock the door, it being before the appointed hour of 6.00. So I had plenty of time to walk the 10 minutes to the bus. I had been told it went at 7.00 but by 7.05 and without seeing the bus or anyone waiting for it I became uneasy. At 7.10, a bus turned up and a crowd of people appeared from the cracks in the wall and we all got on. Anselme admitted after that he got the venues and times mixed up.

My first day had been scheduled with lectures and a practical; 4 hours of lectures in the morning and then 3 hour practical for the afternoon. All my presentations are on PowerPoint and it made me sweat a bit when the electricity went off for the last 2 hours. I had a bit of paper on which I had jotted the syllabus and a lot of sticks of chalk to get me through until lunch.

Practical for 28 students with 8 ox feet to share between them doesn't sound promising, but after forming them into teams and making them prepare and disinfect as if a real op, together with proper preparation for surgeons and assistants, they began to enjoy themselves making incisions and suturing in turn. The next day I got them to decide the approach to find the artery or vein at the back of the leg and to ligate it in the approved fashion, then suture it all up.

The third day we had fun amputating digits pretending that the anaesthetic was already in place. It is a lot more difficult without the foot attached to the cow, so we lashed them all to the table legs and sawed them off with "sciefil" or cutting wire. After the success of reducing these feet to suture ridden stumps, it was now time to bother live animals in the next session.

I needed to make some halters, there being none and having noted the usual method of restraint namely a rope tied around the front leg below the knee, or simply a noose around the neck I felt improvement was necessary. What I requested was 12mm diameter rope of polyester, hardwearing and easy to work with. What I got was 6mm rope of polypropylene. But at least I got 30 metres, enough for about 5 halters and a casting rope. Lucy's cable ties formed an integral part of the construction. The students were enormously impressed by the ties and the Gerber multi-tool I used to tighten and cut them with. Thank you Lucy and Nicholas.

Putting the halters on cattle not used to such restraint proved a challenge, and after an initial period of them attempting to fall over or jump out of the race, they became more used to the idea. The students spent some time taking temperatures and measuring heart rates, auscultating the lungs and listening to the rumen turn over. Only 5 of the 28 had ever had the chance of doing a rectal examination before this, so with a maximum of 5 different arms per startled cow I tried to reduce their inexperience. With only 4 cows in the race between 28 there seemed to be no satisfactory way for them to do enough, especially as working with a vet during their free time is not common.

They are all very keen and crowd round to such an extent it is difficult to supervise what's going on. I count myself lucky that during the scalpel and suturing sessions no-one was cut and no-one was kicked or stepped on during the session with the cows. What's more it was only after a while that I noticed that only about 5 students and myself were wearing rubber boots, albeit none of had steel toe caps. I had wondered why a good proportion did the rectal exams while perched on the rails of the race and not with their feet on the ground. The fact their was 2" of cow crap in the race surely influenced their decision. Some of the girls were in kitten heels or sling backs. The cost of a pair of boots is 5000Rfr, about £6.00, and lack of money is the main reason why there are so few but I wonder how many ruined shoes are equal to the cost of boots.

Racing on a bit, I have now completed my first week and on the whole I have begun to enjoy it. However, considering the lectures I have completed and the time left I have to fill makes me happy that I have more practicals than lectures left-my presentations are rapidly diminishing. The biggest problem with the practicals is still the shortage of materials and medicines.

It was very nice to get back to Nyanza and Melissa and some home cooking even though it's only for 36 hours. The visit was made more pleasant by the luxury of a wine box bought by Melissa with some expenses paid to her by VSO. We treated ourselves to a tumbler or two while toiling over the weekly stew. The beans are getting a bit tired now and the numbers of beetles seen is on the increase. We might give them a bit of a miss until this season's beans are ready. There is a lot of activity drying and shelling beans but the bulk are still in the fields. While home I inspected the patch of ground Aphrodise has let me have. It's doing well, far better than the patch round our house but the soil looks superior next door. Courgettes and melons are best, and even the artichokes have germinated and look good. The weeds of course are about a foot high but nothing very pernicious evident. If anything they help shelter the soil from the fierce heat of noon and conserve some moisture, but I'm afraid the gardener in me won't tolerate weeds; they have to come out.

I needed to leave Nyanza by 10.30 Sunday to get to Musanze before dark and devote quite a bit of time to my homework. On the previous Friday, I gave my first lecture on X-rays and medical imaging. Talk about blank stares. I sensed early on there was a lack of rapport with the subject and I have the feeling the basics are not in place. I pleaded for questions and stipulated they needed to be written down and anonymous so there would be no stigma. The questions flooded in and I was able to rank them by relevance and popularity. I needed to get information myself to answer their queries fully and accurately; I knew I must come up with the goods and not belittle the daft questions to get them to repeat the exercise. Time will prove whether I have enlightened or further confused.

Bureaucracy and lack of communication rule as any other academic institute. This class that I had inflicted X-rays and medical imaging told me that they did not think they had to do this course, and Anselme Shyaka agreed; it was the fifth year and not the fourth year that needed instruction. I duly apologised to the class, agreed that their turn was next year and not this, and suggested they negotiate the cost to them of photocopying notes they no longer needed with the fifth year.

This morning Anselme tells me without embarrassment that it's not the 5^th year but the 4^th year that have to be taught the dreaded physics and I have to apologise all over again.

I am struggling to fill the practical sessions; they all have to be planned and executed by me. We still have not had the medical equipment and supplies promised so on Monday, lacking any real kit, I thought we would prepare a sheep for Rumenotomy but not actually do it. I was curious how a sheep might react when placed standing on a table for an hour or so. I needed it in a prominent position so the students could see well and I did not do my back in crouching on the ground with a sheep of only about 12kg. I need not have worried; it behaved almost perfectly, tolerating being clipped with a brand new and very expensive set of Hauptner sheep clippers. It was so good I decided to see what happens with a small dose of Xylazine sedative. I calculated the dose of 0.1ml in the muscle that being the smallest dose a 5ml syringe will go to. It all went as predicted, it's great when that happens and everyone was impressed.

Pride cometh.. today I operated for real on a bigger sheep. I don't like the Rumenotomy operation, it's messy and I'm not convinced half the indications warrant such intervention. Particularly on a sheep, no farmer I know would pay good money on an operation on a sick sheep therefore it's not something I have ever done. But what the hell, the students need to see an operation or two and it won't use much of the scarce materials. It was not a good start when it rained for the entire morning rendering the flock of available sheep soaking wet. Trying to keep clean when handling wet sheep is impossible, but none of the students looked willing to pick it up and put it on the table. I needed to do it really in order to get an idea of it's weight for the pre-op injections(a big one at 25-30kg). It clipped up a treat; the Hauptners are worth the money, only I managed to cut it with the clippers.

I lost sight of the area I had injected with local, I only shaved it after I had injected it and that not very well. That may account for some of the struggling. It behaved well while making the laparotomy and tolerated me suturing the rumen to the skin to seal off the abdomen. Second mistake; not making the rumen-skin sutures distinct from the sutures I would be using for the actual rumen wound.

Entry into the rumen went well and I made sure it was to small to insert my arm, no flash stuff I thought. Scooped out enough rumen contents to be impressive and thought it was time to suture up and finish. It was at this stage the sheep decided it had had enough and began to lie down. In an effort to control it better, it's feet were held by the students which it violently resented causing it to kick and struggle. All the while the rumen wound is still open and gobs of content keep emerging like a green volcano masking the field and contaminating me. By degrees I slowly managed to complete the closure of the wound, but then I was unable to clearly distinguish the rumen closure sutures from those I had to remove to detach the rumen from the skin. I was in fear of re-opening the rumen and battling to close it again. I then put second layer in as the book said (never demonstrate a technique you have not done before that you got off the internet!) Even if the book had not said to do another layer I don't trust plain catgut in these circumstances. By now the rumen itself was coming out and my brave but trepidatious student assistant had the job of holding it in while I completed the skin sutures.

Once off the table with sutures complete it looked fine. We will have to follow it up over the next few days; I hope it looks as well tomorrow.

I will try to do another tomorrow, but using a different technique (from the same book!) There's nothing like keeping going while you're ahead.

My journey home

2010-05-04T11:13:00.001-07:00

After the familiar chime of windows closing, I shut my laptop's lid, zip it up in its padded powder blue carrying case. This is one of the few western concessions that we have allowed ourselves or indeed reliably work here. It has been a godsend as a work tool, but more impressively, albeit at a snail's pace, a conduit to the outside world, news, sport and family. The election seems a distant ghostly blur, it has been worth the trip alone to be away from the continuous hype and banter surrounding a UK election. No telephone surveys....no telephone (well no landlines anywhere), no half ripped adverts on bill hoardings...Rwanda is a litter free society (almost), with virtually all public street-side adverts devoted to condoms, beer and breast cancer awareness; a really odd combination that reflects the extent of the drive to promote healthy living. The beer certainly forms an essential part in my healthy lifestyle! I get up from my hard wooden ladder backed chair, neatly placing under my somewhat lopsided formica desk. Closer inspection reveals gaping holes between the top and its legs, despite the selotape carefully strapping the two pieces together. I make sure that the windows are closed. This action is an artform in itself. You carefully put your hand through the metal bars to retrieve the open window. With a hefty tug you need to pull the metal handle towards you, making sure that in doing so your arm is not pinched within the elaborate bar structure. With a loud thud the window usually closes first time but if your effort fails, it demands an even greater pull. One day the whole pane of glass will shatter sending shards of glass cascading round my feet.

The education office, which five of us share, along with many transient Headteachers, is a recently rendered breeze block single storey construction, with a corrugated metal roof. The breeze blocks are made in situ with a crafty pressure mould, then sun baked. The cement concoction is mixed by hand to a recipe only the creator has in his head. I must say over several days I have watched the recipe be made time after time with an amazing consistent consistency. On leaving the L-shaped building you have to go through an avenue of what looks like flame trees before reached the tarmac road. Bright scarlet flowers descend from the top of the20m high canopy throughout the day, only to be swept up by a lady with a twig/stem brush every morning. She manages to clear the mud path effortlessly, straight backed, she bends at the hips, without bending her knees. Astonishing!

On reaching the road, you are usually met by a steady stream of school children. Such is the eagerness to ensure that all those eligible have at least some schooling over the recently extended nine years compulsory education schools have to 'double shift' students for up to six of these years. This means that year groups are halved, with each group alternating morning or afternoon attendance. The teachers work from 7.20am to 5.0pm with a couple of 20 minute breaks and one hour for lunch during the switch over. In rural areas sometimes the staff club together to ensure that, usually, a 'domestique' buys ingredients and cooks a large bowl of beans/rice and seasonal vegetables. It is common for teachers to live an hour's walk away from the school...so a midday meal is very welcome and it helps to galvanise the staffroom. Uniform is compulsory here, girls wear royal blue dresses, whilst the boys wear khaki shorts and shirt. Shoes are a must, although not everyone can afford even the bright green or blue or orange imitation crocs. Bare feet abound, slightly muddy in hue and texture. Schools often set aside funds to help those who are at the poverty extreme. But cash is limited. School materials sometimes only comprise of a second hand piece of plywood painted black and a small piece of chalk. Having said all this, all pupils I have encountered strive to learn with such eagerness, they are well behaved, always smiling. English is not their mother tongue, but their yearning to learn overcomes such small hurdles. Kinyarwanda language and culture quite rightly remain the bedrock of this society. But there is a future generation here who will hold a nation's hope in their capable hands.

Walking along the side of the road, you often hear from distant doorways 'Good morning. How are you?.....I am well thank you' despite it being 5.30pm. Little arms are out stretched to shake your hand. Sometimes you are fully embraced around the groin....nothing sexual, just sheer happiness to see, touch and be with you. There are times that I have wandered down the road with a child happily holding each of my hands, whilst the parent chats away to me in French.

It is common to carry goods/vegetables in fact almost anything on one's head (including an umbrella and a rucksack!). The posture that this demands must take years of practice. I have watched people carrying 2m lengths of firewood on their head, turn through 90 degrees pass between a narrow gap in a hedge, without using their arms to steady the load. Bicycles are another mode on which goods are transported....normally crates of beer or fanta. The bikes resemble the old fashioned sit up and beg versions common in the early twentieth century, but with a twist. The saddle is always two foot too high and at a 45 degree angle to the floor. Often these contraptions whistle passed your ear at a rate of knots with millimetres to spare. I must say that there is no evidence of a braking system, but I have yet to test the lack of stopping capacity, thank goodness.

The road from the centre of town to our house is compacted mud, along which the recent rains have cut a series of deepish channel. Vehicles, particularly motos and bikes, try and avoid crossing these ruts, which does make for some amusing antics, particularly by the goats tethered along the verge, as they try and avoid being bowled over by the swerving vehicle. I often pass groups of two or three people apparently gossiping. They often stop and look at me as I pass. I believe that the novelty of having a white muzungu in the neighbourhood has waned, as frequently smiles light up their faces and a greeting is proffered, accompanied by either a wave or a hand shake. After nearly four months it is good to have that feeling of being accepted (even in part) by the local community.

Majestic maasai

2010-05-02T22:41:00.000-07:00

The joys of ICT2

2010-04-27T10:01:00.001-07:00

It's been a quiet spell since we got back from Tanzania, last week we were both in Kigali for "in country training" run by VSO to give the volunteers a chance to catch up and exchange experiences. There has been a fresh intake of volunteers this month and for a bit of an experiment the training of both groups has been run together.

It's a small intake, only 7; mostly Canadians with one Dutchman and a Scotsman

I, being only on the honorary list of VSO supported spouses, stayed for the Kinyarwanda lessons but spent the rest of my time pursuing leads to help me with my task of lecturing.

In order to eke out modem time, I thought I would try one of the many cafes that offer free wi-fi for the price of something to eat or drink. The one recommended is pretty up market and has the advantage of being central to the town buses. It's a bit involved getting the login and password but for the price of a bottle of fizzy water it was worth a go. Results were disappointing. There is a video I was hoping to down load to show the students depicting a cow caesar. This is performed in the middle of a field by? I presume? some American vet, there's no commentary. It's split into 6 parts, and I had succeeded in getting the first 4 on my computer. It looks as though it is filmed in real time with a phone camera, and in all honesty it's not really a "how to do it" manual, but it will serve as a topic for debate.

Anyway, one episode is about 50meg and that would have taken 2 hours to download. The password gave me 1 hour of time so the maths tells the story. I ended up prosaically getting upgrades for Vista while moodily supping my rapidly warming and flattening water.

I shall have to bite the bullet and carry on with the modem; there are quite a few other videos available to download to give the students some vicarious experience.

Something is going on locally with the power supply. It began 2 weeks ago with cuts each morning throughout the town at about 7.30-8.00, followed by restoration in the afternoon at about 4.00. Melissa had noticed it at the District office, but they were back on power at noon. I had hoped that our week away in Kigali would be enough time for it to settle, but I have just noticed it's off again. At least if it's predictable we can work round it and we always have the charcoal to fall back on if it's still off in the late afternoon, though it will remain a challenge to cook by torch in the outhouse. Our strategy will rely on the two big thermoses we have to store hot water and remembering to heat enough before the lights go out.

As a PS we now only have one thermos, the other sustained a fatal knock against the table edge this morning when I got it out. A loud report followed in rapid succession by scalding water down my trousers caused me to utter profanities. Jacky, not there at the time, has dealt with the remains in the traditional Rwandan way by dumping it in a field somewhere.

My big day approaches when I begin my lecturing, in fact that's what I should be doing at this very moment, but instead I'm sitting in Nyanza writing this.

I had been building up to my departure on Sunday; the day that Nyanza commemorates the Genocide and a day that brings coach loads of people in to take part. As such, places on the buses are at a premium especially later on in the day when the crowds want to go home. We thought it wise to buy a ticket the day before in order to assure myself that indeed the buses were running and to set myself a goal in terms of a time to leave. I texted the manager of the guest house to confirm my booking and give him an idea of when I would arrive. I even went so far as to begin to pack when I got a text Saturday evening from the director at the college.

This amounted to a postponement for 2 weeks for the start of my engagement. The reason given was a shortage of chemicals that would interfere with the practical component of the course. It was late when I received this and I felt an exchange of texts would not clarify matters so I chose to contact him early Sunday.

It is the habit of the vast majority of Rwandans who are not obliged to work daily in the fields to go to church on Sundays. My phone call at 8.30 Sunday morning was not answered. However, I soon had a text explaining he was in church and he would call as soon as practical. They are a devout lot in general and it was not until 12 45 that he felt able to ring me back. His explanation still left me unable to fully appreciate the problem as he saw it; he said we lacked a certain sedative of which I had seen half a box full less than a week ago and which ordinarily would have taken 6 months to exhaust back in the UK.

I persuaded him to let me start in a week instead of two. I can only wait and see what happens during this week and hope that it's all plain sailing from now on.

The marvels on safari

2010-04-24T00:43:00.000-07:00

We not only encountered the vast serene magic of the wilderness..the animals were magestic as well!

On safari!

2010-04-14T22:36:00.001-07:00

We are just sitting down and taking stock having just come back from a trip to Tanzania. This was our effort to keep out of the way during genocide memorial week. The choice of destination is down to Dorothy, a fellow volunteer based to the south of Kigali and sparked when we went as a group to Lake Kibuye a month ago. The organisation has been Melissa's and a cracking good time was had by us all.

The main object of the trip was to sample a Safari to suit the volunteer pocket, sort of on the hoof without frills and furbelows. The initial plan was to be under canvas and for us to be a party of four, Dorothy and Ken, and the two of us. As Dorothy and Ken are not an item, it would mean boys and girls in their respective tents for 5 days. This caused a good deal of head scratching as we don't know each other that well and had no particular desire to take the relationships to dormitory level.

Musings over the agonies of not being natural and uninhibited for the hours of darkness proved unnecessary as Ken declared he was out of funds and couldn't afford to come on this occasion. It also transpired that a certain amount of distrust with our tour operator had been engendered by his reluctance to deal with cards as opposed to cash, and the practical difficulties this would cause as he was in Germany. His suggestion to use a form of Pay-Pal met with extreme resistance from us all on grounds of excessive cost and unnecessary bureaucracy.

So after ditching him, we went with a local operator working out of Arusha who also gave us the good news that as it was low season during the long rains we could stay in lodges for the same price as tents. No brainer really, so we went with a trip to Lake Manyara, the Olduvai Gorge, where the Leakys' made major discoveries of the origins of man and his ancestors, the Serengeti National park and ending up with that old favourite of sixties black and white wildlife programmes, the Ngorongoro Crater.

Dorothy was happy to come as the third person and we shall send Ken the pictures.

The flight demanded a very early morning start from Kigali so we had to organise a guesthouse close to the airport. By way of a send off, we had booked a restaurant of repute, known by us but not by the local taxi drivers. It took a great deal of searching and cajoling, made worse by there being no street lighting or road names. Eventually a party of those going to Arusha on the same flight and a few others met at this Ethiopian restaurant and enjoyed a good meal.

Taxis in Rwanda have no meters, you have to negotiate a price before you set out and a great deal of haggling can ensue, especially if you know how much it was for the outward journey. The taxi driver for our return to the overnight hotel seemed to have agreed to a reasonable fee but appeared uncertain of the guest house's location. We soon became aware that the driver had his wires crossed and we were heading into town instead of to the hotel. Things became ugly when he declared the fare was insufficient and demanded 6000Rfr instead of 4000Rfr, the fare we had paid to get there. We protested that he had got lost and he should stick to the original agreement. He countered by parking in a garage and refusing to carry on unless we stumped up. Fraught negotiations ultimately involved us ringing the restaurant manager, who had ordered the taxi in the first place, and getting him to speak to the driver who in the end grudgingly completed the journey. He did not get a tip.

We weathered the lack of a promised taxi to the airport and lost keys to hotel bedrooms to arrive in Arusha, Tanzania. Tanzania has a very different landscape to Rwanda, fields are big enough for tractors to be warranted and the roads have long straight sections, an unknown phenomenon on Rwandan journeys. The land is much flatter with distant hills rather than all hill and little plain. But in many ways the towns seem to be on much the same plan and the people of a similar disposition. Main roads through towns are paved but most of the side streets are rutted mud roads including the one up to the hotel we had booked in Arusha. It's a bit dispiriting to turn onto one of these streets, very narrow as well as muddy and wonder what style of accommodation it is leading to.

The hotel was relatively new and adequately spacious but perhaps unsurprisingly in view of our early arrival, the room wasn't ready. However, we still had to meet the manager of the company organising the safari and pay him the rest of the money. Not knowing where this was in Arusha we were grateful to one of the hotel staff who was going into town and knew roughly where it was. He took us by way of a path through a park and over a football pitch to the hotel used as a landmark for the company's offices.

The manager was very affable and explained what it was we had signed up for. He promised we'd be picked up from the hotel ready to set off for Lake Manyara. It being lunch time by now he recommended an Indian restaurant round the back of the block. It was a revelation of flavours and service. In Rwanda, you have to accept that meals once ordered take at least an hour to arrive; even the simplest of dishes must have to be made from scratch to account for the interminable delay. It is also felt necessary to wait until all the dishes for everyone are complete before serving, so those meals ready to be served go cold in the interval. Tanzania seems to have got it better organised and we were very grateful to be the beneficiaries.

Our driver and guide, Hassan, arrived on time and began the 2 hour journey at a steady pace. We enjoyed the transition from rather squalid but colourful urban to sparser rural. The number of herds of cattle being driven alongside the roads astonished me, but Hassan explained that this was one of the Masai heartlands and there very existence depended on cattle. Straight roads in Tanzania mean deadly speed bumps, negotiated at walking pace to avoid taking off; what happens if you miss the inconspicuous approach warning signs I hate to think.

I don't know what sort of image you have when someone speaks of going on a safari, I'm imprinted with the improbable accents and solar topees of Armand and Michaela Denis, but then my formative years are almost pre David Attenborough. If you have the idea that it's a free for all with Toyota land cruisers criss-crossing the grassy plains in an anarchic tussle to be the first to get up a buffalo's nose forget it. You stick to the trails and proceed in an orderly fashion or the park rangers will give your driver the red card without the option. This can put them in an awkward position if they have pushy clients because they are the ones who pay the hefty fines not the punter. In all the parks and conservation areas we visited decorum was observed, except during moments of high drama.

I'm not going to itemise all the animals and birds we saw; Melissa's photographs will bear able witness to the numbers and variety but I will give you the highlights. For years I have dismissed the idea of safari as a way of being spoon-fed an experience of exotic Africa without much effort expended. It has always seemed to me that you dial up the nearest pride of lions and motor leisurely across to park beside them, only to have the next scenario radioed in from the scouts who do the real work.

Not so. For almost the whole of our stay in the national parks (no herders and their stock allowed and no settlements tolerated within the boundaries) and conservation areas (limited access to stock and settlement) we took active roles in trying to pick out whatever moved or flew. At this season, the grass is lush and long. This is partly why it's low season; it's difficult to see more than 50 metres off the trails. It became more and more of a challenge to identify the smallest suspicion of animal presence and you get competitive in being the first to see something new or unusual. We had been allocated a land cruiser with a pop-up roof, that is to say one that carried the metal roof on struts so you kept a measure of protection from the sun. Some we saw had only a retractable roof that gave unrestricted vision when you stood up but in return you had to endure the full force of the sun. The bottom of the food chain in terms of vehicles for a safari was what initially I mistook for a petrol tanker. It was a high sided converted lorry with school bus type windows and no open roof for about 20 punters. The few we passed contained a sorry looking bunch uncomfortably packed in .

There is radio traffic and exchanges of observations take place. We were in the dark as to what was being said, all traffic seemed to be in Swahili but you could tell something was up when the Sunday Afternoon amble gave way to a more purposeful and lurching progress.

One such happened on the second day in the Serengeti; the object of the change of pace was kept from us; I think to avoid disappointment if nothing materialised or possibly for the "rabbit out of the hat" effect. We soon saw a collection of trucks similar to ours parked on the trail around a scrubby bush and two lions out in the grass 50 metres from the road. Not much was going on; lions are not ten a penny at this season as many are off nearer the migration routes so there was the novelty value. About 5 other trucks had precedence over us so we could not see clearly the other lions laid out under the bush, about 6 in all. The trail followed a watercourse marked by acacia trees and in the distance on the other side of the trees was a large group of buffalo moving steadily along the skyline. Some parties of tourists lost interest the inactivity and moved on; others arrived and joined the queue. All the pride seemed to want to do was sleep in the shade; the two in the grass had crossed the trail and gone nearer the trees.

A pair of adult buffalo and a half grown calf had detached from the main group and were progressing by degrees towards the trees not far from the pride. They made their way down out of sight into the stream bed and stayed there a while. One of the lionesses was taking some notice of their movements. The two adults closely followed by the calf emerged from the undergrowth on our side and looked around unconcerned.

We could see this lioness crouch and stalk the group, but lost sight of her as she crept through the grass. Without warning she appeared and seized the calf by the neck. The calf's cries made the adults immediately turn on the lioness and simultaneously alerted the others still sleeping 75 metres away. The adults had successfully driven off the first attacker, but as soon as the rest arrived, they were too distracted to concentrate on only those harming the calf. A succession of lions kept sufficient grip on the calf for it to succumb after only minutes from the beginning of the attack. Surprisingly quickly, perhaps after the calf had ceased to make noises of alarm, the adult buffalo lost interest and slowly made the journey back to the main herd. The spectacle of the corpse being devoured was happily denied to us by the herbage, glimpses of bloody maws all the evidence of a successful kill.

Other sights were notable but not so dramatic; leopards framed in the evening sunlight balefully eyeing us before descending for their evening patrol. A cheetah seen briefly rising from the thick grasses to scan the gazelles nearby only to submerge and remain concealed. A limping hyena followed parallel to the road emerging with one back leg a freshly tattered stump.

The other surprise was the quality of the accommodation. Lodges hardly does justice to the hotels for the most part commanding splendid views from atop cliffs and the crater edge. With meals thrown in and just a modest beer or two to pay for it was all unexpectedly good value.

The beginning of my job looms and I'm still desperately composing PowerPoint presentations with an increasing fear that they are not going to address the students real needs. I get the feeling that the language is going to be a real barrier and that my practical experience will not reflect the conditions out here. Melissa's experiences in Rwandan schools seems to show that classes of pupils are not used to interaction and asking questions, so it's going to be difficult to gauge comprehension unless I institute a series of unofficial tests regularly. It will be too late by the time exams come round at the end of the sessions.

On a different subject, it's ICT2 next week, that is to say In Country Training 2. We are both going to Kigali for the week although strictly speaking I don't need to attend. I shall be present for Kinyarwanda lessons but probably slope off for the rest of the day. I shall make another visit to the college where I shall be teaching and to another institute who are interested in using me.

Week away on safari

2010-04-12T07:42:00.000-07:00

These are just a taster of what we have been up to over the last week..............more to come!

Ankole cattle

2010-04-02T03:52:00.000-07:00

Gravity works in odd ways here! The horns seem in need of a certain blue pill?

Pictures of the happy couple

2010-04-02T03:30:00.000-07:00

Rain has its uses!

2010-03-31T06:04:00.001-07:00

Aphrodise and I had a productive day yesterday. There has been a piece of guttering that's been lying around in the courtyard for some time now, and I've been on at him to find a ladder so I can fix it above the back steps. For a country that is blessed with two rainy seasons and a long dry, it is only very recently that the concept of gutters and collecting the water that flows along said gutters has become accepted. Schools and government buildings are now built with these in place or are having them retro-fitted. This in combination with large plastic tanks makes the schools in particular more independent of the very wobbly water supply. The want of guttering on our house means we get water down our necks every time we go down these steps during or soon after rain.

I caught Aphrodise staring into the middle distance while I was waving goodbye to the man who had carried the crate of beer home for me. I reminded him of the ladder, and, as it wasn't the first time, thought no more about it. About an hour later, he turned up triumphantly with a wooden ladder which unfortunately proved to be 3 feet too short to reach the fascia. After a bit of discussion and debate on the merits of getting a much longer and heavier ladder, we hit upon the idea of lashing a small metal ladder to the top of the wooden ladder with a nylon washing line. I was in charge of lashing as I was to be the mug going up this contraption.

The fact that the two legs of the ladder were not of equal length was an additional hazard and it meant chocking with a brick to limit the swaying. The rungs had been nailed in place and to save on weight they had only placed them every 2 feet. So with some trepidation I climbed up with hammer and nail to begin the process.

Lucy had had the inspired idea of sending inside the only package we have received from the UK some long cable ties which were ideal for suspending the gutter once I had placed the nails in the fascia. The aerial cable and power supply for Aphrodise's satellite dish got in the way at one time, but everything worked out in the end and a test with water poured in one end showed it to be capable of doing the job.

After finishing and clearing away, Aphrodise came in to wash his hands and have a drink. He had been looking at some of the plants growing in the little bit of garden we have and I showed him the other seeds we had brought or been sent. Some he was familiar with, some he thought he knew and I gave him a few courgette and chive seeds to try.

On the strength of this, he offered me a patch of ground behind one of his buildings to give me more space. He and I will share it and I think I had better begin to dig it over soon even though it is not virgin soil like the beds in our courtyard.

A storm in the afternoon enabled me to assess the efficiency of the gutter, and I was able to fill the 50 litre wash tub from the outpouring in about 20 minutes. It meant we could use the water for cooking and I think it will save us having to boil all our drinking water, this will only need filtering.

The rain spoiled Oliver's wedding on Sunday, it never stopped all day. Oliver is the mayor's assistant/secretary and very much on the up. He has plans to go into politics, but on a local level only I think. He told Melanie he wanted to get married

All three of us had been invited and as it was a very posh do, we needed to dress appropriately. Melissa had brought out good clothes as that was expected for her job, but I had nothing like a suit or good shoes. As things turned out, Melanie's boyfriend (now ex) had been out recently and had for an indeterminate reason left the suit he had travelled in together with an acceptable rose shirt. Rather than cut them up, she offered me the use. He is about my size and it's a good enough fit for occasional use. The only thing I was missing were the shoes. Shoes are the fashion item par excellence in Rwanda. The drawback is that the current mode is for excessively long toes that have a square end and the habit of curling up like skis. This together with the lack of any sizes above 44 or a 10 means my choice was very restricted. After a fruitless search in Kigali, Zebounissa suggested someone she knew dealing in second hand shoes in the market. Innocent, her right hand in matters of acquiring stuff went with me to meet this merchant.

He had a pair of size 13s that were less outrageously outré than anything else I had seen but it took some hard bargaining to get him down from 35000Rfr to a still steep 25000Rfr. With a bit of Cherry Blossom and a yellow duster, they were rehabilitated to almost shoe box condition. To be fair, they are more comfortable worn for the day than the pair I usually wear in the UK.

Oliver had had the civil wedding service 2 weeks earlier, but the culmination was to be the church service. Rumour had it that 500 had been invited, and that the whole affair was costing Oliver over 2 million Rwandan francs.

Melissa and Melanie were to be dressed in the Rwandan fashion and needed to collect the material on the morning of the ceremony. On a sunny day, it would have been adequate, but on this particular Sunday the weather was nothing like balmy, more like a dull day in Wales and the traditional dress was to hide warm undergarments in order to endure a lot of sitting about.

We walked thus accoutred about a kilometre to the church through persistent but light rain. It was unclear whether this was the right church as neither Melissa or Melanie could see anyone they recognised, so we waited under the porch of an adjoining building watching for familiar faces. The ceremony may have been delayed due to the weather but no one was sure. After reassurance from the presence of a number of heads of schools, we took our seats in the body of the church.

Initially we were regaled by a choir of brightly dressed singers accompanied by drum machines and digital tracks with occasional flurries on keyboards. It took about an hour before bride and groom and entourage arrived looking very smart, the whole group in complementary outfits.

The service followed a complicated pattern and we remained unenlightened as to what actually went on, but Melanie, an aficionado of this sort of thing was impressed that it was completed within only an hour and a half.

The rain had become progressively heavier, the noise from the roof of the church rivalling the quieter passages, made even quieter sometimes by power cuts. The end to proceedings led to a lot of milling about by the doors looking at the rain with no-one keen to brave the mud and wet in their best clothes. By degrees, transport appeared to take everyone in shifts to the reception outside in the grounds of the Old King's palace about 2 miles away.

Wedding reception brings images of food and strong drink, but in Rwanda, at this do anyway, no such thing. The families and friends of the bride and groom are allocated seats in shelters designed to keep off the sun located either side of an arena. This was divided in the centre by a cloth covered walkway and arches. At the end of this ceremonial avenue was a tented area for the married couple and attendants.

Once again, the two principals did not arrive for about an hour at which point Intore dancers entertained everyone, the dancing interspersed by speeches from the heads of the respective families. bottles of Fanta were soon distributed and the cakes brought out for display. It was getting fairly late by now and Melanie had to go to meet her mum arriving on the bus from Kigali. We were unsure how we were getting back so we slipped out with her, not seeing how they would be able to continue meaningfully in the dark. We gratefully accepted a lift from the executive secretary who took us to our door. We had asked if someone would save us some cake, but we have yet to taste what looked pretty special on the cake stands.

Even we scrub up well!

2010-03-30T10:40:00.000-07:00

We attended the social event in the Nyanza calendar this weekend. A wedding and a half. I was lucky enough to be asked to wear traditional rwandan clothing and Stephen had use of a classy pin stripped number!

Neighbours dressing up

2010-03-26T08:44:00.000-07:00

Sunday is the day for church, parties and, of course, dressing up. Last sunday there was a party atmoshere down our road, with families strutting in their 'best' clothes. Wonderful! Equally as amazing was today's sun rise up the road as people walked to work at 6.30am

Up north!

2010-03-23T03:58:00.001-07:00

Aphrodise came round last night to bring the carpenter to fix the gaping hole that has been a feature of the bathroom ceiling since we moved in. According to Aphrodise, it's access to the roof space which he needs for maintenance. Fair enough, but it's also access for the mosquitoes that constantly irritate. They are easily heard when we have quiet moments in there but difficult to spot against the dark walls. They also retreat up there whenever we try to spray them as it seems to have no effect. Aphrodise and his man arrived just as we were preparing our evening meal. After a great deal of deliberation they have loose fitted a piece of plywood that looks as though it should do the job.

Tonight we were to enjoy what was left of the week's bean, mince and vegetable stew supplemented by some maize Jacky had given us. It was a very nice thought and perhaps as a way of apology as she was late this morning due to the heavy rain. However, the maize isn't sweet corn and at the moment the method of cooking that converts it from little bullets to something palatable eludes us. If boiling it up with the beans for 2 hours doesn't work I think we shall give up on it.

We had some sweet potatoes with yesterday's stew and that was very successful. They taste of a mixture of chestnuts and parsnips with the texture of a slightly fibrous potato, and they are good for soaking up the gravy.

This weekend we had nothing arranged so I thought it would be a good opportunity to go back to Musanze to see about somewhere to stay during my lecturing period. If we both went then Melissa would have an idea of the conditions up there and as it's a nice part of the country we might be able to explore a bit. She would also be invaluable as a second opinion as to accommodation. Melissa had heard from some colleagues of hers of a private house that does B&B, so we arranged a couple of nights there.

While I was at ISAE, Anselme the dean of the Vet school said that if we did come up again, he would show us round the town and give some help over where to stay, so I texted him as to our plans . He, however was going to visit his mother so would not be there. I was all for re-arranging but Melissa was reluctant to abandon. Unbeknown to me, she rang the office that books tours to the gorillas to see if they had any places left on Saturday's trek. She was delighted to find there were just 2 places, but they would not take payments over the phone, we had to go in person. It would probably be too late if we left it until we were in Kigali on Friday on our way to Musanze, so I delegated myself to go the next day, Thursday.

Came across a nasty smash on the way to Kigali. A 4x4 looked as though it had attempted to get past a slow lorry on a bend when it met one of the buses coming the other way. It had hit the bus, then the lorry had run into it from behind. The 4x4 was a write-off. The police were there and were loading the passengers from the bus into buses headed for Kigali that had had to stop as the road was all but blocked. Fortunately, there seemed to be no serious casualties bar one bus passenger with a bandaged foot.

When I got to the tourist office, I was relieved to find that the places were still available. They are strictly rationed so that the seven groups of gorillas in the Rwandan section of the mountain reserve are visited only once a day by a maximum of eight tourists. It's perhaps because it's the low season during the rains that it's not booked up solid.

Melissa managed to get home on the Friday in time for us to catch the 11 o'clock bus to Kigali so she could meet up with colleagues and still catch an early bus to Musanze. Another sobering sight met us on a corner at the bottom of a hill. A bus had rolled down a steep embankment having failed to negotiate the bend. Dazed and bedraggled passengers stood around by the bus fifty feet down from the road. From our brief observation of the scene, everyone seemed to be standing but no help had yet arrived. The bus itself was one distinctive by its green livery; all other buses are white, and its characteristic, rather top heavy shape. Not a line we use or intend to use.

We were met in Musanze by Cathy, the proprietor of the house where we were to stay. She was with Teste, her husband who gave us a lift to the house a few hundred metres distant. She is Canadian but about to become a Rwandan citizen having been in the country for close to 7 years. She is involved with a lot of charitable work, notably a school she runs for which she uses the donations given to her by the guests that stay in her house.

Teste also acts as a driver for those guests visiting the gorillas. We arranged to be up and ready for 6.15 to get to the visitor centre using his ageing Land Cruiser comfortably ahead of the 7.00 departure. We got there well before the rush in order to have some little say as to which group of gorillas we visited. Some groups are more than just a step away. The more unfit amongst those in the groups; peoples' grandmas and lardy Americans are directed towards the shorter journeys. How our group rated in the difficulty league will remain unknown but it took 2 hours of tough walking through dense vegetation before we encountered the "amahoro" group or "peace" gorillas.

Our search was made easier by an advance party of trackers who located them and reported back to the guides their whereabouts by radio. A brisk pace was set by the lead guide, in wellingtons and armed with an AK47. The weaponry was felt necessary to stand some chance against poachers or the buffalo that live in the reserve. Indeed the first traces of life, apart from the birds, were buffalo tracks and fresh dung.

One of the hazards of taking the narrow paths through the reserve was the presence of the largest stinging nettles I have ever seen. Some of them must have been 7 feet tall and with stems over an inch thick. Their leaves glinted with a frosting of needles and the lower leaves stung through thick trousers. Machetes cleared the worst of them and their increasing use to clear the paths gave the clue we were nearing our rendezvous as we left the beaten tracks.

We met up with the advance party of trackers and it was here we left packs and sticks to allow freer movement close to the gorillas. Our first sight was of the silverback above us on the side of the hill sitting half hidden in the vegetation looking in our direction. The guides went on ahead all the while voicing a low growling grunt to give assurance of our lack of threat. We followed and got within 5 or 6 metres-I was surprised to see him munching on goose grass or cleavers, not something I would have given Michelin stars for. He was regally unconcerned by the scrum of nervous photographers and leaving his meal unfinished presented us with his silverback and not inconsiderable backside and ambled off into a thicket of bamboo.

He had been the only individual we had been able to see, but rustlings and violent shakings of the bamboo close by hinted he was not alone. The guides forced an entry through the bamboo and indicated the best path for us to follow. Brief glimpses of other members of his family could be snatched through the dense canes. By and by we advanced slowly getting used to the gloom and gradually became aware of the extent of the gathering. The most active were three boisterous adolescents wrestling and rugby tackling each other. They had cleared a form of arena 4 or 5 metres across in the stand of bamboo by systematically pulling over and breaking the 5 or 6 metre high canes in order to eat the leaves at the top. Their games of tag had also created avenues at the four principal poles of this space to create the illusion of a stage. We, the audience crouched taking in the spectacle in the dim but atmospheric greenish light. We kept ourselves to the margins, but as the wrestling and tumbling took place on a sloping surface, bodies rolled towards us in a disconcerting way. The guides were concerned both for our safety and the gorillas' health-respiratory infections caught from tourist are a major threat. They did their best to remove us from the bouts; squeezing back between the bamboo canes was an option as it still allowed good observation. A close eye needed to be kept on the third young male as he had the habit of entering the stage at a rush using the avenues, often along the one we were gathered in to keep our distance from the main action. He grabbed the bag of a slight woman in his progress, but she hung on and he let go before any harm could be done.

This activity was intermittent, often the whole company becoming inert, unselfconsciously posing on their backs mimicking human males by scratching and fiddling with themselves. The peace would be disturbed by one deciding to jump on another and the cycle would begin again. The silverback was disinclined to lower himself to this level, being asleep under a thick patch of scrub not in the least concerned.

For the hour we were privileged to be there, they hardly moved 30 metres from where we first saw them, unlike other groups, who we are told, have to be constantly tracked though it feels often more of a pursuit to keep in contact, so not much time for close observation.

At the end of it our departure seemed to go unnoticed and we made our way back to the vehicles to be bumped and jolted back along the track paved with the volcanic rock of the region. I recommend you don't go undergo a similar journey in the back of an antiquated Land Cruiser and expect to have your kidneys still in place.

Once back in Musanze, we took the opportunity to use Teste's local knowledge and contacts to look for my accommodation. Having visited 3 guest houses we chose one that had a good size room and hot water and only a little distant from where the buses run to the college. I hope it's further from the mosque and it's muezzin who had been calling on the hour every hour from 4 o'clock while we tried to sleep at Cathy's

The evening was spent very pleasantly in Cathy and Teste's company, together the rest of their house hold; a couple who are returning visitors and who are doing African studies and teaching at Cathy's school and 2 lads, alumni of the school, one of whom has gained a scholarship to go to university

Cathy has many interests among which animals and their welfare are to the fore. She observed that Rwandans in general have a fear of dogs and cats amounting to their active destruction. She has witnessed their stoning and beating; on challenge the defence is that animals feel no pain. Dogs gather in packs and breed uncontrollably; puppies if found are often killed or taken off, dying after a few days of inappropriate feeding. Ownership of dogs or cats is rare and being concerned enough to have them looked at by a vet is even rarer.

This worries me greatly on a number of counts. On the practical side, where are these students going to get their clinical material, there seems little likelihood that clinics will furnish suitable cases or that there will be much neutering done normally. The greater concern is how these future vets see themselves in relation to the animals they will be dealing with. Will their priority be the welfare of the animal or the requests of the client? I know this can still be a big issue in the UK but in a culture that seems to regard pets as a scourge it may have more radical effects. According to Cathy, when she has offered to euthanase a tortured dog or cat, this has met with blank incomprehension- it's going to die soon so what's all the fuss? I am assured that when it comes to cattle, which are valued out of proportion to their worth as income generators, to the extent of being status symbols, welfare issues will be clearer. However, in my experience if cattle have a high value farmers are reluctant to have them killed on welfare grounds unless they can be won over or shamed into agreeing.

I need to formulate some sort of questionnaire for these students to see exactly how they regard their role as professionals vis à vis welfare. It will take a bit of skill to prepare in order to elicit a true picture. Any of you vets out there got any ideas as to the format?

Gorillas were ........

2010-03-22T06:06:00.000-07:00

Wow gorillas...taster photos

2010-03-22T05:49:00.001-07:00

Our first sightings of mountain gorillas. Absolutely amazing....................!

A mad sparrow

2010-03-14T08:52:00.000-07:00

This bird spent half an hour attacking itself!

Wildlife at Lake Kivu

2010-03-14T05:48:00.001-07:00

There were some great birds at Lake Kivu

Inspirational school

2010-03-13T23:30:00.000-08:00

Melanie and I spent an enchanting morning at a main stream boarding school that specialises in disability. The children were a delight and slightly mischievous, which only added to their charm. it is high achieving academicly which is a direct result of smaller class sizes. Nevertheless, the facilities were spartan and they were very dependent upon donations from the church in Rome.