Growing together in Rwanda

Making links - part two

2011-11-12T07:35:00.002Z

Written Saturday 12th about Tuesday 8th

I confessed to nervousness at the beginning of my teaching day with three pastors and wives (Augustin and Gaudence, Jean Paul and Immaculee from Kanombe, Brad and Chelsea) plus Verena from Kamembe and Dave Thomas, whose spouses were not able to be there. Once I began, however, after the usual formal opening from Augustin, the atmosphere lightened and we were all at ease. Dave commented during the first break that Friends have this gift for easily helping each other out - on this case with translation of thoelogical or horticultural vocabulary. Brad was my official translator and his Kinyarwanda is said to be good, but I noticed he and Dave were making notes of vocabulary supplied by the others.

Everybody had either attended one of my workshops or seen sacks planted by others, so we were able quickly to start on feedback and analysis - so helpful I wished I'd had it earlier.

Jean Paul had taken responsibility for watering their sack because his wife left early to teach, then was saddened when local children pulled out the plants. I said that at the Fds primary school at Kagarama the sacks were undisturbed, leading to an outburst from Immaculee about the differences in discipline and staffing ratios between children at Fds schools and ordinary state schools. (Now where have I heard that before?) Immaculee added that most women said Elizabeth's sacks were only for rich people because you have to pay for water for them. I'm sure I had said, as I always do, that it was better to use 'grey' water from the kitchen, but it's useful to know that needs stressing more.

Verena, who has probably the most productive sacks of anybody I've seen, said she was only able to use my teaching because her mind had been prepared by D4D. She leapt at the suggestion of using previously unproductive space in her yard - there was still room for the children to play - and now supplied greens to several local restaurants as well as eating variety every day. But when she went round visiting the group of 15 who had my training two years ago, nobody else was persisting. Gradually she was persuading others to try again.

As we discussed the detailed elements of construction, she leaned forward to reach the sack I'd laid out on the coffee table, to illustrate her modification. She was finding that water was not reaching the lowest layers, because soil had got into the column of stones. (Now I know I always model covering the tube of stones while filling the surround with soil, but perhaps I hadn't also said it.) She had experimented with cutting open the bottom of the sack so rain water falling around could be drawn into the dry soil, and also using the plastic tube (bottle) to funnel water directly to the base of the sack. We considered her modification and concluded that in the most arid areas opening the bottom of the sack could do more harm than good, allowing precious water out into the surrounding unplanted soil.

Asked whether a sack could be replanted after the first harvest, I offered the recipe for plant 'tea', made by steeping different kinds of leaves in water - or a mixture of one part urine and two parts water - to boost the fertility of the soil in the sack. I teach this plant tea a lot now (and use it on my allotment at home), and show photos of recommended plants, all taken in Rwanda. Jean Paul and Augustin, who had not heard this lesson before, started to giggle at the mention of urine. I knew Gaudence had been troubled by scorching of some young plants when she'd tried the tea on everything in her garden, so I asked her to tell us what had happened. Was the urine too concentrated, asked Dave, who had learnt a rule of thumb of one part urine to ten of water for direct application. Even though the eventual concentration after dilution is one to six, I agreed it might be too strong for seedlings. Gaudence said everything except the trees had been scorched, though all had recovered.

'Did you use urine?' I asked. 'I won't answer that directly, but I followed your lesson', she replied. 'I didn't know you were doing that', said Augustin. 'Well, you don't know everything!'

In the car the previous day, Dave had said how he was looking forward to groups being ready for him to offer lessons on nutrition, reforestation and the long-term superiority of organic fertilisers - the latter unnecessary in the early days because nobody had money for 'bag' fertiliser, so it would have been pointless to warn of the dangers.

In the afternoon of our day together, I divided the participants into two groups to work through material on nutrition in English and Kinyarwanda. The task was to decide how to make this information accessible through lively teaching. Nobody came up with an opening gambit or a way of dividing the material. Instead, conversation veered onto how it would be better first to make sure one's own children understood the good they were doing themselves by eating a varied diet rich in fruit and vegetables. I realised this modelled the process at the beginning of D4D, when the trainers had first to internalise the teaching and philosophy before taking it out to others.

By the end of the two days, many links - personal and theoretical - had been strengthened. Nervousness on both sides had been dispelled, I think. This group of pastors didn't seem to be having any difficuly engaging with ideas for living better in this world. Heaven was never mentioned. Our theological frameworks will continue to differ. And that's OK.

Sorry there are no photos to enliven this posting. I'm hoping to give you some stunning scenery before the end of the day, when I leave Rwanda until next February.

Making links - part one

2011-11-09T10:51:00.010Z

Last year Augustin started suggesting that Growing Together and Discipling for Development (D4D) should co-operate. I was interested but unsure. I had been hearing good reports of D4D but I didn't want to be co-opted into a missionary project. When it was time to make suggestions for my work on this visit, I tentatively put on my list a meeting with D4D. It appeared on my schedule. I was much relieved to hear that 'discipling' is taken to mean much the same as mentoring, and not scolding or forcing into line.

Proposals for our time together went through several revisions. First I was to work with a new church group of 20 plus 10 D4D trainers for two days. I said that would make for a difficult group - too large and too varied in experience. So the plan was modified: two days with around 16 trainers. Then, as I mentioned to Augustin that I needed to start my detailed preparation well ahead of delivery time because I would be too busy in between, he said the re-revised plan was for one day training 10 or 12 trainers and spouses and one day visiting a church where D4D is operating. I asked to have the visit before the training day, so I could learn more about the group and its aims.

Monday was the day for the visit. Four of us went: Augustin, Dave Thomas (Evangelical Friends Church missionary from Oregon, here with his wife Debby and 4 children since about 1998) and Brad Carpenter (younger and more recent Fds Ch missionary, married to Chelsea for about 3 years). Brad drove and I rode in the front with him. This was the best opportunity I'd had to talk with Brad and Dave. I was encouraged by their openness and somewhat intimidated by the remarkable success of D4D, brought from Uganda by Debby Thomas, Augustin and 2 more pastors in 2008.

I hadn't realised how recent in this part of the world is the movement towards holistic church life, as opposed to winning and caring for souls and letting bodies fend for themselves. David Bucura tells how when he started cultivating the land behind his house he was chastised as a pastor for wasting God's precious time. There seems to have been a significant shift, both on the ground and among funding and mentoring agencies in the evangelical churches in the USA, just in the last few years.

I met an enthusiastic youngish church leader, Jean de Dieu, - not yet a full pastor - and several members. I found the stories remarkable.

Jean de Dieu used to be always at the main Friends church at Kagarama, begging for handouts for his family and lamenting the poverty of people in his little church. Then he heard about D4D and pleaded for his community to be one of the first trial groups. Soon after starting to think differently about his life, he picked up handfuls of small cassava plants discarded by the local population, who had been forced to take them but wouldn't plant a new variety; soon he was selling to his neighbours. Next he dried and saved seed from an unusual variety of tomato and raised a fine crop. Now he can afford to build a greenhouse to extend the fruiting season next year.

Next we visited Claude, in his newly extended and plastered house. Brad, who is the most frequent visitor, was surprised by the glazed window and door - done in the last couple of weeks. Asked to tell us the main changes in his life since D4D, he had plenty to say. He started reading the New Testament - I didn't understand how it arrived on his table but it did - was befriended by the pastor of the bigger Fds Church nearby, and became a church member. His first change was to start being open to advice and making plans. Then he began co-operating with his wife and making joint decisions instead of leading largely separate lives. (We later heard from a man who said he used not to see any poinjt in talking with his wife: she always thought differently from him and nobody would pay him for time spent talking things over. Now they listen to each other's views and make better decisions.) Claude's experience was that if he worked with God to accomplish whatever was before him, then the next vision would be granted. In the photo he is standing with his wife and three children - no baby on the way despite much teasing! - next to the water tap recently installed outside his back door. He used to sell water in the market place (presumably as an employee of the water company) but never dreamed of having the money to get his own tap. Claude with his family, with outbuildings behind - the house is much smarter

Others were also eager to tell their stories. Agnes had her sewing machine stolen by a thief who dug through the house wall, but instead of despairing she borrowed money for a replacement and has easily paid back the loan by taking her machine to the village centre on market days and getting commissions. Another Jean de Dieu said he used to work really hard but with very little result. Now he worked smarter and planned step by step his banana yield had more than trebled. Bosco, who described his former self as number one on the list of village paupers, was proudly wearing a World Vision shirt, and is employed by this larger charity for a year teaching the making of kitchen gardens.

Then we went to the church where others were gathered. Augustin asked them to confine their testimonies to one item each, and not to repeat what another had focussed on. For the most part they managed to be brief. (As it was, we didn't get lunch till 3.30 on the way back to town.) Ezira learnt through D4D that what she already had in knowledge and skills was important and now she values and uses it. Madeline has learnt better farming techniques and can now pay health insurance for all her family when previously she'd assumed the only way they would get it would be if somebody else paid. Jacqueline now has a kitchen garden, well fertilised and mulched, instead of running from one place to another to get ingredients for meals. Epiphanie had two points she had to make - that she'd learnt the importance of having loving relationships and that keeping bees had much increased the yields of her crops. Josiane had learnt about oral rehydration after diarrhoea for her children, and the importance of going promptly to the doctor if they didn't get bettter quickly. Theogene, who used to merely stay alive without getting anywhere, had learnt the benefit of planning. Esterie had learned the importance of sanitation and cleanliness.

Lively teaching techniques, an enthusiastic core of participants, mentoring at every level, always consulting the group on what they think they need to learn next... these seem to be crucial. If you want to know more, watch the video clip on the D4D website.

Part 2 will be about my day with the trainers.

Plots

2011-11-06T14:24:00.005Z

For the third village visit, on Saturday, we met our guides at the same point as two days earlier, and walked a few hundred yards up on the opposite side of the road. The scene surprised me. Last year's small, scattered huts had all been swept away, replaced by rows of houses, identical in area and spacing, though varying considerably in style and degree of finish. Looking down between two rows of houses towards Ruhengeri at the foot of the hills
The government is implementing its national policy of every dwelling being roofed with tin or tiles by donating sheet metal then demolishing the old homes. Only roofing is supplied. Despite the presence of a friendly, helpful local official answering my questions, I didn't manage to work out what happens to a household's clothes and other belongings before the new roof is raised. He said that finding materials and the means to pay for them caused a lot of problems.
This house, like many, had a small internal area screened with plastic sheeting, presumably for sleeping.

House plots are allocated without consultation. Mixing Batwa and others is seen to be a good thing, though I suspect they inhabit separate social space.

Each plot has a small amount of cultivable land – 25 square metres plus a narrow border round the house. Composting toilets are being constructed, to be shared between neighbours. Both these features improve on what has been replaced.

Three people had volunteered to show me what they were growing. Two had small circular 'kitchen gardens' and one in addition had mushrooms in one section of her unfinished house. The third, Agnes, was the star. Using only seeds saved from my donation last year or collected from her own plantings before the removal, she had squashes and gourds climbing over a framework to shade her compost heap, beans for drying and beans for eating green, five car tyre beds of African greens, a patch of spinach beet and some raised beds of potatoes and maize. There was even a tomato growing against the side of the house.

We sat on a low bench, facing the assembled class. When the official (above, left) arrived and the formal greetings and introductions were over, Solange asked the group how they were finding their new homes. Some complained that the local soil wouldn't stick between the wooden uprights but just crumbled away. She challenged mutters about the rich people who could afford doors and windows. People get money for those things from working, she said. The official pointed out that they were sitting on a nicely regular edging of rocks, collected and mortared into place by the labour of Agnes and her family with some paid help. If you want a door, he said, find out how much it costs then save the money.

Encouraging saving is seen as a priority. Associations - of work colleagues, neighbours or church members, for example -are formed to save jointly and award a grant or loan to each member in turn. The Twa have no recent experience of working co-operatively; cooking together was a novelty. We suggested that if four or five worked on preparing one person's land for planting, and perhaps constructed a new sack garden, then the group could move on until each had been helped. They would need to keep remembering the lesson of the tree of trust. It would be hard to get in the habit of working regularly and forgiving each other's failings, but it would get easier. Would they give it a try for two weeks, perhaps?

Over cold drinks in a little bar, waiting for the bus back to town, Solange, Rachel and I plotted where the work could go next, without further input from me. Solange, who has the most experience with Batwa, said that regular visits for encouragement and reminders were essential. This particular village was well served by its local official and he could be an ally. It would be important not to take too long deciding on the next steps – already some recently resettled Batwa, with no tradition of growing food, had sold their small plots to neighbours, repeating the behaviour of their grandparents in the 1970s and 80s, when living in the forests was first prohibited.

Solange would be keen to take this work forward. Rachel said she'd like to be involved as well. Although she is trying to develop a career in counselling it's almost impossible to find ways of paying for the most needy to get the help that would benefit them and society as a whole.

We discussed putting together a project proposal. The main cost would be the transport and accommodation for the trainers. I said that Growing Together would be sympathetic to such a project and that for the moment I am entrusted with the decision making. I have been close to tears, saying goodbye to these damaged and beautiful people. I hope the little I have been able to do will sow seeds for more purposeful and satisfying lives.

Projects

2011-11-04T04:57:00.010Z

Written Thursday evening Posted Friday morning now there is enough internet signal.

By 2.30 today we have finished our day's work and had lunch.

It's not that we've been slacking – just that there weren't many sack gardens remaining for us to look at when we went up to the Twa village this morning. As the government resettles people out of round huts with grass roofs into small rectangular houses with tin ones, they leave their sacks behind. The essential concept of getting a new sack ready for successional planting has not yet been grasped.

The three of us can do only a little teaching each, before concentration wanes and group members wander off. Solange focuses on how there is some government help available for such necessities as a grant for school uniform, but you have to apply. Rachel emphasises the value of joining a cooperative, as a few have already done; this provides an opportunity to work with other Rwandans, countering the stereotype of laziness and dishonesty, and gives access to savings schemes where even tiny amounts accumulate. I revise the teaching on the benefits of a sack garden, so these group members can teach others, Twa and non-Twa, possibly getting paid and certainly developing the trust that might result in renting a little land for joint cultivation.

Two members of this group have already earned money by teaching. Joseph, who took part in advanced HROC training earlier this year, has been employed to teach about trauma healing. Beatrice, who also went on the HROC training, can read and write and gets paid to teach others. Beatrice and baby sitting 'in class' in dappled shade
(I notice she is wearing a new dress, and her baby boy has a top made out of the remaining fabric. When I asked Solange yesterday what changes she has noticed since starting to work with Batwa, she said the first thing is that they wash themselves and their clothes.)

Finally I give out the seeds I have bought in Ruhengeri, less than 10 miles away. This is my last visit, I repeat. There will be no more seeds from me. I suggest planting a few of each variety specifically for seed production in a protected patch of ground. Also they could club together to send one person into town by bus to buy for others. (A few varieties can be bought more locally, but at double the town price. Walking into town and back is also something they do occasionally.) Cooperation is one of our constant themes and we have been told how when somebody's crop is stolen others rally round to help heal the trauma with listening and food sharing. Joseph takes charge of the seeds and gives me the list of participants
Solange has been repeating the lesson that their grievances won't be resolved by sitting around waiting for handouts. I finish by suggesting that if they can agree on a particular project – such as renting a little land and planting enough to sell as well as eat – Solange and others can help them write a project proposal. I think, but don't say, that this is the kind of work Growing Together might support when I finish. As we wait for the moto drivers to collect us, Sabyinyo (the sabre-toothed extinct volcano) is too lovely to leave unphotographed

Over a nice lunch in Ruhengeri, affordable within the budget because we haven't been needing evening meals, only tea and fruit, Rachel comments that all the funders keep changing priorities and criteria. Peace and reconciliation are out of fashion, she says, though they're needed as much as ever. Development is the new focus. Everything is a project now. The countryside is littered with thousands of buildings labelled as projects with nothing going on inside. It would be better to use them as houses.

Back at our lodging, I joke that perhaps we could go to the cinema or something, to fill the rest of the day. Rachel proposes a visit.

A few hundred yards up the road is a project supporting women with HIV/Aids. Two of the four workers are there, though the little factory is silent. It's a mill for maize, where farmers can pay to have their own crop ground, or customers can buy flour or husks to feed to goats and chickens. Grain is washed in a shallow trough then dried and husked in the hopper
The manager has gone to Kigali for a meeting. It's a modest project. From the descriptive board,locked in the store room instead of out by the roadside, I deduce that it has twin aims of providing a little employment and raising funds for the other aspects of the work. I comment on the tip tap outside the toilet; I've been seeing very little hand washing recently. It is apparently a government requirement for certification. Remember, Rachel says, how particular they are. Think of the church's problems with the moringa project. Ah, yes.

Behind the walled compound is a small plot, with a splendid circular cistern. They plan a greenhouse here, Rachel says. One will last for five years. I ask what you would grow in a greenhouse. The soil and the climate are so good here - potatoes and bananas, maize and pineapples, carrots and cabbages and much else grow all year. Tomatoes, she says. it's true that the tomatoes here are disappointing in taste and texture. Peotecting them from the torrential rain would be a good project.

Cooking with the Twa

2011-11-01T16:21:00.011Z

Written on Tuesday 1 Nov about Monday 31 Oct

This wasn't my idea, but Rachel's. They can learn lots of new things, she said. And they did. On day two we could focus more directly on skills for growing and selling vegetables.

Having arranged with the pastor's wife at Musanze Friends Church, where I worked with these students a year ago, that we could use her kitchen facilities, we also consulted her on shopping for the venture. First she came out to meet us by the roadside between our lodging and the road up to the church. After a lot of inspecting and rejecting, we ended with several bunches of carrots, two large white cabbages, plenty of dodo, 15 kilos of potatoes (carried by the vendor to the church), a bundle of firewood (ditto) and a sack of charcoal (ditto).

Here she has chosen a cabbage, accompanied by Solange, HROC facilitator, on her left

I had brought my usual collection of knives, graters, peelers, scrubbing brushes (for potatoes to be boiled in the skin) and stirring implements. But much was still to be got. The group of 20 Batwa arrived, organised by Solange. After smiles all round and re-introductions, Rachel and I headed off to the food market in town, 5 minutes away by moto. We bought more vegetables and fruit, oil, rice, macaroni, flour, salt, peanut flour for sauce, cheese, milk, and liver. Finally we needed two additional charcoal cookers and five boxes of juice. We hired a boy for around 20p to get us to the taxi rank with more than we could carry ourselves. On the way back to the church the taxi driver ran out of petrol and had to set out on foot with a can. However, that gave us time to waylay a pineapple seller and buy enough for three sessions.

Meanwhile, after revising earlier teaching, Solange had got the group started, beginning with the novelty of using hand sanitiser. Carrots were chopped and grated, potatoes scrubbed, one cabbage expanded into a heap of shreddings, dodo cut up finely. Everybody gathered round and Rachel assigned tasks - fires, salads, fruit, stir-fry preparation etc.

The salad makers worked bravely on strange tasks like grating beetroot. The woman in this team was horrified at the idea of eating even a sliver of raw onion or garlic, and didn't try any salads. Others were delighted with the new foods.

The fire team preparing the charcoal for cooking

Rachel and I performed our double act making a white sauce and adding grated cheese for the macaroni. Rachel and Solange made the peanut sauce with cauliflower and other vegetables. I fried strips of liver dredged in seasoned flour. That is an unusual amount of protein, but this was understood to be a feast.

There was some disorder in the self-service queue, with those at the front tempted to take too much. But by the end everybody was full and satisfied. The salads and the cheese sauce were praised, and the thin slices of liver in place of chunks cooked until they are tough. Of course much that we made here couldn't be replicated - I was warned not to give away graters because there wouldn't be enough to go round and conflict would ensue.

We emphasised again the importance of eating as many different foods as possible, even occasionally and in small amounts. We planned the next day's activities in the home village.

And then the 'guests' set off on their two hour walk up the mountainside and the home team tackled the washing up.

A sorrow and a joy: small, domestic

2011-10-31T15:06:00.003Z

At home I am a devoted listener to BBC Radio 4: 'intelligent speech radio' I think they call it, and it is. On my first Growing Together stay, in February 09, I discovered Deutsche Welle, broadcasting from Kigali, often in English, with much more than African or world news. The first feature that surprised and delighted me was about the opening up of the solicitors' closed shop in England and Wales. Since then I have heard about childhood obesity in Latvia, a Bulgarian school with chess on the curriculum to teach thinking skills, problems in Sicily with implementing plans to protect Roman mosaics from the feet of tourists... Then on Saturday morning at the end of 'Inside Europe' the news that the programme has come to an end. As at the BBC, increasing TV and internet availability has led to cuts in funding for radio. The little logement we use in Musanze/Ruhengeri now has a bulky TV on the one small table in each room but reception is unreliable, and of course very many Rwandese and other Africans have no TV – nor the electricity to power it – and have never seen a computer.

The joy was on Saturday morning. For the family where I am staying, Saturday is the morning for relaxation, between the working week and obligatory church attendance on Sundays. Easy chairs from the living room are set on the verandah. On the last Saturday of the month, everything is compulsorily closed for umuganda, community work: no buses, no shops, no market, even no walking along the roads. Each household is supposed to supply at least one worker, but it's possible occasionally to miss the 7am start through 'oversleeping' without getting into trouble. There is a sabbath feel.

Soon after my arrival I bought a bag of Rwandan coffee – some of the best in the world. Up till now, I had failed to make coffee as I like it, boiling the water but not the coffee grounds, serving a choice of hot or cold milk and sugar or honey, to suit all tastes. This Saturday I achieved my goal. Bethany, a US Mennonite on a year-long homestay program, doesn't like coffee but used the remaining hot water for her packet of hot chocolate powder. She posed for my picture. Vestine on the verandah rail, and Gaudence and Augustin in the easy chairs (where Augustin has a power cable for his laptop) declined, but let me go ahead.

Two economies

2011-10-29T19:26:00.008+01:00

On the way to view the kitchen garden in Gahanga, I remarked on the new market (above) being built on the site of the old informal one. There are many such projects. Rachel commented that now people would find it difficult to make any money by selling their produce because the government charges such a high daily rent for a place in a new covered market. I asked what the money went towards. We'd love to know, she replied. We pay taxes for our land, for rental income, we pay school fees, we pay for rubbish collection whether we use it or not...

[Added on Sunday: What I failed to make explicit yesterday is the lack of opportunities to earn the money that could then be used to pay taxes! I had a good example this morning. On my walk to church I was joined by Marthe, a dynamic young woman who led the service a couple of weeks ago. She has recently completed a four year degree course in public administration. She is multi-lingual, personable and extremely keen to find work. She gets as far as an interview a couple of times a month but hasn't quite landed a job yet. She has an older sister who is sick and several younger siblings who keep asking for money for school equipment etc, failing to grasp that despite her years away studying she still isn't earning. (Yes, the first nine years of school now are free of fees, but it still costs money to send children to school.)]

Selling by the roadside is not a safe option - I heard the other day of an American here who went to get his house worker out of prison after an indiscriminate round up following a car break in. Waiting for the formalities to be completed, he observed a line of poor women who'd been selling fruit in town from trays on their heads, lying on the ground being beaten on the soles of their feet.

The kitchen garden is a fine construction at the side of the church. Local pastors' wives have formed a committee and organised the work, bringing in local women to join them and paying an ex-prisoner for the ehavy work. (Gaudence has used the same man for her raised garden at home. He has left prison with a marketable skill.)

Constructed two months ago, in readiness for the rainy season, the raised bed and the surrounding field have been planted with lettuce, carrots, beetroot, basil and rocket. Of these, only carrots are easily available locally. Lettuce, rocket and basil have all grown abundantly from seed I brought from England, and seed saved from the first crop is now growing well. The lettuce will be ready in a couple of weeks and sweet potatoes have already been interplanted for succession.

What of the economics? The local women who come regularly to weed and water will be paid in seeds bought in town, to encourage them to plant at home. Produce will be sold to church members and neighbours, and possibly in the market if there is surplus. When funds allow, the plan is to build rabbit hutches round the edge of the land, to provide droppings for enriching compost as well as meat to be sold. At that point a night guard will need to be employed.

A local official has already been to admire and commend the work. He hoped the group responsible would teach others.

I asked if they'd be paid for teaching. Probably not, because they are only a small organisation. But bigger bodies can charge, and Rachel was surprised recently when, invited to teach gardening skills to a large organisation a little way out of town, she had her transport paid as well as a small fee. Reluctance to pay to attend a training is a legacy from the post-war days, when the international community was so ashamed of having allowed the genocide that organisations poured in to Rwanda, paying people to attend seminars with expensive food in the best hotels.

When my sister and I had young families we experienced the two economies. I, living in suburban London, had an income from part time work and paid for the children's various out-of-school activites. My sister, in a village in a part of Scotland thriving on wealth from North Sea oil, volunteered as a teacher at the Saturday morning music club. I don't want to judge either superior.

On the coffee table in Gaudence and Augustin's living room is a fascinating book, written by a Westerner, describing African attitudes to money. I have much to learn.

More about goats

2011-10-29T10:58:00.007+01:00

First, here's the sign board for Kageyo, the village where 3 communities of Batwa, Rwandan exiles from Tanzania (which threw out all with Rwandan background, even Tanzanian citizens, a few year ago, causing great and continuing distress as groups afraid of each other were lumped together)and released prisoners all try to make a decent life in an isolated arid place. My chatty boy lives here.

I was in Kageyo on Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday I went to see the developments in the church field at Gahanga and receive the statement of how the donation from Growing Together is being used. More on that anon. Yesterday, Friday, was for a day workshop with the Gahanga church women - my third visit to this group.

We began by walking round the village to look at the garden projects of three members of the group. Others would also have enjoyed a visit, but were too far afield - the three visits took an hour. This woman has two sacks, which she has planted three times. She evidently still cooks on an old-fashioned fuel-hungry three-stone fire.
I saw sacks, new style kitchen gardens, fields and livestock. Two had a cow, one had a pig, all had chickens and all had goats. As we admired a goat with two day old twin kids, I asked my usual question: 'Do you milk the goats?' There were several reasons for not doing so. This kind are too small - we'd need the bigger ones from Kenya. Nobody wants to buy the milk and we don't want to drink it. It's not proper food for adults, only for children with kwashiorkor. However, they had heard it was helpful for people on antiretroviral medication for HIV. And yes, maybe in a crisis they'd try...

A little something

2011-10-27T16:03:00.004+01:00

I'm not inspired today but it's time for a little something.

Tuesday
I am sitting after lunch in a sliver of shade at the side of the training room in the resettlement village of Kageyo, near Kayonza, where I'm spending two days with groups of Batwa I trained in sack gardening last year. A boy of about 10 comes over, and Rachel, resting beside me, is able to translate. He is full of questions.

'How many children do you have?' 'Only two! Most people here have ten.' ('What's wrong with you?' was politely unspoken. He later said he would have three.)

'Do you have elephants in your country?' (They sometimes eat the crops here.) 'Or giraffe? Zebra?' I say our largest animal is a kind of antelope.

'Do you have cows?'
'Yes, and a lot of sheep.' (He won't have seen sheep but he may know they are kept in the cooler north of Rwanda.)

'Do you have goats? Do you have goats you can milk?'

We are less than 50 miles from the village where women laughed a few months ago at the suggestion that goats could be milked. Even last week the sophisticated group of church women in Kigali admitted that they too were close to laughing. This boy has a little something. I'm sorry I can't show you his picture, but my camera battery was dead.

Three purchases

2011-10-23T13:04:00.004+01:00

It has become my custom to buy seeds in Kigali for all my groups. I tell them I bought these seeds in Rwanda, but for those in the other provinces Kigali is a long way off. I had previously noticed a small 'Agrotec' on the outskirts of Ruhengeri, but everybody said it had very little stock and I had never checked. This time I noticed permanent new premises on the main road in the centre of town. Yesterday's group were very keen to have more seeds than I had with me, and I told them I would send some. Then it occurred to me that if I bought locally they would find it easier to buy for themselves in future.

So first stop on the way to Burera on Saturday morning, driven by Antoine (who would also be my translator, in general converting English to Kinyarwanda and Kinyarwanda to French), was the new Agrotec. The sole assistant declared himself to be 'bi-langue' but I continued my usual practice of dealing mostly in French when it's a matter of plant names: that works because many names in Kinyarwanda are derived from French. As I do in Kigali, I asked permission to go behind the counter and look in the boxes of packets. I found almost everything I wanted, all priced at 10rf (about 1p) more than in Kigali because of transport costs. The only thing they didn't have was beetroot – a pity because I'd been extolling its virtues yesterday and everybody wanted some. I stocked up, and we set off.

As we left Agrotec, I checked that there would be somewhere to buy a sack for planting. I was carrying scissors and an empty plastic bottle, so I had everything else I would need. We'll get it along the way, Antoine said. At a place where the road runs through the middle of a village, he stopped and spoke to a young man at the side of the road. Sometimes – indeed, often – he is greeting somebody he knows, especially here, so close to his childhood home. But no, he was enquiring after a sack. I handed over 500rf, the smallest note. After a couple of minutes the young man returned with two sacks. But they were for 100kg, and would take too long to fill in the workshop. We set off again.

At the next village another young man was beckoned over. This one shouted our request. Several people on both sides of the road made suggestions. He set off up a side alley and came back with one used 50kg sack and one new 100kg one. That would do.
Taken from my seat in the car, with a little solar lamp for Antoine charging inside the windscreen. This is the main road to Uganda.

We continued to Rugarama, where I have now done one workshop for the teachers in the friends school and two for the women of the church. I felt a twinge of disappointment when Antoine pulled into the friends compound. The women from the lakeside village would come up to here, he said.

But he was wrong. The women were waiting in their own church. We picked up a passenger, turned off the tarmacked road and drove through the market of covered stalls surrounded with open air traders. A rectangle of basket chairs woven of reeds caught my eye. We'd spent the previous night in a little house newly rented by Antoine's wife, who is working in Ruhengeri again after a period of illness, and although all was newly painted there was little furniture. How much do those chairs cost, I asked, as we drove past. Around 1000rf (about £1.10 or $1.90). I'd like to buy one for your wife.

If you go yourself the price will be inflated, said Antoine. Our passenger (whose name and occupation I didn't learn) went to enquire while Antoine turned the car. He came back with a price of 1,500. OK, I said. I went to pay. 2,000 was asked. To me that's still ridiculously cheap, but on the whole I am advised not to pay a white person's premium. 1,500 was accepted and the chair loaded into the car. I hope Annunciate enjoys sitting in it as much as I enjoyed its sight and smell. I do wonder what might be living in it.

Sometimes I can hardly believe the beauty of the vistas that unfold as we bump along

Here is the church that was our destination, with the pastor's office at the back. We were told the power was solar, but I had no opportunity to investigate becasue we left in a hurry ahead of threatened rain that would make the road impassable for several hours.

New schedule

2011-10-21T17:25:00.003+01:00

(Written and posted on Friday 21st)

Up till now, my programme has been almost as posted before I left England. From Sunday onwards it changes.

I said that working two 6-day weeks with only a single day in between was too much. The logic in the proposed arrangement was that I could stay in or near Ruhengeri (now renamed Musanze), where I am now, to do all the work here on one visit.

When the first meeting to discuss my programme was held, David Bucura had suggested that I could propose dropping one 2-day workshop, in a remote location, to make some space for rearrangement. The proposal was accepted.

So now I am to go back to Kigali on Saturday evening. Sunday will be free there, as usual, apart from the moral obligation to go to church. On Monday I have a planning meeting with the Discipling for Development (D4D) trainers, and time to go down town to stock up on seeds and cash. The latter has become much easier since the installation of cash dispensing machines at branches of two banks – yesterday I could draw cash here in Ruhengeri, relieving me of the embarrassment of having brought too little for this week's work.

Tuesday and Wednesday next week will be with the Batwa at Kageyo, near Kayonza, leaving on Monday afternoon. On Thursday I go to Gahanga to see what Gaudence has done with £100 I sent for a pilot vegetable garden project; on Friday I work with the women there – probably on new/old technologies for cooking and storing food. Saturday is free, and on Sunday afternoon 3 of us come back to this Logement Karisimbi, where I have stayed overnight, for the remaining 6 days' work with the Batwa.

That leaves my final week. Monday and Tuesday (or perhaps Tues and Weds) with D4D – another mixed group, with experienced regional trainers and local church members new to the work and the concept. On Thursday the postponed visit to Cally Alles, a tea grower interested in better methods of cooking. On Friday, planting the garden at the Friends Church at Gasharu – I have commissioned 100 moringa seedlings for a hedge, but so far the boundary fence is not up so everything is liable to get eaten by passing goats, as has happened to the hard-won macadamia tree. If the fence is up in time, I will also buy some fruit trees.
....................................................................................

I'm told that pictures of people with mountains in the background are nice, so here's one from Thursday morning, as we waited for the participants to gather. The women laughed at my vitamin D therapy.

On waking...

2011-10-20T06:31:00.002+01:00

...I realise that last night's rather hasty post may have invited a wrong conclusion. I was not saying - and I don't think - that local officials or anybody else should be influenced by my priorities. My point was that the man didn't appear to listen at all, only to deliver his on-message message. Not only a Rwandan failing, of course, but one that is consistent with the whole tone of this and many other governments.

An official visit

2011-10-19T19:28:00.010+01:00

(Written Weds 19 Oct)

On Tuesday morning, at the far end of a 20 minute moto ride up and along a rocky road, three of us dismounted and were dusted down by our drivers.
Despite low cloud, the views along the way were spectacular

I was to spend two and a half days working with a church group; Jean Baptiste was my translator; David Bucura had driven us from Kigali on Monday afternoon and had business nearby with an inter-church pastors' forum – I think he said they were to receive a gift of two cows. He had come to greet the pastor and introduce me. Bucura with some early arrivals outside the Friends Church (Eglise Evangelique des Amis au Rwanda) at Mutura

For both men, as for Augustin (whose brother-in-law was one of the pastors who welcomed us at the guest house), this is their home patch, and the welcomes have extra warmth. (Baptiste told me during lunch that some of the women remembered him as a little boy and had been reminiscing about his parents' wedding, just 30 years ago, notable for the bride and groom riding in a car, lent by the bride's White employers.)

20 participants had been invited. Then two had been sent by a neighbouring church with a congregation of Batwa. The two were sitting apart and Bucura invited them for a photo with the others.

The pastor's crop of potatoes in flower

We went through the pastor's garden to his office and he said there were now to be 26, not including the local official. I paid cash – quite a lot of cash – for lunch and a tea break for 26 for two days. On this, my sixth visit, I still begrudge spending more than half my budget on food for participants. But that's how it is: if I'm not paying an attendance allowance, which AGLI* forbids, at least they'll get food and drink for their pains.

So it seemed the official was not expected to stay for lunch. We assembled in the church and after a song and a prayer the pastor opened proceedings, remarking among other things that the official was expected any minute. He introduced Jean Baptiste 'who was born here, and his father before him'. So I introduced myself by saying my father was born in England in 1903 and I in 1942. Invited to introduce themselves, all the participants gave their year of birth: the oldest was in 1942, the youngest in 1988.

I described a sack garden, using my faithful visual aid (thank you, again, Ann R), then showed a set of photos of the stages of construction and an array of successful crops, taken on previous visits. We discussed criteria for a good location. Then we trooped out to the pastor's garden, selected a spot to suit him, and filled the sack. By now it was nearly noon.
The sack is half filled. It's woolly hat weather. Jean Baptiste is to the right. Note the rabbit hutch behind the house.

Studying the visual aid

A tall man approached, in early middle age, and greeted the pastor. He was introduced as the local official. Baptiste and I were briefly introduced. With barely a glance at the sack or the assembled students, he launched into a speech. This was the week of unity and reconciliation. (Last week had been for the struggle against gender-based violence. I don't know yet whether next week also has a designation.) He hoped this church would make its contribution by funding a poor widow or donating a cow. I asked if I could speak for a moment. He was visibly impatient, but tolerated a quick demonstration of the surface area available with a small footprint for those with no land to grow food for themselves. Then he left, with the briefest words possible, for something presumably more important.

Having decided to write this piece, I asked Baptiste at breakfast this morning for his take on the encounter. He said the man was clearly in a great hurry, running very late and only interested in saying his piece. I asked whether local officials ever take representations or suggestions from their constituents to higher levels. Yes it does happen occasionally, he said, but you have to wait a very long time for results.

*AGLI is the African Great Lakes Initiative, the US based charity for which I am a volunteer.

A photo after all

2011-10-15T15:17:00.002+01:00

Well, there's no cooking going on, because the battle between sun and rain has been won by rain again, but in a few minutes of promise I assembeld Anne's panels, taped the wire supports to the back, put some water in a small black cooking pot and covered it with a glass mixing bowl, bought this morning.

The angles will need adjusting but that's easily done. A series of smaller panels would allow more concentration of rays. I read, on the internet again, that one cardboard box can be converted into a cooker with the addition of aluminium foil in less than one hour, and the design allows adjustment othe height of the sun.

Working with the Tabitha Group

2011-10-15T12:55:00.003+01:00

(Composed on Friday 14th, posted on Saturday 15th)

Yesterday, Thursday, was the second of two days with a group of women from the Friends Church in Kagarama. This is where the friendly FolkDancers stayed in Feb 08. It's the place I've worked most often, with church or school personnel.

Their name is the Tabitha group. I suppose I should have looked up the New Testament reference but I won't spend time doing that now. (With my wonderful unlimited internet access this time, I could.) Their purpose is to support other women in the church with friendship and good advice.

When I saw the list of participants' names, and then the much revised list of names two days later after the workshop had almost folded, I was faced with a teaching challenge. A couple have worked with me 4 times, several twice, and 4 never. So instead of trying to find enough material that would be new to everybody but comprehensible to 'beginners', I had to find a different approach.

Wednesday
I asked them to discuss among themselves what they hoped to achieve in two days together, using me as a resource person. I suggested they begin by brainstorming their vision for 5 years from now. Not altogether successful, as the concept of throwing out crazy hopes without immediately smothering them in ifs and buts was hard for my translator to convey or the group to understand. (My translator was doing the job for the first time. I found I needed simple syntax and vocabulary. Sometimes either a group member or I would use French for a bit, quite comfortably.) However we generated 4 goals – all church women to have kitchen gardens, all church women to understand nutrition and feed their families accordingly, all women outside the church to get to that same point, and all cooking to be by other means than wood and charcoal by 2015 – this last being a government target.

We talked through the reason for sacks and other intensively cultivated small spaces, and those who were new to the idea could see photos of the projects of other group member and other people from my workshops. Challenged to plan some first steps towards their goal, they appointed the two most experienced members (and the ones with most church responsibilities already) to be the leaders. Having a group without a responsable is unheard of. With some diversions into compost and manure, that took the whole morning session. Goal one was addressed.

Lunch was takeaway in foil boxes, since the woman who would have cooked was in the group. It was the worst kind of Rwandan meal: rice with a little gravy, two vegetable bananas, a lot of potato, some spaghetti, two nuggets of beef and a teaspoonful of warm coleslaw.

That set us up for the afternoon. My chief new material for this visit is Rachel's translation of my notes on vitamins and minerals for Rwandans, with examples of available foods including African vegetables. We worked through the notes, with lots of time for them to discuss in Kinyarwanda. I have brought with me this time an excellent textbook written 20 years ago for health workers in developing countries, and could look up answers to questions such as how long you need to spend in the sun to make enough vitamin D. We laughed at the timely example in our lunch boxes of the adequate quantity but deficient quality which is the norm here even for people who are not poor.

It was time to stop, before any planning on how to approach this goal had been done. So we would start there on day two, and then go on to cooking devices.

Thursday 13th
In the event, the planning was postponed to the regular group meeting on Monday. I'm very happy to be surplus to requirements as people take what they want from my teaching and make it their own. The second goal was to be addressed. The third may follow from the first two.

So we were quickly on to cooking methods. (I say quickly, glossing over the usual delayed start as people turn up mostly between 20 and 40 minutes after the agreed time. I continue to find this frustrating. Perhaps I should start delaying the end of the day's work by an equal amount of time.)

I asked the group what they knew of the proposal to stop cooking with wood and charcoal. The plan, it seems, is to give a cow to every family outside town centres, then to install the necessary gadgetry for the manure to yield enough biogas for the family's needs. I didn't dwell on the possibility that the scheme may not reach every household, or that some will be unwilling or incapable of taking responsibility for a cow. In town centres electricity will be the only option. I didn't get the sense that they think this is a realistic goal, though it isn't done to criticise government plans in such a setting.

My friend Anne during the summer in suburban London had constructed a simple solar panel cooker, with foil stuck on cardboard, supported by straightened wire coathangers and focussing heat on a black cooking pot. But I can't erect it for a photo now (Friday), and we couldn't try heating water in it yesterday, because there has been little but rain for two days. I did unfold it and show how it could be turned to the sun. We also had the two pieces of kit constructed by the small group of women in March: the tire/tyre cooker made from an inflated inner tube and a sheet of glass, and the insulating basket – also known as a haybox or a peacemaker – for heat retention cooking. Now with internet access I can look things up in class. So I showed the best site I have yet found for such a device, at http://solarcooking.wikia.com/wiki/Retained-heat_cooking.

With no sun, there was little enthusiasm in the group for solar cooking as a concept. Evidently Rwanda can't depend on solar devices. The women do know, however, that solar generation contributes to the national grid. Anne had also given me two types of solar lamp, which were passed round and admired. Nobody had seen such a thing. I mentioned that there would be a business opportunity for an importer or distributor on the off chance that somebody might respond, but no.

We also looked at a leaflet about the evaporative cooler made from two concentric pots with wet sand between, and at a schematic design for using a variety of materials following the same principle. One woman had used such a cooler, but she didn't know how to get hold of the pots now marriage had brought her to the city.

Was I wasting their time on such oddities? I hope not. There were good questions as well as some lively conversation I couldn't follow. The heat retention cooking seemed to me to be the likeliest idea to be acted upon. We had at least begun conversation on their fourth goal.

Lunch arrived, from the same outlet as yesterday and at the same price, but as good as could be, with a generous portion of beans and some cooked carrot and dodo (amaranth) supplementing the rice, fried potato and one vegetable banana, with goat meat.

As usual, I ended by giving some seeds from my garden, from English shops, and from a Kigali seed merchant. As usual, they tore eagerly into the packets, separating seeds from printed information. In a few months I shall be back to hear how their plans have been put into action and to see some gardens. I wonder what they will be harvesting.

PS: This morning I bought a glass bowl to make the solar cooker more effective. By the time I got it home it was raining again. But I'll assemble and test the cooker as soon as I can.

Food and water again

2011-10-14T08:32:00.003+01:00

Most summers I spend 12 days in a field in Wales, cooking on an open fire, using water drawn from a tap some 50 metres away and carried in containers of various sizes. There is a charming photo (at www.dancecampwales.org.uk) of our circles of tents, yurts and lodges (teepees). But off to one side is a field full of our parked cars: we play at the simple life.

Here in Rwanda I have now had three opportunities to cook with a group of women, making some salads and English dishes such as macaroni cheese while they prepare rice and vegetables in their usual manner. (Well, most are unused to scrubbing potatoes instead of peeling, but nobody has complained yet.) On Tuesday my workshop budget included the use of a minibus belonging to a church member to take us to the big market at Kimirongo and carry us back with our purchases. Possibly in consequence, we bought rather too much food. The day was particularly hot. Several group members had bad backs or bad knees or were dozing with their new babies. The rest of us worked hard for three and a half hours before 'lunch' was ready at 3.30.

There was time for a short conversation after the meal. Most of the Rwandans, including a couple of passing pastors, had tried every dish, though some drew the line at putting fresh yoghurt (substituting for sour cream) in their beetroot soup. They said they would have no difficulty finding hungry, poor people to eat our leftovers. I hope the recipients didn't mind having 4 or 5 kinds of salad, which most Rwandans never eat. I said how difficult I find it to cook without easy access to water. (It emerged that the supply was off for a couple of hours.)

Rinsing vegetables, utensils or hands are actions I don't even think about in my kitchen at home with water on tap. Here we had not enough water, not enough plates or bowls, no such thing as a chopping board (people cut towards their hand and the knives are mostly blunt – perhaps fortunately), not enough table top for everybody to have a work space other than their lap, and not enough charcoal cookers for all the dishes to be ready even within an hour and a half of the first being cooked.

Tired, hungry and impatient, I tried to feel the thankfulness invited by the grace before we ate. There was plenty of food; we could even afford juice to drink, as well as bottled water for washing the salad. And next month I shall go home.

Come-uppance

2011-10-10T20:33:00.002+01:00

(Posted Monday evening)

On Saturday morning at breakfast I asked Augustin where I could get some photocopying done. There is a copier in the yearly meeting office, but he confirmed that it would probably not be staffed. I was happy to go to a shop, though preferably not the one I know in the centre of Kigali, several miles away.

'There is one at Sonatubes', he said. This is a large plumbing factory which gives its name to a junction and several small parades of shops and businesses on the approach roads. We discussed the exact location. I said I'd go on the bus. I checked that there still would be buses, because the standard route into town is now on a newly resurfaced stretch cutting the Sonatubes corner. 'Well, yes, there are buses, but why don't I send the yearly meeting car and driver to run the errand for you?'

I explained that Britain Yearly Meeting had recently committed to becoming a low carbon community and that part of my personal commitment was not to use a car unnecessarily. I didn’t want acting on my principles to cause anybody any difficulty, but this was not the case here. I would be happy to go myself by public transport.

Augustin then said there was actually a copy shop at Kicukiro, our nearest market district. I was in any case going to the market to buy ingredients for the beetroot soup I was to make on Sunday. When I got there I found Augustin and Gaudence's son, Justin, working to support his wife and new baby, having dropped out of university. He took the considerable task off my hands and went to a better quality copy shop, bringing the 700 copies to the house in the evening. Good. (Yes, 700 is a lot of paper. However, the material is excellent - Rachel has translated my compilation of vitamin and mineral notes into Kinyarwanda and set it out with lot of space for individual notes. The copies should last me the whole of this visit and perhaps beyond.)

Today, Monday, was the first of two days with a women's group on the other side of town. Gaudence was going with me. We had discussed timing, from which I had deduced we would travel by car. That's fine if it's arranged to suit other people. My back pack was moderately heavy, with handouts and demonstration materials and my netbook for showing photos. My bulky nutrition text book was on the table. Augustin asked if I wanted to take it. I thought not because it would add extra weight for carrying on the jpourney home. 'You can come home in the car', he said. OK. I added it and a couple more I might possibly want.

At the end of the working day, at 3.15 with the sun still very hot, we set off home. I was surprised to get on the bus, but didn't ask Gaudence whether there had been a change of plan. I thought perhaps we were to be met half way. When we walked the 200 yards to the second bus (at Sonatubes, as it happens) it was clear there was to be no car. The second bus finishes outside the market at Kicukiro. I was steeled to carry my over-heavy pack for the 20 minute walk back to the house, and at Gaudence's slowish pace. Serve me right for being self-righteous on Saturday, I thought.

Yet worse was to come. Gaudence wanted to do some shopping in the market. I said I'd wait in the shade, which I did for at least 15 minutes, eventually resting first my pack then myself on an empty barrow. Could I suggest riding home on moto-taxis? Gaudence's skirt was long and straight. No, I'd manage to walk.

What was on my face? I hate to think. Gaudence glanced at me as we set off again, and asked if I was OK. I had decided to say nothing about the expected lift, but she caught me at my weakest. I said that my pack was too heavy and that Augustin had said the car would pick us up. She knew nothing of the arrangement. She phoned, and Edouard came to our rescue.

I wonder what Augustin is thinking of my principles.

Food and water

2011-10-07T17:20:00.007+01:00

It's a year since I stayed with Gaudence and her husband Augustin. Like Rachel, my host in February, she is a keen grower of vegetables. It was her bumper crop of basil cooked communally with the N American women last time. She and Rachel together are taking the initiative in continuing Growing Together when I finish.

So I wasn't altogether surprised this morning to see at the back of her house a new-style tiered kitchen garden, with new season's green pepper and aubergine plants peeping through the moist half-rotted mulch. The rain came late last month but it is here now. (Twenty minutes was added to the delay in getting into the air terminal in Kigali yesterday while a bus was sent for to protect disembarking passengers from a downpour. Those going on to Entebbe were not well pleased.)

Conversation is sparse between us without a translator, though her English is better than my Kinyarwanda. With a broad smile she led me round the side of the house, past the polythene sided rainwater store, to a neat row of four sacks, generously planted with isogi (an African leaf vegetable), leaf celery, spinach beet, piri-piri (hot pepper), basil and probably more. It really does seem to be true that even people with enough land like planting in sacks. We walk round to the front, where newly pruned bushes of moringa and another edible shrubs are interspersed with maize, fronted by a row of young papaya. I'd like to get a close look at the macadamia sapling, but the ground is too muddy.

My first appointment is with Bucura David, in charge of the AGLI work in Rwanda, to talk timetable and money.

As I cross the yard of the primary school opposite the Friends compound at Kagarama, I notice a mound about the size of Gaudence's new structure, surrounded with freshly dug earth. I greet the group standing round it, including a young white man. I ask if I may take a photo. 'Would you like to look inside?' he asks. I didn't know there would be an inside. However, the structure is not beaten earth but mud-stained concrete. The hole in the centre gives onto a deep chamber, hollowed to a width of about 3 metres. A rainwater cistern! When asked what would help Rwanda most, I often propose water retention. Here it is in action, directed by a young man from Bristol called Toby, a garden construction engineer, working with Water for Life. 'Are you working for Christ?' he asks. 'Well, sort of,' I mumble, Quaker fashion. 'There is the church I work with, over the road.' My credentials are enhanced when Josine, the deputy head here and participant in several of my workshops, comes to greet me in lively French.

Over the road, David proposes postponing a two-day workshop in a remote location till my next visit; I suggest a re-arrangement that would avoid my working two 6-day weeks consecutively; he tells me to bring the proposal to the planning meeting this afternoon. He fails to bring up the budget on his laptop and emails me later that there's a 25% discrepancy between my expected budget for the QPSW funded Batwa project and the money wired from AGLI in the USA. Fortunately I have cash for such contingencies.

By 5pm I've re-established my dongle for internet connection, failed to get a US phone to accept an African SIM card, arrived late for the 3pm planning meeting, which I hate, after one of those public transport stories you don't need to hear, and returned to Gaudence's garden on my way into the house. She is at the door. I ask if I may thin the forest of tiny lettuces. We could eat them for supper, I say.

I pull out several handfuls. Already some of the outer leaves have rotted from lack of air; the roots are coated with mud. Clearly, I need water to prepare them. Gaudence goes inside to get a key, brings a jug and a bowl, and makes her way round the side of the house, presumably to the stopcock. Water pours out of the tap above the sink on the outside wall. I fill bowl and jug, but can't turn off the tap. The flow can be slowed, but only by pushing down on the tap as well as turning it. Gaudence goes back round the side and eventually the flow subsides. I don't want to embarrass her by offering to pay for a repair, though it's tempting.

How long would it take me to get used to such as routine? And how much more inhibiting would it be if there were no stopcock in the garden but only a communal tap several hundred yards away? Or a muddy pond, as I have seen in some places being used to draw water and wash motor bikes. Would I want to eat salad and encourage others to do so then?

Ready for supper time is a small but perfectly formed salad of baby lettuce leaves, rocket, basil, leek green, parsley and celery top, all from the garden, with an onion and a tomato added and a little salt. Also enough water to drink and later to wash in. We are blessed.

Link to my programme for Oct-Nov

2011-10-04T15:08:00.001+01:00

http://www.ealingquakers.org.uk

I hoped this would be a link to my programme for Oct-Nov 2011 on the Rwanda page of Ealing Quaker website. The link doesn't seem to be working, but here's the address.

Busy (Now with photos and video)

2011-03-11T19:51:00.009Z

Let me tell you why I'm too tired to write anything more inspired than a bare account of my week.

Last weekend was quiet. Since then it's been all go. On Monday and Tuesday I worked for the first time with a group of women at Kanombe, one of the Kigali Friends churches. Everything went smoothly, but it was very hot and dusty.

On Monday evening I went to supper with Brad and Chelsea, a young American Evangelical Friends Mission couple. They are working on a new programme, brought from Uganda by Debby Thomas, who was struck by the differences between neighbouring villages using the programme and not using it. Called Discipling for Development (D for D), it aims to build on participants' felt needs rather than delivering ideas and training devised elsewhere. Perhaps there is scope for cooperation between Growing Together and D for D. We exchanged blog and email addresses. I was delighted to receive a copy of a short book self-published by Meg Guillebaud, an episcopalian pastor in Byumba whom I met last year. Entitled The Bible and the environment, it's also available in Kinyarwanda, has a wide range of up-to-date references and draws largely on Rwandan examples. I'm thinking of getting multiple copies for use among Friends here – I'll email Meg when I get home and find her address.

On Tuesday evening I took my host family of David, Rachel and Dina for a meal at a restaurant where tables are out of doors, each in a bower of trees and flowering plants, under a new moon and brilliant stars. David remarked that his vision for the church and conference centre at Gasharu was for a setting like this. The macadamia tree will be a small contribution.

The workshop on Wednesday and Thursday was with the women at Gahanga, first visited last October, and Rachel was my translator and co-trainer. Wednesday is local market day and we shopped together, prepared food and eventually ate it, delayed by the first real rain of the season. (I filmed the rain and will make a first attempt to attach a video clip. No, I've waited for 30 minutes and it won't finish uploading. I'll add some photos instead.)
Gaudance finishing the potatoes

My plate holds, among other things, macaroni cheese, stir fry veg, two salads, macadamia nuts, avocado, an extra slice of cheese - and no means of eating any of it except with fingers.<

On Thursday it rained solidly – and deafeningly on the tin roof of the church – for four hours from ten o'clock, so not much teaching was possible. Washing up on Thursday before the rain

On Wednesday evening I didn't go out. On Thursday I took Ruth and Krystan, plus baby Misha, to a Chinese restaurant they recommended, and which turned out to be one of the best I've ever experienced, catering for the many Chinese working here mostly as managers for engineering projects.

Today, Friday, I finished my accounts, matching up receipts, bus tickets etc and totalling expenses for all nine trainings. Then there was the evaluation of this visit and planning for my next. Then I took Antoine out to lunch after concluding various bits of business relating to the English and Rwandan Friends schools. Then I talked Josephine through my accounts and handed them over before being interviewed by Elin Henrysson, the QPSW worker in Burundi employed by AGLI to evaluate last year's Batwa project. Then home to TV news of the earthquake and tsunami, supper, and an hour going through a project proposal with Rachel, possibly to be called 'Firm foundations for future families' or 5F.

Seeds and nuts

2011-03-06T17:59:00.007Z

One of the four kinds of food which in combination can provide protein as good as meat, together with grains, dairy and legumes, is a puzzle to all my groups. 'What are nuts?' 'What do you mean by seeds?'

Sunflower seeds are said to be used as a paste in sauce/gravy; I have not yet found any to buy. Sesame and pumpkin seeds I brought with me from England. They are viewed with suspicion and tasted reluctantly, even when toasted. It's sometimes conceded that pumpkin and similar seeds are eaten in Congo, but peeling them is very troublesome. I was once offered sesame seeds roasted with peanuts as a snack and have located them in the two big supermarkets and two Indian shops, both raw and browned. They are called 'simsim' and seem all to come from Kenya.

The same shops also stock almonds and cashews, but they are very expensive and probably bought only by ex-pats. I had searched in vain for macadamia nuts till Matt told me to look with the potato crisps and not with the raw nuts. Nakumat has five or six different brands, some organic. I was on the trail because somebody had mentioned that macadamia nuts are being introduced here. When I started asking around, a couple of gardeners asked if I could find seeds or saplings for them.

Driving with Antoine on Thursday I noticed a new hotel on the outskirts of town was named Macadamia. He told me he has five young trees in the garden of his little country house. There was a government project in Eastern Province to introduce them a couple of years ago. He doesn't know when they will start to yield.

We had been making various plans for my visit to his family on Friday. The tea plantation owner with an interest in fuel-efficient cooking would not be at home. Much of the day was taken up with a visit from the head of a school near Ruhengeri who brought letters and photos from some of her students for an exchange with a London primary school. At half past three, with three hours till dark, we set out to find a nursery selling macadamia trees.

The first site was one I'd been past several times. They had various kinds of citrus as well as papaya and mango but no macadamia. I bought two small orange trees – a valencia and a mandarin – for Antoine’s town garden. He got instructions for driving to the place where we'd find the macadamia.

We soon turned off the main road, heading towards the organic training institute at Gako that I'd visited two years ago. Before we reached it A asked for more directions. We retraced our route, turned down a narrow track and ended in a school yard. Various children and adults shrugged their shoulders. On the way back to our road we noticed the nursery and primary school was named 'La Pepiniere' (sorry, no accents), which is the name for a plant nursery in Kinyarwanda as well as in French.

The next side turning took us past the organic institute, where the gatekeeper confirmed we were headed in the right direction. I don't know whether A was warned about the state of the road or not. I do know we lurched several times at angles that I thought must result in overturning. Deep puddles sucked at the wheels. Somehow we kept going, down to the valley bottom, across bridges made of tree trunks, and part way up the other side.

Would we have to return by this route, I asked. 'Oh no, there's probably a better road.' I hoped so.

The track broadened out in a village. Further directions took us parallel with the hillside, through more troughs, along the edge of more drops, past more excited children. Then we saw a large area covered with black netting. We've found it, said A.

By now it was after five. Rain threatened. Antoine stopped the car and a solitary worker appeared. Following him we walked past thousands of macadamia saplings, perhaps as many as fifty thousand. Another worker joined us, then another, but the office was unstaffed when we reached it. 'This is a government project', they said. 'We don't sell to anybody.' Antoine quietly asked how many I wanted. 'Well, three would be good. I'd settle for one or pay for ten if necessary.'

I wanted to plead my case but A's body language said I'd better keep quiet and let him do the negotiating. He took his time. One of the workers phoned the manager. I went to photograph the notice board. When I returned the deal was done. We could take three. I paid generously 'for the phone calls'.

We didn't need to turn the car. The rain, as all too often this year, didn't fall. After perhaps three or four miles of adequate dirt road, passing macadamia trees, we rejoined the main road a mile or two from where we'd first turned off.
Antoine said he could do with a drink – non-alcoholic, of course. I said I'd be happy to treat him. We went to the very restaurant where I'd bought drinks and brochettes two years ago. Sitting outside in the fading light, we ate a fish kebab each and drank non-alcoholic beer before returning to letter writing and supper.

Next morning on the way up to the teachers' house, where I was to borrow a couple of novels and Sandrine a couple of DVDs, Antoine pointed out a macadamia tree, about four metres high, behind a garden wall. I wondered how they'd managed to buy it. Could there be a nursery selling the trees somewhere? 'They must be part of the government project', said Antoine.

This morning, Sunday, I bought roasted peanuts and sesame (in packages with Rwandan phone numbers) to add protein to the meal to be prepared by the women at Gahanga on Wednesday. I also got roasted and salted macadamia nuts, and sesame bars with jaggery (what's that?), sugar and edible oil – Kenyan again. Perhaps in October I'll find somebody growing simsim.

Changing minds

2011-03-04T07:23:00.007Z

Thursday 3 March
Only on the last of three sessions with a group of women from the Friends Church at Katarara, in the famine-prone Bugesera district south east of Kigali, do I remember to do the formal introductions every group expects. On Tuesday communication had broken down and the women had not been invited to the expected morning session but were recruited for a rather rushed afternoon; on Wednesday we started with an hour's walk in full sun to visit three participants' kitchen gardens; on Thursday morning, looking round the group as they sing and pray, noting which babies and toddlers are here and which not, I realise I don't know any names.

One young woman has taken my attention at several points. She was the most assiduous wielder of the hoe to break up compost and mix it with topsoil on Tuesday when we filled the demonstration sack. On Wednesday she stepped into her family field and pulled me a bunch of onions, crisp and fragrant, before I could protest. In the discussion about restoring soil fertility she volunteers that her family store and use their toilet waste and have found their yields better than with chemical fertiliser – the first person I've met who does this. (on the final drive back into Kigali I notice a signboard for ecosan training - that's composting toilets.)

Now I have invited the women to introduce themselves by giving their name and something that they enjoy in their lives. 'My name is Vestine', she says. 'I am HIV positive and I enjoy helping others by speaking openly about my condition.'
Vestine with her gift - sadly I didn't capture her smile

Vestine shows her kitchen garden

In the evenings this week I have been proof reading the final version of Augustin's MA dissertation, which I first saw when I was staying in his family last October. His research project was interviewing members of a particular Friends Church to gain insight into successful and unsuccessful strategies for dealing with the mutually reinforcing problems of poverty and HIV/AIDS. One of his most heartening responses came from a former prostitute who 'came out' about her HIV status, became regular in taking her medication and began to make something of her life – and make an income as a small scale trader - instead of waiting to die. When church members and pastors themselves begin to be open about HIV in themselves and their families, change can happen, Augustin concludes.

I mention to Antoine during the drive back to Kigali that I was surprised by Vestine. She looks so well; she is open to new ideas and asks perceptive questions; she certainly challenges the stereotype of 'AIDS victim'. 'Well yes', he says, 'but that's how it works. When you are sick it's a great relief to have a diagnosis, and talking about your illness is a kind of therapy.' I sometimes forget Antoine is a psychology graduate of the 1980s.

I am more aware this year than previously of people in positions of leadership talking about how the only significant changes to Africa will be changes of mentality. On this morning's drive to Katarara we pass an unusual number of goats – one or two roped, or small flocks herded with sticks, then a large clump of goats and people by the side of the road, then a thinning stream heading away. I often see goats being traded at roadsides and in market pens.

Looking for a local cheese to take to a workshop last visit, I found a firm goats' cheese manufactured in Rwanda. Both the women and the teachers in Katarara have been telling me about the shortage of food round here, and the school has a feeding programme, using donated maize meal, because of the district's famine status. I have already heard that goat's milk is not drunk except occasionally by babies and young children. I invite Antone to comment. 'They won't use it', he says. 'They think the only milk for humans to use comes from cows.'

'But I have bought cheese in Kigali.'

'Oh, that’s only in Kigali, not round here.'

At the end of the workshop with the women I say my usual piece about how they are the experts in their lives while all I can do is bring some ideas they can adopt or reject, preferably after trying them. Telling them this may be the first time they hear this idea which may shock them, I say that in my country goat's milk is expensive and highly prized by some people. They dissolve into giggles. 'How on earth would you milk a goat?'

Antoine and I, later in the journey home, reflect on their response. We have both heard the formulation that a new idea is often ridiculed, then ignored, then opposed and eventually accepted. 'Rwandans do now eat eggs', he observes. (If this remark doesn't make sense, look at the blog entry for October 2010 entitled 'Le Congolais')

Jacqueline models a product of the women's (machine) knitting cooperative

Teachers and primary students in their lunch break

This crop benefits from the hot dry climate

Eating locally

2011-02-26T14:34:00.002Z

For several years, reading about living off grid, or spending money on nothing but food and transport for a year, or aiming for a zero carbon lifestyle, and watching films along similar lines, I've been wondering if I should try something. I can't give up flying while I'm working in Rwanda twice a year; I'm not even ready to sell my car, though I do use it only two or three times a week now. I do, however, have a reasonably productive allotment and an interest in food miles, food security and good nutrition.

For the last week – mostly in bed by the light of a remarkable solar torch that recharges itself even inside the house - I've been reading Animal, vegetable, miracle, Barbara Kingsolver's account of her family's year in Appalachian Virginia, eating only local produce and raising much of it themselves, both animal and vegetable. At home in suburban London I've been cutting down my supermarket visits, though some items – some cleaning cloths, luxury biscuits for my singing group hosts, interesting spices – are impossible to find in the reducing number of smaller local shops. Ealing has a farmers' market on Saturdays. Is it time to get beyond fantasising and try an experiment?

A year is too much for me. I'm too peripatetic, quite apart from probable failures of will. Could I manage a month, to start with, buying no fruit or veg and only locally raised free-range meat? (No, I'm not a vegetarian. I have spent many years wondering whether the call would come but it doesn't. I try to eat only ethically produced meat, fish and poultry; many of my friends would consider that an oxymoron but I am as I am)

Thinking through my calendar, I can identify four weeks from late June, and/or probably another four from early August, where my chance of success would be greatest. Would anybody like to join me? It would be for each individual to identify your own parameters. Mine would be buying no fruit or veg or prepared meals, but allowing bread from the farmers' market and the cooking ingredients already in my store cupboard – and fairtrade coffee! Yours might be no plastic packaging, or no supermarkets, or only foods identifiable as coming from your own country or region or locality, to give some examples.

Barbara Kingsolver writes at the end of her book, which I hadn't yet reached when I started writing this proposal, about the growing popularity in the USA of a hundred-mile challenge – to consume only food produced within that radius. She also deals robustly with the objection that whatever one does won't be enough. If your sedentary friend had been diagnosed with a heart condition, would you criticise them, she asks, for starting to exercise only three days a week instead of all seven?

Here in the Friends compound in Kagarama, four of us have enjoyed a delicious meal comprising two cooked dishes prepared using a combination of passive and conventional heating methods, three salads and one of the best pineapples I have ever eaten. On the other side of the room where I am sitting at my netbook, Rachel and Gaudance, leaders in women's and children's work in the Rwandan Friends Church, are starting to write a project proposal for spreading the information and experience they are getting from the Growing Together in Rwanda project. Country people live surrounded by plenty of vegetables, they say, but they don't know how to use them. In town there is little cultivable land but much could be done with sacks and other containers, once the benefits of eating the produce are understood.

I am fortunate enough to have both the land and the information. Integrity requires that I keep finding things to do, however modest, to help the world move in the right direction.

A missing skill

2011-02-25T14:23:00.005Z

I often have cause to be grateful for the breadth and depth of my education. But I didn't get any training in project management. I could have done with it today.

After supper last night I packed my bag quite carefully. At breakfast I reminded Rachel of the need for rags. On the way out of the house we collected the basket for the slow cooker and a few more old garments were found to supplement the one old sheet. Too late I thought of explaining that we needed enough rags to fill the basket. On arrival at Kagarama I would give Antoine the flash drive with four files to print, collect the sewing machine from Cassie and set myself up in good time.

Antoine was in his office and I wrote down the name of the file where I had put the documents I wanted printed. The sewing machine from the teachers' house needed a voltage converter too heavy for me to carry. I promised to send somebody.

I found Danzile, the yearly meeting bursar who is one of my students for today, and she sent the cleaner to ask a young man to run the errand. I took the opportunity to post last night's blog and check my email. (Four messages from yesterday have disappeared after I failed to open them. If you wrote to me and haven't had a reply by tomorrow, please re-send.) Fifteen minutes later nothing had appeared so I set off back to the house, scooping up Eduard, who appeared opportunely, and completed that task.

Antoine came with his own flash drive, unable to open mine. The virus it had acquired since last night – presumably from Antoine's computer – vanquished by McAffee, we opened everything, copied across and double checked.

Last year I had several times used the pad of flip chart paper from Jean Baptiste's office. Could I use some today, please? Searching for the one remaining sheet, he found the used remains of many sessions of brainstorming stuffedd into a cupboard. In a moment of inspiration I snaffled them up to supplement the rags.

A board for the tyre cooker was produced and set in a sunny spot. Levelled with broken bricks, it supported the tyre and the sheet of glass. This was the moment I realised that both Rachel and I had forgotten the black cooking pot borrowed from her father and needed to complete the ensemble. She found somebody to fetch it for a payment of 2,000 francs – three times the bus fares and well worth it.

By now it was nearing 10 o'clock, the usual 9am start for this group. Rachel, Gaudance and Danzile were waiting in the shade. For once I wasn't impatient to begin but I was now ready. They came in. The other two were prevented, Marie Rose by a sick child and Josiane by a head teacher who couldn't release her until later. As we started, Antoine brought three of the hoped for print outs. I introduced the idea of the tyre cooker and left them studying the information sheet while I took the pages for photocopying to Jean Baptiste. He was in a meeting but would try to do them before lunch. We set some water in the pot inside the tyre under the sheet of glass.

Settling down to conversation about cooking methods, fuel saving and good nutrition was a relief. By the end of the morning we had also made two insulating cushions for the basket – filled with a mixture of small squares of fabric and screwed up balls of paper.
Gaudance and Danzile struggle to thread the sewing machine needle

Gaudance and Josiane stuffing a cushion

Lunch had been the subject of many inconclusive conversations with Rachel. The group decided they'd be happy with snacks, so a budget was made to send somebody out for a samosa and a chapatti each, a bunch of bananas, two boxes of fruit juice, and a moto ride up the hill with the provisions: about £5 for 5 people. We ate under the trees and reviewed the arrangements for tomorrow morning.

Josine and Gaudance will start the two cooking processes; Rachel and I will be available by phone for any queries before we arrive around 11.30 to start making salads; Danzile is matron of honour at wedding and can't come. Perhaps Marie Rose will be able to leave her child.

At 1.30 we took the basket outside to fill the gaps around the cushions with hay or similar. The grass was thronged with secondary school pupils having a mock election but we managed to scavenge what we needed and ignore the curious stares. We stitched a final cushion and stuffed it with hay to fit closely over the space for the cooking pot. A shopping list was reviewed and finalised. Gaudance will bring basil: she still has some left after trying out the recipes from Wednesday and inviting her neighbours to come and taste. Josiane, who is to shop with me, revealed that she won't be free till 5. (Shopping has to be completed today because the market will be closed by umuganda in the morning.)

'What are you going to do with the hot water?' Gaudance asked, referring to the product of the trial of the tyre cooker. 'Why don't we put it in the hay box to see how warm it is in the morning?' Ah, a true scientist.

It is now 4pm. The photocopies didn't materialise and Jean Baptiste has locked up and gone to take choir practice for Sunday. I don't know if he will be here tomorrow but probably not. I am grateful for the easy hospitality of the teachers, where, having commandeered a young man to carry the converter and sewing machine, I can sit on a sofa with a glass of drinking water and type this piece. I've more or less caught up on the emails after Wednesday's busyness and yesterday's poor internet service. Perhaps I should be looking for project management by distance learning.

PS
At 5pm Therese was back in the office and did the photocopying. At 6.15 - presumably after choir practice - Baptiste rang full of apopogies for forgetting the photocopying. By then the shopping was completed and I was on my way home, squashed in a taxi-bus that seemed smaller than ever but really perfectly OK.

Shopping

2011-02-25T07:32:00.003Z

Written Thurs 24th, posted Friday 25th

Yesterday was a very busy day. After teaching I shopped for supper for 9, then worked in the American teachers' kitchen with Cassie and Ruth and Gaudance, using Gaudance's bountiful harvest of the basil planted during my last visit. When I admired it in her garden last week she admitted not knowing how to use it. So last night's event took shape – drawing on Ruth and Krystan from Canada and Cassie from Texas, for recipes from countries where the basil grows much bigger and better than it does for me. We had spaghetti with tomato and basil sauce, pasta with two kinds of basil pesto (one including rocket), salad with basil vinaigrette and poached white fish with a different basil vinaigrette – the last from the internet. It made a surprisingly varied plateful.

Today has been set aside for preparation for tomorrow and Saturday, when a group of six of the women I know best and have worked with three times already will do some experimental cooking. I've been keeping my eyes open for the equipment I need. Today will be make or break.

Rachel and I set off after a leisurely breakfast. She has a new computer from one of her employers and needs to get internet access and virus protection. Nearby I want to buy some coffee for breakfasts and scrutinise the nut and seed section of the biggest supermarket, hoping to find evidence that sesame seeds and macadamia nuts are not unknown, working up to researching whether the trees are being introduced here, as rumour suggests. But Nakumatt has a power cut and from the Indian shop round the corner I buy only turmeric.

It is becoming clear that we won't have time to do all the jobs on our lists in town before going to Kicukiro, the market area near the Friends Church compound at Kagarama. So after Rachel's modem has been activated we do no more than buy an inner tube for tomorrow's solar cooking. For that I need Rachel's Kinyarwanda, as I do for finding a glass supplier in Kicukiro and getting a sheet cut to fit over the inner tube. Asking at a petrol station and being directed to the maintenance workshop for the moto riders, we get the inner tube inflated. Just in time, we phone Antoine to give us a lift up the hill with glass and rubber ring before his appointment elsewhere.

Next is further discussion of the arrangements for the next two days with Monique, who runs the part of the church buildings at Kagarama known as 'the centre', separately from the church and its offices, and the domain of David Bucura, Jean Baptiste and Therese which includes the newly extended children's peace library and its programme of peer mediation. Yes, it's very complex and I keep learning more of how much I don't know. As I take more responsibility for arrangements, accounting and scheduling for my work with each visit I'm continually trying to anticipate problems. Today it emerges that if Monique is not providing food for our group we'll be expected to pay to use her crockery, cutlery and cooking pots, in addition to the room rental I was expecting.

A quick phone call to Ruth and Krystan, whose house is next to the church, results in the promised loan of cups, plates and a cooking pot. If David is driving in on Saturday it won't be difficult to take extra items from Rachel's kitchen. I have knives, peelers and graters for making salads. The teachers' house and its well stocked kitchen will also be within easy reach.

I pay the room rental and collect the receipt with obligatory rubber stamp. Monique says she knows where to look for a board to go under the tyre cooker. Rachel has further business here and we separate.

Now for the kind of detail I am always afraid will trip me up. I know Jean Baptiste has printing and photocopying in his office. I check that he will be there in the morning. He will, and photocopying will be fine but the printer is out of ink. I return to Nicodeme, whose new office adjoins tomorrow's work room, to ask if he could print a couple of pages for me on the new printer we have just been admiring. He won't be in tomorrow but would be happy to do it now. I didn't think far enough ahead to put the necessary flash drive in my bag this morning. He suggests the yearly meeting office so I go round the back of the church but it's all locked up. Happily Antoine is returning from his appointment; there is a printer in his office; it is working; he will be there between 8 30 and 9.30 tomorrow. Phew!

I think everything is now in place for the tyre cooker, including a black cooking pot borrowed from Rachel's father's solar cooker. The second project is to make an insulated nest for the slow cooking of ingredients heated by wood or charcoal. Practical Action (the charity that used to be called Intermediate Technology) has a design, with rather sketchy instructions. One of Anne's compilations of useful suggestions has a photo of another. It's apparently recommended by the government here though nobody I know has one; it's known as a peacemaker. It's what I called a haybox when I was a Girl Guide.

Rachel and I have been looking for a suitable container. Soon after the beginning of my enquiries she bought a couple of beautiful baskets but they were too small and she took them back. I have considered a banana leaf hamper in a tourist shop, a large plastic plant pot and a utilitarian plastic bin. None is quite right and only the last is a reasonable price. As we left the house this morning I spotted a laundry basket that would serve though it's unnecessarily tall. We could use it, Rachel says, but they're expensive and she wouldn't be able to recommend a place to buy them as it came from a travelling salesman or similar. Then she thinks of a large waste paper basket in the house worker's room. It's the best yet, and light enough to carry on the bus if necessary tomorrow, though we won't be popular if the bus is full.

What else does the project require? I've been doing my best to make sure both Rachel and Gaudance understand the need for plenty of rags to stuff the cushions. I'm borrowing a sewing machine from Cassie. I have a couple of pairs of scissors.

Now to buy the tough fabric to enclose the rags.

Ruth has recommended a fabric shop called Maman Fatuma. I think I can find it. I take the bus back into town. It's after one and I'm getting hungry. I've arranged with Rachel that I'll find lunch in town. I remember that Dorothy (now back in England) once suggested meeting at a place called La Galette. I spotted it once but haven't visited. It's near the seed shops and I might as well top up on seed supplies now I'm here. I buy another 60 or 70 packets of seeds – for the women tomorrow and three more full workshops of 15.

As I leave the second seed shop I ask for directions to La Galette. It is where I expected. What I didn't expect is that it's sub-titled German Butchery. The language of the labels and the menu is French, nevertheless. The shop part has many interesting supplies and I buy coffee and brown bread. Then lunch takes the usual 45 minutes to arrive, despite being only an egg salad. It's good and I'm refreshed and well rested.

It's steeply uphill to Maman Fatuma and the sun is hot but it's not too far. The shop is much smaller than I expected. I'm beckoned in past three people battling waves of clear plastic tablecloth printed with pink roses and emitting a strong plastic smell. I show an illustration of what I need. I'm sent through a narrow opening into a second room. Bales and rolls of fabric are stacked on all four sides up to the ceiling. The assistant allocated to me has little French (and no English). How on earth shall I choose? I do, however, on weight and price. I'm passed to a different assistant who measures and cuts, in between contributing to the taming of the plastic. Anything else? I need needles. A box containing at least a hundred packets of steel needles, made in China, is passed to me. But they're all the same size and too big. Another box is produced. That will do. Thread? A box with a dozen to choose from. Done. As I leave I spot a stack of at least fifteen folded rosy tablecloths, each two metres by three. The cutting, billowing and constraining continues. Who could need so many?

It's a ten minute hot walk back to the bus stop. Some people here say the sun feels hottest before it rains. Thunder rumbles. I'm glad to get a place on the first bus, though it's one of the uncomfortable fold down seats. Two minutes after I'm home the rain comes. Rain is good; getting drenched is not.

At supper with David and Rachel I ask for clarification about 'umuganda' on Saturday. The last Saturday of every month is designated for communal work – nobody thought of that when the workshop dates were agreed - and the roads are closed till 11am. However, when I realised last week that there would be a problem they said we'd be OK getting to Kagarama early – around 8 – to prepare the food for cooking in the new devices. Now they say we'd have to be there before 7 to avoid the roadblocks and whoever drove us would not be able to get away. And I hoped I'd thought of everything!

Rachel says we can discuss it with the group tomorrow and make a plan. I'll report on what transpires.

Another brief encounter

2011-02-22T18:55:00.003Z

Giheke,17-18 February

This was a two-day workshop with a new group, at a small Friends church seven kilometres up the road out of Kamembe towards Nyungwe forest. I've lost count of the number of groups I've worked with but it must be more than 10. This is the first time I've had a student who's been to the organic training at Gako, outside Kigali, where I visited at the beginning of this project, two years ago.

Having an ally in the group is a new pleasure. Of course Marie Claire may disagree with some of the things I say, and I invite her to do so if there's something I've forgotten or misunderstood. (The group has already had the line about how they and not I are the experts on their soil, climate etc.). Mostly she is able to add detail – it only takes 30 days to make usable compost if you construct the heap in one day; biogas can be made equally well from cow dung or human waste....

The second day is to end after a late lunch. We finish by planting seeds in the sack outside the church leader's house where we are to eat. I suggest that we just relax and wait for the food to be ready in 10 or 15 minutes. Oh no, we must go back to the church/classroom for the recommendations.

Mukarugwiza Mary, the woman who has led most of the singing and dancing and asked the most questions, wants to speak on behalf of the group.

'Thank you for two days' teaching. We have learnt how to prepare and plant a sack. Thank you for what you have taught.

'Also you have helped us to produce many vegetables in a small space when we don't have much land. And we have learnt about plant tea and ways to protect our plants from pests. Also we have learnt about compost. Altogether many new things. Thank you for choosing to come here to us.

'Now we have some recommendations. First, we would like to learn how to grow mushrooms so we can sell them for income and eat them when we can't afford meat. [This was not a good time to make sure they know mushrooms – a very fashionable commodity at the moment - are not nourishing!] Second, you can see how our church has foundations but hardly any building; we are a small congregation of 60 including children and we hope you will ask your church to pray for us and consider sending us money.

'We ask you to greet your family and your church.'

Dancing in the part-built church
I thank everybody for attending and wish them well. I leave a selection of seeds with Marie Claire, whom they appoint to distribute them. After lunch I am picked up and taken to Kumbya for a weekend's relaxation. They get on with their lives.

Marie Claire (left) and Mary

Weekend off

2011-02-19T16:43:00.003Z

Saturday evening, 19 Feb
I've been learning about Lake Kivu, which forms most of Rwanda's western border. It has no hippo or crocodile or even fish big enough for one to make a meal. The reason is a concentration of methane so high that once it's been harnessed there will be enough not only to meet Rwanda's power needs without importing diesel but also to export to neighbouring DRC.

That's in the future. For me now the main significance is that the water is safe and clean enough to swim in. In the 1940s several of the protestant missionary groups developed a simple retreat, with a brick and tile cottage for each of the denominations and an annual conference week. The bumpy drive doesn't do much for the papaya and avocados but it takes only an hour and a half from Kamembe, where I've been staying and working since Monday. Matt and Gayle (the English teachers from Oregon) have stayed here several times and invited me for the weekend.

The swimming place

Yesterday I went for my first swim and there was a kingfisher on the handrail of the steps down to the water. Today my companions were first a kite then an egret. I think I may have been hearing monkeys, but I didn't see any. Every now and then a canoe is paddled close to the shore: if there are several occupants they sing a mesmerising call and response. Matt complains that they do it at night when fishing, but last night the moon was full and no boats were out.

The cabin has solar powered lights in the living area but no means of charging my computer or camera batteries, so I'll stop now. Whether there is signal enough to send this post remains to be seen.

The view from my bedroom door

Can you give me?

2011-02-17T05:10:00.004Z

Written 16 Feb, posted 17th.
Four times today I have been asked. The first request is for the laminated sheets, courtesy of Send-a-Cow and my friend Ann R, showing the ingredients and techniques for making liquid plant food from different kinds of leaves or by steeping animal droppings. This time last year I had one A3 and two A4 copies of the set of six sheets. Several of the smaller ones have disappeared – I hope whoever couldn't bear to give them back is benefiting. I do give an electronic copy of the set on a flash drive to somebody with access to a computer. I have also compiled a set of around ten photos of the recommended plants, so I copy that file onto the flash drive as well.

The recipients are the group of women whose story I heard in October from the pastor's wife. Our workshop time today began with a tour of four gardens.
Only one has sacks planted but that is of no consequence – all are productive.

The women are positive, relaxed, appreciative. They confirm the theory that having veg in an intensive space close to the house makes tending and using easier. When the conversation turns to using the unfamiliar vegetables whose seeds I gave out last year (kale, basil, chard), one asks if we could cook together. It's too late for that now but I say I'll try to come back next year though I can't promise.

I have noticed before how much pleasure my students get from looking at illustrated seed catalogues, which I use for plant identification when neither the English name nor the French from the local seed packets is understood. This year, though not previously, I have been asked three times already to donate a catalogue, including both this morning and this afternoon. Not yet, I say, but I'll try to get one to you when I'm leaving. On my last visit I left some teaching materials behind by mistake and it was the catalogue I missed most; this time I find I've packed five.

The third request comes from the group of teachers at Kamembe Friends School. My visit has provided variety both for the twenty teachers and for Gayle and Matt, the couple from a Friends Church in Oregon who are here for two years as part of a small team teaching English to the teachers in the four Friends secondary schools.

Yesterday I used a page on healthy eating, prepared by my friend Anne W with a paragraph specifically about Rwanda from Rachel Bugenimana. The highlight for me, as for Gayle and Matt, was a question about an item of vocabulary none of us had considered tricky: 'What is a snack?' Today, after an hour on complementary proteins, we divide into three groups to study a colourful chart about nutrition, produced in England for use in health shops, spotted by my daughter Judith and appropriate because it excludes animal food sources. I have explained earlier that some people in rich countries choose to be vegetarian or vegan and that it is possible to be well nourished without animal protein. One of the teachers in my group begs me to give him that chart so he can use it to teach the people in his home village: he has already made notes about the importance of vitamin A for preventing sight problems. I say I can't give away my teaching material, which I will need for other groups, but I'll get a colour photocopy made in Kigali and send it to him via Gayle and Matt. The minute the class finishes he is checking with Gayle that she'll chase me up if necessary and not fail him.

And the fourth? Not from a student but a child of less than two, encountered on our morning tour of gardens. He drags his attendant adult to my side and speaks earnestly. I ask for a translation, thinking he's probably greeting me, as children often do. Oh no. He already knows the thing to do with white people is ask them for something. 'Give me a sweet potato.'

Some presidential snippets

2011-02-15T16:29:00.000Z

Monday 14 Feb
For the last couple of years people in Kigali have been instructed to cut down their hedges and replace them with walls and fences. The effect on the microclimate in streets and gardens has been markedly detrimental, despite the contemporaneous planting of street trees. The story was that the president found the hedges unsuitable to the dignity of a capital city and an embarrassment when his presidential pals from France, USA etc visit his country. Yesterday I heard that he actually commented when seeing an overgrown hedge that it was untidy and should be cut back. An official misheard or overreacted. The owners of hedges not yet massacred are wondering what will happen now. For too many the damage is already done.

When the president is due to visit a locality much sprucing up is done - as for our own royal family, one hears. Particularly during the campaigning for the recent election, many roads were mended. But to go to Cyangugu, he flies. I witnessed again today how badly the last quarter of that road needs some presidential attention.

Arrived in Cyangugu after the bumpy ride, four of us made for the pleasant restaurant next to the market in Kamembe for a late lunch. At 3pm the TV was turned up for the presidential opening of parliament. After President Kagame's address, the national anthem was played. I wondered whether people would stand. One customer did so.
Outside, a few minutes later, the three white members of our party were waiting for Antoine to complete a conversation. The man who had stood to attention came to speak to us. The president had been reviewing the decade from 2000, he said. He had made many comparisons. Availability of clean drinking water had risen from 41% to over 80%; availability of electricity from 4% to 13%. I was foolish enough to mention the word 'solar'. Our informant was scathing. 'I work for a Chinese company providing real electricity by cables and pylons', he said.

Tuesday 15th
I run the figures past Antoine. The statistic for clean water seems considerably inflated, he says. The figure for electricity may well be true, and there's a drive on now to get the supply round the country faster. However, the electricity is so expensive that many households run into difficulties and might be better off without it.

Eat dodo (now with pics)

2011-02-12T06:43:00.007Z

Saturday morning, 12 Feb

What is dodo? It's the Kinyarwanda name for leaf amaranth, an African indigenous vegetable (AIV). It's the one AIV commonly grown, harvested in the wild, sold in markets and eaten without wincing all over Rwanda. I had it for lunch today, at the house of Rachel's parents outside Kigali, where she and I had gone to try cooking in a solar cooker donated by an American organisation but not used. (Rachel Bugenimana is the wife of the couple where I'm staying, a keen vegetable gardener and for this visit my most frequent translator and co-trainer.) It was picked from the garden, rinsed and chopped, and boiled with green banana and a little finely sliced beetroot.Caption:Rachel peeling the bananas

Caption: The dodo ready for chopping

Caption: the black cooking pot and the round thermometer can just be seen through the reflection of the cooker lid

The rice from the solar cooker, put in a black pan with 2 parts hot water to one of rice and left for 4 hours through sunshine and cloud, stayed pretty much at a temperature of 150F, once heated. It was a strange combination of mushy and grainy – what should we have done differently? The dodo dish was delicious. It cooks and tastes much like spinach. The few people who do eat the other local AIVs mix them with spinach to soften the bitter taste.

Why the exhortation? On Wednesday a group of Rwanda Yearly Meeting leaders – not the formal executive committee – was meeting for planning and general exchange of information. The preferred venue for such occasions now is the small conference facility at Gasharu Church, called the Peace Garden. I was there to look over the fairly extensive piece of ground, with the caretaker and a couple of other church members. David Bucura's contribution to the current FWCC (Friends World Committee for Consultation) initiative on the environment is to encourage better use of the space. Here his two roles as pastor at Gasharu and clerk of FWCC Africa Section come together. I had talked with him in October about 'the edible garden': now I was to be put to the test.

I had forgotten to do much specific preparation for this role, and there was no internet connection on Tuesday evening so I couldn't mug up. My draft programme had 4 days for this activity but there was nothing actually to be done until it rained. I agreed to meet the small group and give them some seeds from my garden and from Agrotec in Kigali. In the event most of our time was taken with talking about trees and hedges with edible leaves and/or fruits, and devising ways to proof new planting against child trespassers. I am to return near the end of my time to see how things are going.

That done, I was invited to take lunch with the YM planners and take 15 minutes to tell them about Growing Together. I invited questions at the end but was thrown by the best: 'What can we do in 2011 to cooperate with your project?' I'm sorry to say I waffled.

Later in the day David asked me to give the message (20-30 minute sermon) this Sunday, introducing a few weeks' focus on the Quaker testimony to simplicity. I hope I shall manage to do that without hypocrisy. Next morning I woke with the answer I could have given the planners – eat dodo. It's cheap or free, palatable, local, rich in micro-nutrients, health promoting. It's not grown in monocultures drenched in fertiliser, it's not trucked in using precious and expensive diesel, it's not evident on aspirational TV, it's not an imported luxury. So – step one, eat dodo.

I'm posting this in a hurry without pics. I'll add some later.

Comments from the final day with the Twa

2010-11-03T17:38:00.020Z

Kageyo testimonies

Solange Nyiramana, HROC facilitator, at the beginning of the second day:

Solange, left, with Rachel Bugenimana

There is a connection between the tree of trust and planting cooperatively. Giving the sack to one house is not the end of the process but the start of helping each other from house to house. You're building trust when you show your needs and feelings. To be good neighbours we have to help each other. Think of this work as planting the tree of trust for our new life here together. Remember, working together is the first way to build trust. We can't do anything alone.

(There had been serious arguments, unresolved when we left the day before, about which of 5 participant in each group should have the sack at their house. )

Zaninka Agnes:
This is my testimony. I can say it's good work. In the future we will have improved our health. We'll use the seeds to begin work, and if they grow I'll never buy vegetables because I'll have my own when it's time to harvest. Then, as well as helping my own family, I'll give some to others who don't have time or knowledge to be able to plant for themselves.

Mukampazimpaka Elizabeth:
I'm happy with this work, and especially how you are teaching us. We are not going to sit still but to teach others because we can't keep good things for ourselves. Thank you for giving yourself to teach this practice of vegetable growing. Please continue in the whole country.

Mukarutabana Anne-Marie:
Thank you for coming with this work for improving our health. After you leave we'll keep doing what you taught. It's good that you've helped us to work in groups. We'll work together to harvest and to plant the second round. We will work as a group and use our strength for watching out together to avoid problems.

Nyiramajoro Angelique:
When we first moved here it was not easy for us and we're still not familiar with the area. As time goes by we're starting to feel human like the others as we work on activities. This new activity will improve our health, our children's and our own. I don't have any gift to give you except my thanks.

Mukampfizi Esther:
I thank God for this seminar which has made me so happy. We were wondering what kind of seminar we would be getting and God sent you with this one on vegetables. This will help us overcome our isolation and feel like other people. Many people don't like us and don't come to us but you came.
This is the first time we've seen packets of seeds. We knew the vegetables but not how to grow them. Now we've learnt from you we'll work hard and the harvest will be good for our health.

Tuyisenge Jacqueline:
Thank you so much from my heart, for showing us life and giving yourself to work with us. Thank you for the seeds which show your love for us and your concern for our health and our children's health, and for the skills you have given us. Thank you to Solange for being the first to come and for bringing others to help and teach us.

Habimana Jean-Claude:
(He has the role of community organiser for the Batwa part of this resettlement village. He made a more formal speech, from which these are some extracts.)

In this village we were fearful when we first came, then we heard from Friends Peace House. Their teaching [about trauma healing] started to make peace in our hearts, and we're grateful for all their helpful teachers. Now two groups – one mixed and one of women – have had this teaching about vegetable growing, and having the two groups both learning has contributed to our work on gender equality. We'll continue this work for our good health even when you've gone. We hope you can come back and bring us more seeds and we'll show you our results. We want to extend the skills you've given us to others. God bless you with peace, health and security.

Jean-Claude as he wished to be pictured, in front of his house

Some troubles among the Twa (now with photos)

2010-10-30T07:10:00.007+01:00

Written Weds-Thurs, 27-28 Oct; posted Sat 30 Oct

Since my first Growing Together workshops, I have always given seeds to the participants. They are lightweight, inexpensive, relevant to the work and straightforwardly symbolic. Even when I give enough for several packets per participant, they are opened, wondered at, sometimes sniffed, and shared around. For the first of the Twa villages the groups devised a system whereby a responsible person would be designated to share out the remaining seeds fairly after the sacks had been planted by people's houses.

When we returned for the second week, we heard rumours that seed had not been fairly shared. Was it the fault of the responsible person elected by the group? Arriving at the fourth village, adjacent to the first, Solange was approached by several members of the first group to ask me for extra seeds. She learned the story. While the responsible person was at school, a participant had approached his wife, who handed over the packets. And despite repeated protestations he was keeping them all for himself. I had no spare seeds with me; I arranged with Solange that she could take fresh supplies next month to the follow up day, to give to those who had kept their word and bought a sack.

This week's work is with two groups in the same resettlement village. Today was the first day for the second group. Other groups have settled quickly after the introductions to the first task – revising the lessons from the HROC workshop about trust and mistrust, trauma and trauma healing. These were restless. Soon the cause of their agitation was revealed. Two of the sacks planted the day before had been stolen in the night. This village is a long way from anywhere else – it had to be neighbours who had stolen from neighbours. What could be done to stop it happening again? Was it even worth carrying on with the practical work of preparing and planting the sacks if they would also be stolen?

The shock and loss were traumatic, if on a small scale. We agreed to discuss the problem in the afternoon, once people had had a chance to talk it through. Our team of three were clear we needed to model the good listening promoted as a tool for healing. An exercise from Joanna Macy's work on 'Despair and empowerment' came into my head. We could invite anybody who wanted to express their feelings about the outrage to do so and all the rest of us would affirm the speaker with 'Indeed, it is so' or something similar. I don't know why that didn't happen, but instead there was a conversation about whether the thief should be handed over to the authorities for punishment when found, or whether there should be an internal community process of discussion and reparation – a kind of Gacaca.

We moved on to planning for the next day's work – planting in small groups at one chosen house for each group. In previous workshops the decision had been made on practical grounds – who lived close enough together for the trainers to move between houses. Here all the houses were close together, with identical facilities. Dividing into groups and then cooperating had proved a difficult concept to convey. Last week, also, we had to get the four householders to stand and then direct each 'team' to stand together in a different corner of the room. Eventually this time we got to four groups with five women in each. Now to decide which house to go to. One group settled quickly while the others thrashed about, getting noisier and noisier, babies and mothers alike.

Solange tried to impose order by shouting. Hopeless. After checking with Rachel, I suggested a version of a technique I've sometimes used or been part of. In Quaker circles it's usually described simply as 'having some silence'. Here I suggested prayer, and I began, asking for guidance and a spirit of cooperation. Rachel translated, then added some words of her own. We waited for perhaps a minute.

Now please would they go back into the groups, then come and sit quietly upholding the others once they had decided. One more group found agreement, two still failed. Exhaustion was apparent. We would go home and hope for something better by tomorrow. On the way out of the village, we briefed Jean Claude, the community leader.

[Returning on Thursday, we caught up on the story. J-C rearranged the groups Solange had arbitrarily imposed, separating family members known to make trouble. The sanction he suggested was that we would work only with the groups who had agreed a location. They would then teach the others, after we'd left, when they were ready to work together. His strategy worked.

The women told us they had felt bad when we left while they were quarreling. J-C said he'd asked each new group to base themselves at the house of the person who was finding it hardest to accept the situation, on the grounds that this was the person with most to learn about cooperation and they should start with her.]

Caption: Rachel (l) and Solange at work once we get going

Caption: Some of our onlookers

Later, in the restaurant as we wait for our food, fits of laughter seize my three companions – Rachel, translator and fellow gardener, Solange N, the HROC facilitator who has worked most with the Twa, and Edouard, the Yearly Meeting driver loaned to us for the HROC car. I wait in hope of a translation. 'We know it's sad and serious, but isn't it ridiculous that men should get up in the night to steal as sack full of earth and stones! Do they think they'll find riches resulting from the touch of a white person's hand?'

More from the Batwa (now with photo)

2010-10-26T16:38:00.002+01:00

More about the Batwa

I tried to come without romantic notions. I do feel a deep sadness at the way the dominant culture, now pretty much worldwide, continues to destroy the remnants of other ways. But my pity, my anger that so much of what the world may need again has been destroyed, won't help.

Hearing that Batwa in Rwanda traditionally worked as potters, I thought it might be viable for them to develop and market the cooler made from two concentric vessels, known as the Zeer pot. Ordinary containers for water or for cooking are cheaply available from other modern materials, but fridges depend on scarce electricity. Such a project could be next year's continuation. In one of the villages above Ruhengeri last week I saw a simple, elegant water pot lying close to the site for a sack. 'Where did that come from?' I asked. 'Oh, those Batwa down near the lake make them, and sell them very cheaply. They're not like us. We're getting developed – we work in building, for example. But they're not developed at all.'

Yesterday, Monday 25th, we began 4 days' work with two consecutive groups who have been recently settled in a kind of model village, built by a Swedish/Norwegian government sponsored programme. The houses have rendered walls and sheet metal roofs (the kind the president thinks every house should have), rain water collection, toilets, frequent trainings from NGOs. But they don't want to be here.

The land is parched, recently appropriated from what should be the National Park of Akagera, feebly fenced with two strands of barbed wire, and gardens are vulnerable to incursions from they don't know what animals – probably zebra and giraffe. At least it has rained a couple of times.

Today was stage 2 – going round to 4 houses where groups of 5 participants fill and plant their own sack. Outside house three an old woman was sitting on the ground with 4small clay pots drying. I asked to buy one or two, from courtesy really as I wanted to photograph her. She was sorry but she had none fired – getting wood is hard for her. She makes pots when somebody brings her clay from the valley bottom, because she's too weak to work the ground and she has to do something. God will take her soon and she's not worried because she's led a good life and never drunk beer or smoked tobacco.

I ask her where she learnt. From my parents. Has she taught any of her children? No, they're not interested.

Back in the church at the end of the day's work I show her photo to the group. It may have been preachy but I had to say to them that perhaps some of them might want to retain this skill from their old culture even while developing new opportunities to live in modern Rwanda. Tourism is developing and there will be a market, too, if they can hang on.

I'm reminded that the last Native American in Yosemite died only in 1978. By 2000 they had made a little museum behind the post office there, reconstructing what has been lost.

Solar devices

2010-10-26T16:34:00.002+01:00

I've had a week of not being able to post, and without much email contact either. But I'm well and happy and hoping to catch up. I won't post the pic of Simon in the rain till I've got more text on its way.

I've written before about the low take-up of solar panels, even in the many places where there is no grid to supply electricity. (Part of Rwanda's new 7 year plan is to connect 50% instead of the current 10%.) When I ask I'm told it is too expensive, and anyway it's only seen as a stopgap before the proper supply arrives. So what about other solar devices?

There's Kigali Institute of Science and Technology (KIST) with two campuses in Kigali, prominent in internet searches. After the usual preliminaries I visited on a week ago. The usual preliminaries comprised several earlier attempts to interest anybody in facilitating a visit for me and an eventual personal contact.

The contact is through Augustin, my host for this visit, but he's in South Africa representing the Evangelical Friends Church of Rwanda at a conference of African protestant churches. So he arranges for Antoine to take me. We phone ahead, phone again from the car park, ask a guard for directions and eventually find the person we are looking for. He turns out to be attached to a unit working on entrepreneurial opportunities for young people and knows nothing about the solar and other technologies to improve cooking, illustrated and described on the printouts I am carrying. He does, however, take us to the director.

The director is clearly not very interested in us, but perhaps etiquette demands that he accompany us round the workshops. He shows us iron or steel chambers of various sizes – smallest 30 litres – for institutional cooking, insulated with mud bricks, and a bread oven similarly constructed. He is visibly disappointed when neither Antoine nor I express any interest in buying. (They do provide school lunches in several of Antoine's schools, but he considers the price totally unrealistic.)

Do they have any examples of the solar cookers whose descriptions I show him? He summons somebody to bring one and opens it for me to photograph, saying that to be honest it doesn't work very well. OK, thank you, and what about the one I have here on my paper? Oh, he thinks the students dismantled it and haven't yet made copies.

He is able to show us some experimental designs for small fuel-efficient cookers, and a larger two-pan standing-height version with a flue, that can be fitted in a kitchen and beautified with tiles.

Although I've forgotten to bring the printed information, I ask about the 'fireless cooker' one of my students says she has seen here. It's a kind of haybox inside a basket, and promoted by Practical Action, among others. It's also known as the peacemaker. No, they don't have that. I suppose it may be on the other campus.

According to information from May 2010, the federal government of Rwanda has officially approved and recommended a design known as the rocket stove. It uses much less wood than traditional open three-stone fires or the small charcoal braziers. KIST doesn't have one. I'm still hunting for shops or market stalls selling such a thing, and haven't found anybody using one at home. So no solar cookers and not much in the way of newer, safer and cleaner ways of using conventional fuels either.

Alongside KIST, a solar bakery project in Ruhengeri is also described on the internet and mentioned on many sites. On Monday morning, with 4 days ahead of me, I start asking seriously whether anybody knows anything about it. One of the pastor's sons finds a video clip on the internet site and lo, they recognise one of the widows in whose interest True Vineyard Ministries are developing several projects. The widow provides the name of a pastor and eventually – on Wednesday afternoon – a phone number is found.

The researches have taken a long time, our day is running late because this morning's students were two and a half hours late (because their food handouts had arrived and had to be collected), rain is coming, and I'm afraid that in the end the weather will beat me. Solange and I catch a bus before the heaviest of the rain arrives, and she comes with me in a taxi to the rendezvous with a young worker, Simon, who speaks good English as well as French, we're told. We phone from the taxi, wait, phone again, wait some more, and Simon arrives. Solange goes back into town in the taxi to an appointment with a friend. Simon and I, under umbrellas, pick our way to the project.

Simon is polite and charming – a sociology graduate in his first paid job and a pastor's son. He has no idea why I'm here. I tell him I want to see the solar bakery. 'You can look at it, but it doesn't work.' We go into a yard where half a dozen women are carding and spinning sheep's wool on a reasonably dry verandah.

There is the oven, imported from the USA by the American woman who set up the project and visits from time to time. It's on a trolley, under a roof of banana leaves topped with a UNHCR tarpaulin. It can be wheeled out when the sun shines; it swivels and various shiny plates tilt. But this is the coolest and wettest part of the country, and it simply doesn't get hot enough for long enough. They haven't yet managed to move it to somewhere hotter and drier, in the south or east. So don't believe everything you read on the internet.

Friends Peace House newsletter piece

2010-10-19T14:21:00.003+01:00

Ruth Plett and Krystan Palinkowski, Canadian Mennonite capacity builders at FPH, are encouraging the Rwandese staff in putting together a bi-lingual (English/Kinyarwanda) newsletter to help the many 'peace' agencies in Rwanda to network. My contribution may be helpful to those who didn't begin reading this blog at he beginning, or who remember only that the beginning was around 70 posts ago.

As a volunteer with AGLI, the African Great Lakes Initiative of Friends Peace Teams, I am working for a few weeks at planting time during the rainy seasons over four years on a project called Growing Together in Rwanda. My main qualification for this work is that at home in suburban London I have had the same vegetable garden for over 30 years and it is still productive. To me the connections between good nutrition, good physical, emotional and spiritual health, and peace, are clear. At the most basic level, when people have enough to eat they are not so driven to compete over vital resources.

I began by teaching small scale vegetable gardening using organic techniques. The work has extended into diet, nutrition and promoting African Indigenous Vegetables (AIVs). The phrase 'growing together' suggests both 'working together on growing food' and 'building peaceful communities by working together'. My work was initially based in Friends Peace House, and I now also work with teachers and workers in the Friends Schools and with women's church groups.

This year a major part of my work is for a project with Batwa (now formally renamed as 'historically marginalised people) near Ruhengeri and Kayonza, in conjunction with HROC Rwanda. (HROC stands for Healing and Rebuilding Our Communities.) Through 2010, and continuing into 2011 if our funding from Britain Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends is renewed, a series of events first reassures and recruits participants, then gives a basic HROC training in trauma healing, follows with a vegetable growing workshop and concludes with another HROC training and a community celebration. The words of Nyiramajambere Esperance, a participant from a village near Kinigi, capture the essence of the work: 'In the first workshop on trauma healing I learnt to recover from my inner wounds. Now your teaching about vegetables and how to grow them will help me heal my outer wounds.'

Elizabeth Cave

A small mercy

2010-10-19T14:14:00.002+01:00

Oh happiness amidst the infuriating – or character forming – slowness of the internet connection! With no expectation of success, I copied a piece written in the netbook and saved as Open Office (because saving as Word no longer functions), pasted it into the blog, and it read it! Surely I tried that last year? Either blogger.com has improved – it keeps saying it has – or I got so into contortions between ways of saving, transferring and opening text that I failed to try the simplest. I shall still be switching between using my own netbook where there is wifi and borrowing other computers whose owners have a roving internet connection, but this is a great leap forward.

Whatever the explanation, the fact is a cause for delight. Now if only pictures would load in less than a minimum of 5 and a maximum of 17 minutes (so far), I'd be in blogger heaven.

Time for discussion

2010-10-18T16:18:00.003+01:00

The two day workshop last week (11-12 Oct) was with a group from a Friends church just outside Kigali. It's the place where the Thomases have their moringa business but they are on furlough in Oregon for a year and I haven't managed to visit the site yet. This congregation is one of four where a programme called Discipling for Development is being taught. This seems to be an international programme whose syllabus teaches the virtues of hard work and persistence as well as practical skills, all in a biblical context. I'm a development worker, not a missionary. What I notice is that these women almost all grow more than one kind of vegetables – an unusual situation.

When we have had the introductions and agenda planning, and I have shown the basic diagramme of the sack garden and a slide show of examples from my earlier groups' work, we have time in hand before the mid morning break, when a participant will go home to get us a sack and a hoe. I invite the group to share their thoughts on connections between food and peace.

The church leader, Safari, our only man today, speaks up immediately. Having enough to eat leads to peace in the home and peace with your neighbours (because your children don't go begging to them) and peace in the community. His wife, Alphonsine, with their fourth child on her lap, adds that selling surplus from the garden can make money for the church.

One benefit of the sack garden which we have already discussed – that evaporation is reduced – is very good, says Philomena. Even having enough food to feel full without vegetables is not good for health: vegetables build up immunity.

Your home will benefit, says Louise. I grow cabbages, amaranth and peppers, to sell at market and to eat at home. With the money made I can buy clothes and pay my debts. I have bought a goat. I can pay my tithe to the church and give to special appeals. I can praise God energetically because my physical health is good. I have enough to share with others.

Gaudance brings us back to the topic. For example, she says, the security people come round asking for money to guard your area. If you are not having to buy vegetables you will have enough to pay them. You will have peace at home and with your neighbours because your children are not stealing from them. Will there still be a need for the guard if nobody is hungry, I ask. Oh yes – there is still your property.

Josepha's contribution is that you'll be able to buy the school materials for your children.

Seraphina says that last year she planted vegetables, sold the surplus, and bought a hen. She has sold some chicks and kept some and now she has eggs for her children. One has breathing problems and has been advised to eat raw egg.

I don't now remember how my next note links to the previous comments, but the conversation has moved on. Beatride (recently widowed and with 5 children) says that when there is not enough at home, children commonly leave home, naively thinking they will do better without their parents. She means children of 16 and 17 who set up house as a couple. Having children before 21 – the age of marriage - is frowned on and the father may go to prison because under-age sex is a crime of violence.

I ask for clarification and we are off! Please will I tell them the position of the Friends church in England on sex outside marriage for teenagers. I do my best to be both honest and relevant. To my surprise they thank me for useful information about how to advise their children. All I said is that we discourage early sexual activity and expect that an individual's conscience will tell them there should be relationship and equality. We all agree that contraception is better than unwanted children, though it is recognised that it's not yet straightforward for pastors to say so in church.

Now we've done sex and marriage we can get back to vegetables without further diversion, I say. Oh, but it was so interesting!

That magic moment (+ new pics)

2010-10-18T16:12:00.005+01:00

[Photos from the 3rd Twa village, 19 October]

Every time it works! Sometimes the students seem to have no idea here is an issue a all. Sometimes they think ahead and ask how to solve the problem. I tell them to wait and see.

A 50 kg sack is to be prepared for planting, with a column of stones up the centre. The stones may be alluvial pebbles, or shiny quartz, or lumps of lava, or even fragments of brick or tile, only nothing with cement. I have not yet had to improvise in a location with nothing suitable, though we sometimes get quite muddy hunting out our small prizes.

Caption: lava pebbles provide amusement before going into the sack.

We cut the top and bottom off a 1.5 litre water bottle, stand it in the bottom of the rolled-down sack, fill it loosely with small stones, surround it with the best soil we can find... Then what? Will I produce another empty bottle from my rucksack? Will the pebbles somehow balance on their own now they know what is expected?

It's often said that teachers need something of the actor about them. This is my moment of high drama. Usually I am squatting close to the sack with one hand protecting the stones from the soil being tipped in all round. I brush off the back of my hand. Holding the sides of its rim, I jiggle the bottle. For a moment nothing happens.

Will this be the day the magic has deserted us? Not so far. The stones settle a little, the tube is raised but not removed. The filling continues.

Caption: raising the rim

Caption: this is from day 1 with Batwa(5 Oct) at Musanze Friends Church, not from 19 Oct.

At the end of each round a different student takes a turn: usually the men get to go first unless I make a special point of inviting an individual woman or girl. The nervous ones don't jiggle firmly enough and have to be encouraged. The bold risk dislodging the guide. Occasionally when the stones are large it takes an extra moment of suspense before everything falls into place.

Caption: nearly at the top

Such a simple satisfaction!

Caption: watering a completed sack - Solange looks on

What am I doing here?

2010-10-17T10:14:00.003+01:00

I have been proofreading Augustin's dissertation for an MA from the University of Wales, via a theological college in Uganda. It's about HIV/AIDS and development with reference to a small Friends church in the west of Rwanda.

The interviews aren't written up yet so all I have to go on is his introductory pages. there seems to be some degree of consensus among the authors he reads - and I've no idea how representative or otherwise they are - that it's more than time to think about and deliver aid differently.

Why do the poor stay poor despite efforts by governments as well as far-reaching aid agencies? Because everybody comes in and delivers packages designed somewhere else and done to the poor instead of asking the intended beneficiaries what would help them, and appreciating the value of their own skills and resources.

The Friends Church in Rwanda has been saying for the years I've been coming here that it's time the church members developed and used their own resources instead of waiting for outside aid to enable any development. Apparently the president himself has adopted the same theme - that Rwanda needs to stand on its own feet now; that the war/genocide is in the past and it's time to outgrow the childish dependence on generosity from other countries.

The mindset is not easily changed, however. A new toilet block at the school here, for which I carried some bricks in 2008, is not built 'because there isn't the money'. I still get caught up in arguments about why I (or AGLI) won't pay bus fares and per diem/sitting allowance.

In the years after the genocide many agencies came in and paid people to attend trainings in the best hotels with food and drink provided. There is still a universal expectation that a training will include a good lunch, even if it's for less than a day. That's understandable when teachers, for example, are very poorly paid, and there are few other ways of eating than a hot (or warm) cooked meal.

Augustin is clear that giving handouts of money or clothes etc is unhelpful. Yet people are desperate, and what seems a little to me can be greatly appreciated by the recipient. I don't propose to stop bringing second-hand flash drives, for example, because they enable study. I will think again about clothes. And personal gifts to people who put me up, invite me to their houses, etc surely can't be too harmful? Perhaps a useful test is 'Would I do it at home?'.

That leaves the central question. Is what I am teaching what people have asked for, or is it yet another package, designed by me and delivered willy nilly? And I don't have an answer. I really hope groups don't come and spend two days merely to humour me and eat good lunches. I'm glad the structure of my visits allows me to work with a group, ask them what they'd like next, go home and work on it, and come back with something tailor-made. I never would have thought of cooking and eating as being requested, but it has been, and it was lovely.

I'd be glad of comments, if blogspot allows you to post them - I'm told perseverance is needed. Now it's time for me to go and eat lunch chez Gaudance (wife of Augustin), including two salads we prepared together yesterday.

[Posting pics is a continuing challenge. I'll do what I can when I can.]

Rainbows

2010-10-14T13:58:00.012+01:00

Yesterday evening, as the dishes at dinner were uncovered and we began filling our plates, Gaudance commented that we were eating a rainbow. (I'm sorry I didn't think to photograph my plate.) I've found this a difficult concept to communicate when teaching about the importance of eating a variety of foods. So I was delighted that she'd got it, and delighted, too, with my colourful plate: whitish pasta, yellow fried plantain, dark red beans, carrots with onions, tomato-coloured gravy, and a deep green vegetable from the garden, for which they don't know the name and which has a strange fishy flavour. Augustin asked what 'rainbow' was, and wrote the word in his notebook.

Working with another women's group in the afternoon, I'd been challenged by Solange, my translator, to say what on earth was meant by 'dark green leafy vegetables'. I pointed to somebody's dark green shawl. Moringa was also mentioned on the handout (prepared by Anne) focussing on vitamin A and eyesight. Was moringa a dark green leafy vegetable? I thought so, or as good as.

This morning there was an item in a Voice of America broadcast for Africa about the critical importance of nutrition for the foetus and the first two years after birth. Apparently Thailand changed its development priorities to focus on that and has had very good results. Yesterday's news in English on a Rwandan station was reporting the prime minister's speech at the beginning of the new seven-year presidential term. The goal is to move Rwanda out of the category of least developed nations into the middle income category.

I had brief conversations with both Augustin and Antoine about that conjunction. Is anybody in government working on child nutrition? How could people with power to change things be helped to see that without good nutrition there won't be the mental capacity for the hoped-for surge in economic growth, even with the new emphasis in the school syllabus on entrepreneurship?

Antoine's response is that you have to start in the schools. OK, I said; you are the Inspector of all the Friends Schools... And he interrupted me to phone for some packets of moringa to take with us to the school at Katarara in the next ten minutes. A couple of hours later the head teacher was taking some to stir into the day's beans. This school is in an area prone to famine and feeds all the children with food donated by the World Food Program: maize meal, rice fortified with soy, iodised salt; perhaps the beans were local.

Caption: Is this enough beans for 500?

Cption: Four of these beds provide greens twice a week to cook with the beans.

I've had a couple of conversations lately about how difficult it is to start a small business here, compared with Uganda, for instance. The regulations have been eased somewhat for foreign companies, but Rwandans have to meet so many criteria that most are discouraged. On our car journey I learn that although the Friends' church's moringa business is all set to expand its processing, buy more leaves from local farmers who are keen to sell them, and then get the product at a price most people can afford into ordinary small shops, there is a hitch.

In most African countries a bribe would be a way through the red tape. Here that isn't done. The problem is that the Rwandan Bureau of Standards admirably insists that new food products conform to US or EU standards. But there is no such standard for moringa. Test results for several measures of purity have been submitted but always rejected. What would be acceptable readings? Zero on all counts. Impossible, of course.

However, movement may be possible. Uganda has just licensed moringa with much less strict standards. So there are some figures to work from. And does Rwanda really want poeple to import moringa and give the profits to a Ugandan business when there is a Rwandan one eager to proceed?

I'll tell you when I hear. Mean time I'm doing my bit towards a level of development that seems for now to be somewhere over the rainbow.

An unsolicited testimonial

2010-10-12T16:04:00.003+01:00

Yesterday evening Augustine and Gaudance had visitors for dinner, the pastor and his wife from Kamembe, the part of Cyangugu where the Friends School is and I got so stuck in mud last visit. I think I'm getting better at looking awake but not bored while the conversation gets ever livelier and I don't understand any of it. (It was salutary to find how easy it was to do the same to Antoine when he was my visitor.)

Then as we were finishing, Augustine turned to me. Madame Pastor wants to give you a testimony, he said. I had the presence of mind to ask them to wait while I got paper to jot down what she was to say - Dave Z, AGLI co-ordinator, and others often ask for quotable quotes. This is her story:

A cooperative of 30 women from several churches, the 15 who took my workshop and 15 more, called Shining Light, has been formed and meets every Saturday to make sack gardens in different homes. They all contribute 200 Rwf (20p) a week, which pays the rent for a small piece of land at 36,000 Rwf (around £35) for two seasons(ie a year).

They have already sold the maize they planted, and saved some of the proceeds to rent a second field further out of town. The next step will be to buy a goat for every family and the manure will feed the kitchen gardens and fields. They will buy a few every now and then depending on income. The aim is for every member to have one.

I asked if they are eating differently.

In the beginning some of them neglected the teaching. She herself now plants kale, parsley etc. At every meal they have different vegetables. She has three sacks at home. It's good to work together and difficult to construct a sack garden on your own. So others learn by helping. The money they used to spend at market every day can now go to other things.

Did all this happen after my visit?

We had the idea before, but Elizabeth opened our eyes and we saw real possibilities. Now FHI (Food for the Hungry International, presumably a US Christian charity) are teaching us about nutrition and keeping us encouraged.

Has people's health changed?

Her husband cuts in instantly: Look at my wife, how healthy and beautiful she is! (I'll post her photo when I can.) Then he asks if I can get him a simple book on nutrition for him to teach adults and children at church. I fetch my 2 pages of notes on vitamins and minerals and give them to him on one of the many 2nd hand flash drives scavenged for me by Eleanor.

I think that counts as success.

Kanukaze Venance is really more beautiful than this picture suggests.

The second Twa village

2010-10-09T15:03:00.006+01:00

Yes, there are problems living here, but oh it's beautiful.

Nyiramajambere Esperance, on the left of this group, thrilled Solange and me by volunteering a quotable quote: In the first workshop on trauma healing I learnt to recover from my inner wounds. Now your teaching about vegetables and how to grow them will help me heal my outer wounds.

Compost contrast

2010-10-08T09:42:00.004+01:00

My informant at her compost heap
In the Twa village where we go for day two of the workshop, groups of four or five students are to prepare and plant a sack garden. As we arrive, I see heaps of small stones for the core and rich, moist soil for the surround. I had been afraid there would be no compost. In fact each house has a heap, in the narrow surround before other people's crops begin. 'We might as well put all the rubbish in one place', I am told by one woman. And I realise that because of their relative isolation from recent development, these people have little that is not biodegradable.

Vegetable waste goes into the heap, as do ashes from cooking and the droppings of rabbits or sheep, which some keep. What about urine, I ask. Oh, we do that all over the place since we don't have toilets. Try asking all these little boys to pee on the compost heap, I suggest. (Faeces? I don't ask.)

Back in Kigali, as well as a sewage system which is gradually yielding increasing amounts of gas for cooking and lighting, there is now a compulsory household levy to pay for the weekly rubbish collection. Rachel, who is a keen vegetable gardener, tells me that last week the bin men berated her for not putting her kitchen waste into the bin. You're not supposed to make your own compost any more, she observes. The government is always looking for ways to make money. You have to send everything away now and let somebody deal with it and then buy back the compost they make from what you give them.

[A picture at last. it took nearly 20 minutes to load. I'll go back and try one where I said I'd send some before.]

Getting around - revised version

2010-10-06T18:55:00.005+01:00

Composed late on Tues 5 October, posted Weds 6th, revised Friday 8th

Today has been quite a day. I've had six bus rides, two moto rides and two longish walks.

Planning the Twa workshops, it soon became apparent that we should go up to the villages, so the sack gardens would be in the right place. I knew the Batwa live separately from others, at a distance from amenities. I also knew it had taken them two hours to arrive at the workshop in a church in town. I don't much like bumpy moto rides but apart from setting off at 6am there is no alternative.

We set off at 8 this morning on the first, uneventful bus ride into the centre of Ruhengeri (now more properly called Musanze). The second bus, after filling up with fuel, took us from there to Kinigi, the nearest village to the Gorilla Centre in the Volcanoes National Park. Our fellow passengers had already been to market and were heavily laden, making the frequent changes of seat to allow people on and off quite complicated. (The mini-buses have seats for 15 plus the driver, but carry an extra person per row, not counting babies, bundles etc.) From Kinigi we were expecting a third bus ride but the wait would be two hours, which we couldn't afford. So we took motos for further than expected, once pinkish fuel had been poured out of 500 ml water bottles into the bike tanks. However, most of the ride was on a tarmacked road, courtesy of gorilla tourism. The final ten minutes was seriously uncomfortable, probably more so for me because I tense against the bumps, hanging on grimly to the passenger grip at the back of the seat and finding my knees clamped to the driver's haunches from time to time. I'd be happier putting my hands on his waist but that isn't done.

The scenery is as fascinating as the first time I saw it, three years ago - rich black soil heaped into ridges for potatoes or beans or maize; an occasional eucalyptus copse with a conical earth-covered charcoal stack (Is there a technical name?); drifts of white pyrethrum (to be sent to Kenya for processing into insecticide); simple houses with split eucalyptus wattle filled with mud and/or leaves. I was sorry not to be able to use my camera, but the only movements I could manage were to get my hankie out of my trouser pocket without dislodging the hotel room key or to hitch the rucksack straps on my shoulders after they's slid down my waterproof.

We arrived at a small village with good new primary and secondary schools, built to UNESCO standard with glazed windows, a pitched roof and gutters draining into an enclosed water tank. Solange paid the moto drivers and the usual 5 minutes was spent writing out the usual 3 pre-stamped receipts. Two class members met us, to lead us on foot to their village. 'How long will we be walking?' I asked. '15 minutes.' Not bad for the children to get to school, I thought. I found the walk a pleasant relief after the bike. It was sometimes rocky, sometimes grassy, never steep. It took at least 40 minutes.

There was time for some chat on the way. First our guides pointed to the forest, off to our right. 'We go there to collect water,' they said, 'And this morning we saw some gorillas.' They smile. As a white person who has done the gorilla trek I feel embarrassed that the gorillas are so well looked after and not the other previous forest inhabitants. But I can't put it in those terms. The conversation moves on. 'Our grandfathers were given land here but they sold it', they say. 'Now we have none.' That's a layer of complexity I hadn't seen before. 'Our people didn't use money. We exchanged things like meat.' 'Did your grandfathers get money for the land they gave up?' 'No. They got sheep.' The old, sad tale, then.

*************

Three hours later, day's work done, we were led down a different path to the highest point the bikes could reach. We bumped and skidded for ever, it seemed. I imagined white water rafting, which I've never done. Eventually we emerged as few yards from Kinigi again. I asked why we'd come by a different route: because it was less of a walk.

Two buses back to our Karisimbi Lodging, and just time for Rachel to pick up her luggage and turn round to catch the 3pm bus to Kigali. An hour's rest and I set off again into town to do email and blog. There was room for me on the third bus that passed, after I'd declined the offer of a bicycle taxi. Again it refuelled en route. I wonder whether it's a regular pattern of small toppings up - using the cash collected at the end of the previous ride and a few before.

Internet hour spent, I crossed the road to find tbe bus back. It was nearly full so shouldn't be long setting off. Oops! Just change the battery, displacing two passengers but not letting others off, lest they desert this bus and take an earlier, fitter one. It seems that filling that last place, for an extra 20p, makes a real difference.

Rachel says that getting the network of these taxi-buses into all parts of the country to link with larger 'express' buses is one of President Kagame's successes, together with making passports easily available so Rwandans can visit neighbouring countries and get new ideas. Sometimes I imagine how full the roads would be if each passenger had their own car. Surely no country would want to let that happen?

Pictures from first workshop with the Twa - really

2010-10-05T15:53:00.008+01:00

Tuesday 5 Oct, 5pm

I thought I would have a polished piece ready by now, but actually I'm too weary. it's a good kind of tired, resulting from many new impressions and two moto rides over volcanic ground too bumpy for a bus.

So I'll start with a couple of pictures.

Sorry, I've waited 10 minutes for the first pic to load, with no visible progress, and am giving up for today.

In case a litle news is better than none, I can say there were 20 participants, 15 of them men, aged roughly 20-40 at a guess.

The first day was in a Friends Church and went very well
till there was a long argument after we'd theoretically finished: why wouldn't we pay their bus fares like other course providers do? We ended it by agreeing to give them cash to buy their own food instead of lugging a picnic up the mountain on the second day.

Caption: This was the participants favourite picture of themselves on the first day.

Today we went to the village and divided the participants into 4 groups to fill and plant sacks. A good time had by all till a heavy shower brought proceedings to a scrappy end. The group will meet the HROC people again and have promised each to buy a sack.

Le Congolais

2010-10-04T15:24:00.002+01:00

written Sunday 3rd, posted Monday 4th

On each visit I use my French less, and particularly this time people are trying to speak English - not only professionals (such as Antoine) and students but also the driver of the church car, the house worker where I am staying...

This evening French was just what I needed, however. Solange, Rachel and I had done our final planning for Monday and were eating at the long table in the guest house dining room. To our side were two young men. One left and the other turned to me. I'd said something to Rachel in English and then used French to the buffet atttendant. 'Oh, you speak French.'

He is a Congolese doctor, one of many employed to work in government hospitals because there are not enough Rwandan doctors. (Rachel says there are plenty in Kenya, and in the USA where they go for specialised training not available here and don't return. I wonder if DRC has enough or if it's the bottom of the chain.) He asks what we are doing here and is full of approval. The commonest illness he treats in the local hospital is child malnutrition. Typically a child is fed and nursed back to health; six months later he is back with kwashiakor again = from parental ignorance. There are greens growing wild that even the poorest people could eat but they don't know they should. He's hardly ever seen malnourished adult women in Congo, he says, despite the fighting, but he sees them here. He observes in passing that the obesity in developed cultures and the starvation he sees here are both forms of malnutrition.

I wonder aloud why there seems to be no human instinct to eat green stuff - even dogs have it. Even cattle, he adds. Rachel says there is a long way to go in combatting ignorance. There is also a problem with traditional culture, still observed and passed on by some old people: women shouldn't eat chicken. Why? It's the culture. But how could that have come to be the culture, I ask. Those foods are for the men! Solange adds that it used to be common for people who keep chickens to ignore the eggs (and when I check this improbable fact with Rachel later she says that used to be so and isn't now, but many would still rather sell the eggs and have the money for other things than give their children the good nourishment).

The doctor excuses himself - the ambulances bring people to the clinic early on Mondays and he must sleep. We toss around ideas for overcoming ignorance and outdated customs. Rachel, whose own garden is so productive they hardly buy vegetables, is hatching a scheme to get 9-12 year olds to spend a week learning to grow and cook vegetables during the school holidays, if she can find the funding. You have to start young, she says.

[Today was the first day with the Twa - very rich but I'm not ready to write about it yet. I need to choose a couple of photos. And it's about to rain so I must get back to the guest house quickly.]

The week ahead (post completed)

2010-10-03T13:11:00.003+01:00

On Sunday afternoon Rachel, Solange N and I will be on the 3pm bus to Ruhengeri. That's a different Solange - not the HROC coordinator but the facilitator who has worked with most of the groups of Batwa where I am taking the Growing Together work. (The first, Solange M, will replace Rachel on Weds and Thurs, but I'm getting ahead of myself.)

There two workshops will be the first of the six I'm to do as my portion of the HROC-Batwa project largely funded by a Quaker Peace and Social Witness Relief Grant. Usually I can assume a group will be able to produce some usable second-hand sacks as well as an empty water bottle or food tin. For these groups, hwever, we have to provide everything. I don't know how much of my usual material - on compost, for example - will be irrelevant to their cramped and impoverished circumstances. Fortunately I shall have a HROC facilitator as well as Rachel, my translator with a post-graduate counselling qualification. My hope is that we shall be able to make explicit those connections between food security and other kinds, so clear in my mind but somehow so difficult for me to communicate here. We are also tasked with identifying a few participants who might go on to train as HROC facilitators.

The plan is to do day one in a church building in town, revising basic HROC work and constructing a demonstration sack. On day two, the three of us will hire motos to go up to where the Batwa live, close to the mountain forests where they are no longer allowed. Solange says the climb takes two hours on foot, so I'm preparing myself for a long bumpy ride. Participants will prepare and plant their own sacks in groups of four or five. With these arrangements I hope people will end up with a sack garden where they need it and can tend it daily. If the scheme is reasonably successful we repeat it on Weds and Thursday for a second group. If not, I suppose we make a new plan in the evenings. We shall be staying together in a guest house for the four nights. (In two weeks' time we do another week with the same pattern.)

Then on Thursday evening the others return to Kigali and I move to a Friend household - probably the head teacher from Kidaho where I stayed with Antoine last time - for three more nights. On Friday I am to work with a school, Saturday is a day off, going to lunch at a lakeside restaurant with the American teachers of English, and on Sunday there's to be a pastors' celebration. I don't know anything about that but I think only my presence is required.

Next Monday is the start of another two day introductory workshop with a church women's group near Kigali...

Elizabette's feast

2010-10-02T12:47:00.002+01:00

[Written Thursday 30 September, posted Saturday 2 October]

When I paid my second visit to the women's group in Byumba in February, they asked if I would come back to work with them on diet and nutrition and prepare food together. Before leaving in March, I established that David Bucura's wife Rachel would work with me as linguistic and cultural translator. Without her input I would have felt presumptuous; with her the 16 of us were on a journey of mutual trust.

Yesterday, after an adequate but rather dull meal in a restaurant, we went in a gaggle to market, where we spent rather less than the restaurant bill on ingredients for the delicious food we were to create. (We couldn't go to market in the morning because entry is limited to those with certificates of national health insurance, which some of the women don't have.)

the food was locked in the church office overnight. I paid for firewood to be bought. I tried to think of everything we would need - cooking and serving pots, plates and forks, sharp knives, washing up bowls, and bottled water for rinsing the foods to be eaten raw.

I also taught some theory around diet and nutrition - thank you, Anne, for the material which helped Rachel in her preparation. The complementary proteins chart, left blank for students to right the Kinyarwandan words and their own food combinations, was a success, once I had lent out every pen and pencil in my bag and turned some chairs round to serve as writing tables.

Today could hardly have gone better, except that I left in a rush and forgot my camera. But then Babette's feast was a transient beauty, too. We were using the kitchen at the back of the church building, a sunny yard and the church room.

First I set out all the foods, grouped into carbohydrates (rice, potatoes, macaroni), protein (eggs, milk, cheese, peanuts), soya oil, lots of fruit and veg, and salt, herbs from Marcelline's garden, garlic and ginger. it was 10 o'clock. We could eat at 12.30, I thought. Oh no, they said, it would take longer than that.

Eggs were boiled, peanuts roasted, rice picked over, and the day's main excitement - grating - began. I had brought half a dozen graters and four peelers. I should have thought to add at least one decent knife. Despite yesterday's plea we had only two knives, reasonably sharp but awkward to handle.

Somehow everything got done, except my planned guacamole (not enough garlic). Apart from demonstrating the grating and peeling, and insisting the potatoes be scrubbed and not peeled, my main contribution was a cheese sauce for the macaroni. There was beetroot, tomato and onion salad,; grated cabbage, carrot and onion with lemon juice; sliced tomatoes garnished with green peppers, raw leek and avocado.

Starting just after one, we all ate our fill. A single pan of leftovers was taken to be eaten by I don't know who. Then they cleared up while I walked into tow to buy the bus tickets back to Kigali.

Evaluation 1: They liked it all, and especially the beetroot salad. They don't make salads because mayonnaise is too expensive and they didn't know you could have salad without. (The colonial power was Belgium so perhaps that explains it.) They wanted a recipe for the cheese sauce and I described other possible milk sauces. Cheese is now being made from cow's and goat's milk in Rwanda, and is starting to come down in price. They want me to visit them again, though there was no obvious subject. Apparently they are thinking of forming an association to market their new vegetables if they can deal with certification and storage. I said I was sure advice would be available but I couldn't give it.

Evaluation 2: I managed to keep the large group as occupied as they wanted to be, despite the queueing for the use of the knife. Several small children, as well as the adults, tasted new foods. I was horrified by the smoke-filled kitchen, to the extent that I asked how much it would cost to insert a chimney, thinking to pay for it myself and say it came as a present from my Friends' Meeting to theirs. However, the Church rents the property so they couldn't make any alterations. Apparently it hasn't been considered important to avoid breathing smoke, though they know that alternative ways of cooking are being developed. Last time I was proudly shown a newly installed kitchen chimney at the pastor's house, so the design is known. It would cost less than £6.

P.S. Talking with Cecile, I learned that most people are ignorant of the connection between smoke and lung disease and wonder why so many children and older people suffer. She says she will alert the pastors so they can spread the information all over the country where they have their churches.

A new start

2010-10-02T12:05:00.003+01:00

[Composed on Friday 1 October. Posted on Saturday 2nd]

The fact that I'm writing this only on Friday indicates how busy I've been from the very day of arrival. I landed at noon on Monday and the initial planning meeting was that afternoon. My schedule is mapped out. The biggest problem will be doing all I am committed to, doing all I want to do, and having any social time at all.

On Tuesday there was a meeting of pastors and heads of schools at the Friends Church headquarter at Kagarama. Antoine invited me to take half an hour describing my Growing Together project and having some discussion. This was a longed-for opportunity: I usually find it impossible to convey my sense of the connection between my vegetable growing work, wellbeing - physical, social and spiritual - and peace. For this audience I emphasised the origin of my project in inspiration from two women Friends - Debby Thomas, one of the Evangelical Friends Church International missionaries with a concern for nutrition, and Laura Shipler Chico, previously an AGLI volunteer for three years in Rwanda, working on AVP and HROC. (Readers unfamiliar wit the initials could go to aglifpt.org. I'm sorry my skills don't extend to inserting links.) Next I considered various layers of meaning in the phrase 'growing together'. Then I described my reason for working with the teachers in the Friends schools as being to give them a taste of British English, while studying a health related topic taht could be useful when they are consulted in their communities because of their status as teachers.

There were pertinent questions about how I could spread my information throughout Rwanda, to which I replied that I can only plant a few seeds and it's for them to provide fertile soil by encouraging good students to go into agriculture and health sciences, and not always economics, business and computing. The discussion was mostly about which schools I should visit, and why not for longer. It's good to know I must be doing something right.

Wednesday and Thursday were spent in Byumba, and the next post will be about that. This morning I arranged to spend half a day with the Women in Dialogue group in Kagarama, with whom I want to use my new material on diet and nutrition, and try out an idea from Practical Action for an insulated container for slow cooking.

Record of Samvura Antoine's visit to Britain

2010-07-15T14:14:00.003+01:00

24 May - 12 June 2010
Samvura Antoine is Inspector of Friends Schools in Rwanda (about a dozen) and clerk of Rwanda Yearly Meeting sessions and Executive Committee. He managed to get a UK visa and spent 3 weeks staying with Elizabeth in London.

Tues 25 May
Preliminary visit to Friends House.
Bus ride to Waterloo Bridge; walk along South Bank and across Westminster Bridge.

Weds 26 May
Friends School Saffron Walden (FSSW); head Graham Wigley (GW)
This is an all age school, from 5-18 - primary and secondary. School founded in 1702. Moved to Saffron Walden c.1870.

30 physics and 30 chemistry books promised. Means of transport not yet decided, or covering the cost.

Student visit to FSSW agreed - probably into year 9/ Sec 3. Ishimwe Sandrine (Antoine's elder daughter) to be first student from Jan - July 2012. Then see about the future. Elizabeth Cave would be her guardian. The school would pay her tuition and board, and could provide second-hand uniform. Her travel costs will have to be found but local Quaker meetings might be glad to help.

We discussed ongoing contact through letters, Skype etc. Teacher exchanges were also mentioned and GW thought welcoming a teacher from Rwanda to FSSW might be possible but accommodation might be a problem.

Antoine invited the head or other teachers to visit Rwanda. GW's reply was that FSSW would get intangible benefits and would not necessarily need to send individuals to Rwanda in exchange.

EC mentioned the DIFD Global Schools Partnership - Department for International Development is a branch of UK government, but the programme may be cut under the new financial economies.

Thurs 27 May
Sibford School; head: Michael Goodwin
This is an all-age school, founded in 1842.

They hope to take one Rwandan student for 6 months each year, providing free accommodation, food and education.

They hope to invite Rwandan teachers to join the school for short study visits. And they hope to visit you.

They will try to provide books and, perhaps, computers.

MG will discuss these ideas with other heads of Q schools and encourage them.

Friday 28 - Monday 31 May
Britain Yearly Meeting
All sessions attended. Programme can be seen in 'Documents in Advance' (and on BYM website: quaker.org.uk). Many important subjects were considered, including progress after last year's decision of principle on same sex marriage and whether to include journalists in YM sessions. The matter of journalists had been under consideration for at least 30 year and the meeting struggled to arrive at a change of policy, through two sessions of consideration.

It was good to see how the members of the meeting arrived at decisions, and how the minutes were drafted by the clerk and agreed in the meeting after further contributions from the floor. The participation of children and their presence in some sessions was striking. Also the quiet behaviour of Friends and the respect given to the clerks.

In the breaks between sessions Friends could buy main meals or snacks as they chose, rather than everybody being given the same food. Accommodation for distant Friends is provided in the homes of London Friends. A payment of £15 per night is suggested. Some Friends prefer to stay centrally in a hotel and the clerks are give hotel accommodation to enable them to do their work well.

On Sunday Growing together in Rwanda (GTiR) hosted a lunchtime meeting for 20 people, where Antoine talked about l'Eglise Evangelique des Amis au Rwanda (EEAR) including the schools, Friends Peace House and Elizabeth's work, with projected illustrations. On Sunday evening GTiR had a display at the Groups Fair and a 5-minute verbal presentation in the courtyard.

Tues 1 June
Evening talk to Muswell Hill Friends
About 12 people heard Antoine talk about the EEAR in general and the activity of FPH and Growing Together. We showed pictures of the aspects of the church's work. Elizabeth did some translating.

Weds 2 - Friday 4 June
Visit to Yorkshire, as guest of Arthur Pritchard (clerk of High Flatts Local Quaker Meeting, member of YM Agenda Committee and Quaker World Relations Committee)

Visit to Ackworth School to meet Andrew Ward, co-clerk of Ackworth Meeting and a teacher at the school. The head was away because the school has a week's holiday. AW hoped discussion would lead to benefit for UK and Rwandan students, and would raise the subject of exchange visits with the head. The provision of text books was discussed.

Brief visits to The Mount, Quaker Girls' School, in York, and Bootham School.

Evening talk about EEAR at High Flatts Meeting to 15 Fds from Central Yorkshire and Brighouse West Yorkshire Area Meetings.

Visit to the Quaker Tapestry at Kendal.

Sunday 6 June
Worship at Ealing Meeting
The meeting was beginning the process of discerning its future involvement in GTiR. Antoine described the work of EEAR and spoke about the possibility of EEAR and BYM growing together.

In the evening a meal with the Sender family - Wendy, Peter and Sam.

Monday 7 June
Appointments at Friends House:
Interviewed by Jez Smith for 'The Friend', the British Quaker weekly magazine (founded in 1843).
Discussion with Gillian Ashmore, Recording Clerk. Invited her to Rwanda and especially to Rwanda Yearly Meeting.
Met Laura Shipler Chico, formerly a volunteer in Rwanda for 3 years at FPH, now East Africa Peace Secretary for BYM. Joined for lunch by Jaci Smith (Peace Education Programme Manager) and Lucy, an assistant in Quaker Peace and Social Witness (QPSW). After lunch a meeting with Steve Whiting (Turning the Tide Programme Manager) who will be taking the training in active non-violence for social change to Western Kenya later in the year.

Tuesday 8 June
Visit to Mayfield Primary School, a state school attended by the children of one of the members of Ealing Meeting. Shown the school by Belinda Ewart, head teacher. Visited many classes. Admired the teaching style and the number of adults present in various capacities.

Lunch in the house of Sue and John Flemons, with Martin Raven (all members of Ealing Meeting). Joined by Tewedaj Mekonnen, an Ethiopian woman who attends Ealing Meeting.

Wednesday 7 June
Sightseeing in London: the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, the Thames path, Tate Modern, across the Millennium Bridge to St Paul's Cathedral, bus to Trafalgar Square.

Thursday 10 June
1. Visit to Sidcot School, Winscombe, Somerset
School founded in 1699. Present buildings date from early nineteenth century, with the arts centre completed only last year. The school owns 80 hectares of farm land and hopes to cooperate with Yeo Valley Farms on organic cultivation.
Head: John Walmsley
JW chairs the meeting of UK Friends school heads, which will take place 11-13 June. We understand that Kathryn Bell, head of Ackworth is also interested in arranging visits from Rwandan students and the sending of text books.
JW thought that encouraging gap year students (18-19 yrs old taking a year between school and university) to go to Rwanda as English language assistants or in other roles would be a possibility. He himself would like to visit Rwanda.
On the tour of the school a particularly impressive aspect was seeing children from year 6 coaching children from years 1&2, which they do once every week.

2. Evening event at Taunton Friends Meeting, West Somerset Area Meeting, organised by Zoë Ainsworth Grigg.
The meeting house dates from the 16th century, and has a burial ground as well as a meeting house building. The evening began with shared food, prepared by Zoë and others.

Elspeth Waldie, a member of the Society of Friends, from Purple Field Productions, spoke about her work making films on subjects such as HIV/AIDS, AIDS testing, and domestic violence, for showing to audiences in the countries concerned, who may well be illiterate. Then we watched her film about Centre Marembo in Kicukiro, made in 2006 to show UK audiences a positive view of Rwanda. She gave Antoine copies of 3 of her films, and suggested a return visit to Rwanda.

Antoine talked about EEAR and its programmes, using the photos prepared for earlier talks. Then Elizabeth showed pictures of her perceptions of Rwanda and her work in micro-agriculture. The group showed genuine interest and asked stimulating questions. They suggested making sack gardens with the children in their meetings.

Friday 11 June
Shared evening meal with members of Elizabeth's Growing Together in Rwanda support group, and informal evaluation.

Evaluation

2010-03-08T10:55:00.004Z

Written Sunday afternoon, 7 March

In line with most of the arrangements for this visit, the evaluation was a straightforward process. David, Antoine and I met in David's living room earlier this afternoon, immediately before my departure. Neither of the appropriate people from Friends Peace House was available. David was the organiser for my programme with the church groups and Antoine for the schools. FPH is the locus for HROC so will be involved in my October programme, where I shall be working with groups of Batwa after they have done an introductory HROC workshop,

I suggested that we do the evaluation in French, with pauses for translation or clarification if needed. That gave me the opening to repeat to David what I'd said a couple of days ago to Antoine after several minor frustrations – that I like to be told what's going on, and not have it assumed that I don't want or need to know. 'Perhaps it's a fault in me', I said. 'No, no', said Antoine.

David spoke first. I made notes but they're inaccessible in my checked baggage. (I'm writing in the departure lounge at Kigali. Last time there was free internet access here but this time I'm getting nothing beyond a statement that I'm connected.) Basically he thought communication had gone well, my workshops were well received everywhere, more churches – even other denominations! - are asking for me, he hopes I'll do more on diet and nutrition and try to open people's minds to other than traditional Rwandan cooking methods and recipes.

Antoine started by complimenting me on my youthful vigour! He had translated for me with the CGFK workers and sat in on the sessions with the teachers in Kidaho and Butaro so he'd experienced my work directly. Caption: A was also the driver for the week in Ruhengeri. This view of Muhabura across Lake Burera was taken on the drive from Butaro back to Kidaho.

He was well pleased too. He noted that there had been some problems with translators.

My turn. I don't enjoy holding forth in French without the feedback of conversation, but I did what had to be done. Overall I too had been well satisfied with this visit. There had been some problems with translation – especially in the north where there is said to be a better standard of English but I had to work all the time in French with translators who'd obviously been recruited at the last minute. There had probably been rather too much travelling round and I was quite tired.

I had thought through how the timings might work out in October, with or without the grant from Britain Yearly Meeting. (I shall hear early in April.) I propose spending nearly a fortnight in either Ruhengeri or Cyangugu, to give time for Batwa, schools and women's groups, including seeing how work started this time has developed. If the grant materialises I shall need to spend six working days with Batwa in each of the two regions, leaving me with not much time in Kigali. If it doesn't, I can meet some new local church groups, and perhaps build interest in supplying leaves for the moringa project – they need to be transported (by bicycle) to the processing site by 10am on the day they're picked.

So there's plenty to do. David is encouraging me to work on finding a successor. Antoine would like new topics for conversation classes with the teachers – thank you Anne for the very successful sheet on childhood diarrhoea. I plan to prepare material on nutrition, including the complementarity of vegetable proteins, probably in the form of worksheets to be filled in with words in Kinyarwanda supplied by my translator. (The possibility was raised of my having one translator for the whole visit next time.) I'm hoping one or two groups will invite me and a Rwandan woman – it's too soon to identify her - to go to market with them and prepare some different foods together. People who've contributed money need to be told how I'm using it and invited to give again.

For now, though, I need to pack up the computer and be ready to board the flight to Nairobi. Take-off should be in 10 minutes and obviously won't be, but there's a 3-hour wait scheduled so I expect we'll make the connection for the midnight flight to Heathrow. There's a fiery sunset.

PS: the journey home went fine. It's gloriously sunny here after a frosty start. Plenty to do here, too.

Two walks with Antoine: 2

2010-03-06T17:24:00.003Z

Part Two, Friday

Three times on this visit I have been driven past a run of fish ponds and failed to photograph them. On the third occasion, at the beginning of this week, Danzile offered some intriguing information and Antoine said we would visit them on our way back.

He pulls in to the side of the road and Danzile says she will wait in the car. This avoids the need to park rather better and lock up, but as our walk proceeds I worry that she will be getting very hot. I would have been happy to ask the first workers we meet if they are happy to be photographed and leave it at that. But no, we are going for the full works.

Those first workers are up to their elbows in suds, and producing bowls full of something white and fluffy. Cotton crosses my mind, but only momentarily. As we get closer I can see they are washing small polythene bags. Antoine asks a question and we are directed up a slope into a smart new office building. We greet a receptionist/secretary and she takes us in to her boss, whose business card describes him as Ruremesha Joseph, specialist in continental fishes and pisciculture, inspection and quality control, and 'Economie halieutique'. (L'halieutique peut être définie comme " la science de l'exploitation des ressources vivantes aquatiques" according to Wikipedia.)

He gives us a long narrative in French. I find the strings of figures confusing: are they numbers of fish or francs worth of development funding? (Recapping with Antoine today, I am pleasantly surprised to find he too got lost in 'les chiffres'.)

The enterprise is a joint venture between the district of Muzanze and a business which also operates in Uganda and DRC. In 2003 there was a serious drought and the two lakes of Burera and Ruhondo, whose scenery we have been enjoying all week, lost their fish stocks. Livelihoods and food supplies were at stake. A university offered to produce enough small fry to restock the lakes, but fell short.

I didn't take in all the details, but the site was identified, two small dams constructed and the ponds dug. There must be at least a dozen. Would we like to walk round?

The project manager was a complete enthusiast. He'd trained in France for six months. He had plans for further developments but lack of funding was holding him back. He said much more about breeding than I could follow. I did get the point, however, that this was a natural process – GM is banned in Rwanda.

Fish were imported from Uganda, which is still the source of some of the fish food, though that should change soon. We walked past a series of ponds with fish from the tiniest to the size of a sprat. I started muttering after the second pond and we cut short the tour after four. I'm sorry to have to report that once again my footwear was inadequare, since my walking shoes were drying out on the parcel shelf after Thursday's drenching. The pond margins were quite slippery and occasionally I needed a hand.

A central covered area housed two washing operations – for environmental conservation through re-using the bags in which small fish are transported to various lakes and ponds, and good husbandry through cleaning the fish when mud fouled their gills.

On the other side each pond had a wooden structure on one side, protruding over the water. Danzile had provided the information that these structures were rabbit hutches. Our guide explained that feeding greenstuff to the rabbits and letting their droppings fall into the ponds for the fish to eat avoided the need for shredding the food artificially. The rabbits were allowed to breed and were sold locally for meat.

I was invited up a ramp to look more closely at the rabbits – varieties from Holland and USA as well as a local breed. Fine – I like ladders and there was no mud.

As we made our way back to towards the car our guide spoke of his future plans. He'd like a fishing lake for people to catch their supper, weigh it, and buy it to take home. He didn't want to sell caught fish to eat – I think there may be a contractual prohibition. Antoine asked if he'd thought of opening a restaurant. Oh yes, but at the beginning he couldn't interest anybody.

He stopped in the middle of the footbridge. The stream marked the boundary of Muzanze District so it was a good place for him to part from us. Would I be coming back to Rwanda, he asked. Yes, several more times. Would he try to get his restaurant open by 2012 so I could eat at it? Yes, he'd try.

Two walks with Antoine: 1

2010-03-06T17:23:00.003Z

Part One, Thursday
Thursday 4 March was my last day of teaching - on Friday a meeting to prepare for October's joint project with HROC was planned. Antoine proposed an early finish to the workshop so we could go for a walk. He would like to take me to his wife's family home and his own and it was not possible to drive. Could I walk for perhaps one hour?

I wondered about the weather - it had rained on two afternoons out of three so far, on the edge of the remnant of the tropical rain forest where mountain gorillas used to live side by side with the Twa. By noon the cloud was thickening but no rain had fallen. As we left the workshop after lunch I began to hear rumbles of thunder. Were we still going? Well it's OK so far, said A, and we can get a little way at least.

We left the car outside a church just off the tarmacked road. A told me to bring my computer and camera, just in case of thieves, and I packed them into my handbag, together with umbrella, purse, passport and signal-free phone. We set off, uphill, between small fields of potatoes, millet and cassava. After 15 minutes it began to rain. I took out my umbrella - A had none and he had even forgotten his cap, he observed. We took shelter under the tin roof of an open-sided structure, together with half a dozen men and boys. (I suppose the women kept working in the fields - they do most of the labouring.)

As the first heavy burst subsided, A suggested we carry on. I had an umbrella, didn't I? Our route took us past a primary school, the one he had attended as a boy, where he borrowed an umbrella. It was bigger than mine and he offered to swap. Foolishly I declined.

Onwards and upwards we continued. More of the path disappeared under trickles then torrents. At least the volcanic soil wasn't as slippery as clay, and frequently there were lumps of larva to provide a better footing. I am not at my fittest after weeks without my usual level of activity, but I kept up OK.

The bottoms of A's trouser legs were splashed, then soaked. I was wet well above the knees and nearly to my shoulders. I was concerned for the contents of my handbag, which I was wearing on my back. A few others were on the path but many were sheltering against buildings. Did I want to wait for a bit? No, what was the point? By now my feet were also soaking and I didn't want to get cold standing about.

Time after time we saw a house ahead and I thought this might be the one. We climbed for an hour and a quarter. Eventually I confessed to a headache, probably from the altitude. Was it serious? No, not worth making a fuss. (I couldn't see any intermediate stage between keeping on keeping on or summoning an emergency medical service with unpredictable results. At a later stage A talked about how in the old days the Red Cross would send four men to carry a sick person on a litter.)

At last we reached the compound where some of his wife's family still live. It is only 7 or 8 minutes' walk below the border of the preserved forest on the steep mountainside. The main house was being rebuilt and one of the two households had decamped into a storehouse, very dark, with clothing slung on ropes between the rafters. Antoine was given a large mug of tea. (I later asked him why I was offered nothing and he said he'd declined on my behalf because country tea would upset my stomach; I wish he'd told me.) I took off my wet overshirt and was lent a polyester sweater, removed from the rope and stripped from the shirt inside it, which I was to keep for the rest of the excursion. Bonaventure, the head of ESK (Ecole Secondaire a Kidaho, one of the Friends schools) who is our host for the week, is a brother of the family and a fairly frequent visitor, so it could be returned when laundered.

We probably sat there for half an hour – it seemed outside time. My headache cleared. Somebody commented that we would have done better to visit in the morning – yes, but we were working then. The thrumming on the tin roof lessened. My sopping wet shirt went into my wet bag and onto my back again. My computer, camera, phone and passport were repacked in a paper bag (no polythene bags in Rwanda) inside a sturdy document wallet, which Antoine was to carry for me. He asked for a bamboo cane to help me on the way down and checked it for splinters.

In Rwandan custom, guests are always accompanied a little way when they leave. Antoine's mother-in-law, who must be close to me in age, found shoes and a shawl and came with us; a younger male relative led the descent by a narrower route we had not taken on the way up.

This was the best part of the walk. It stopped raining completely; the path comprised mostly rounded rocks with a good grip; my trousers dried to below the knees. It was beautiful and it was fascinating. As we descended we passed cows and goats and their young herdsmen. The path was strewn with strips of chewed sugar cane. The air bore a slight fragrance of eucalyptus smoke. Others came to greet Antoine and walk part of the way with us, as had indeed been happening at the beginning of the ascent as well.

After only a few minutes it became impossible to ignore the returning rain. I stopped wishing I had taken charge of my camera. Umbrellas went up. The water line on my trousers ascended almost to the bottom of the sweater. Grandmother made her farewells and returned home. After maybe half an hour the young man did likewise.

I began to sense an atmosphere of pilgrimage as Antoine pointed out the border of his family's land, and indeed his own field given him by his parents. We entered a very pretty garden and knocked on a front door. It was eventually opened by a young houseworker and her toddler, but Antoine's brother and his family were not at home. The next house was smaller and simpler. It was occupied by a son of the family who had apparently decided to move in on his own; there were a few pop posters on the walls.

We sat for a few minutes, then left. This was the family house of A's childhood as the youngest of 7, built by his father. In the garden A showed me a rockery, then a bee hive, then the site of his mother's grave. His father had been a well respected farmer and a bee-keeper, he said.

Accompanied by the nephew, in unrelenting rain, we walked to the other side of the family land, looking up hill and down to see its extent. A couple more houses had been recently built for (or perhaps by) other households. The rough track followed the contour. Before the war you could drive a car along here, A remarked. Then umuganda, communal work on the last Saturday of every month, was well organised and things were kept in good order. Now the track was deeply rutted, with occasional sections of rudimentary larva cobbles rising above the puddles. In an instant of inattention to the muddy grass, I fell to the side, not injuring myself but dirtying one sleeve of the borrowed sweater and one leg of my longsuffering trousers.

Maybe half a mile further on, we met A's sister-in-law returning, with two more women. As always, hands were shaken all round and greetings exchanged. Not far now, A said, as we left them.

We reached the car at six o'clock, four and a half hours after leaving it. A handed over the borrowed umbrella to the nephew. The drive back was short. I had just enough with me for a complete change of clothing. Apart from a tweaked intercostal muscle, now well again, no ill effects.

Muhabura in the sunshine on Friday, showing the division between settlement and forest.

Reading 'Lord Jim' in Rwanda

2010-03-06T12:20:00.002Z

In the final flurry of packing for six weeks away, I discarded two novels. By the end of the first week, without company in Burundi, I had finished 'An equal music', which turned out to be a much quicker read than Vikram Seth's other novel, 'A suitable boy'.

'Middlemarch', written for a Victorian audience who also had plenty of time to read, was an excellent choice in October. In the first days, conditioned by a much busier life at home, I read for the story line, eager to get to incidents remembered from previous readings. Then I deliberately slowed down, relishing the visual detail, the moral complexities, the delicious ironies, which sustained me for nearly the whole month. But I hadn't found a successor for this trip.

Reading and blogging are pretty much my only occupations in the evenings. The situation was serious.

There must be libraries containing good English novels in Kigali – indeed I know VSO has a collection of books to lend to volunteers and I could probably throw myself on their mercy. Later I found several books I wanted to read on Ruth and Krystan's two shelves. After a few days in Kigali, however, in Nakumat – one of two westernised town centre supermarkets – buying a grater for the Bucura household I remembered the stand of shrink-wrapped Penguin Classics, where I had bought a copy of 'North and South' to pass the eight hour wait in Nairobi on my way home last time.

The selection was pretty similar - I don't know how often they restock. Nothing was an obvious choice. Then I started weighing the merits of 'Lord Jim'. Conrad's prose needs focussed attention. Indeed one long paragraph can be enough to induce sleep. Despite the volume's slimness, compared with 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles', for example, I decided it would meet my needs. It would not overload my backpack. As far as possible I had avoided Conrad at university, apart from 'Heart of Darkness' which was a set book. I knew my maternal grandfather had been a keen reader, buying first editions, which my parents had given away when clearing my grandmother's house. How my teenage self rued the fact that at ten I had been too young to intervene!

I'm still only a third of the way through, as other books I wanted to read can't be taken with me. The first 30 pages were hard going and I made a couple of false starts. Now at almost page 100 Jim's inexplicable act at a moment of crisis, which leads to his trial, ostracism and disgrace, has just occurred - in the narrative of Marlow, whom Jim chose to listen to his account of the circumstnces which almost justify his moment of shame but which will never come out in the trial. The merchant ship on which Jim is a junior officer, carrying 800 Asian pilgrims acrosss the Indian Ocean, is evidently about to sink, in the night, as a squall approaches, with no time to rescue the pilgrims and not enough boats to accommodate them. In a moment which Jim can't recollect, though he recounts the rest of the night's events in considerable detail, he has saved his skin by jumping into the boat launched by his three despicable senior oficers, like them abandoning ship. Twice in the description of first few hours in which the shame of his situation grows on him he uses the same phrase: 'all in the same boat'. It's literally true. And it prevents him from separating himself from the 'three dirty owls'.

Some of the most poignant stories from the war in Rwanda are those of Hutu who were pressured into killing – often to save their families, not themselves. Still, they did what they did, and horrendous circumstances don't excuse their actions or reduce their prison sentences.

Since 2003 many killers have been released from prison and have returned to their communities where they live side by side with survivors whose relatives they killed. Unable to escape each other: all in the same boat.

And in Rwanda as a whole – a small country, densely populated, with political tension rising ahead of elections later in the year – even those who don't like each other much have to sink or swim together: landlocked and, as it were, all in the same boat.

Open letter to Anne

2010-03-05T17:23:00.001Z

Wednesday 3 March

Dear Anne

Your research on AIVs (African indigenous vegetables) has been invaluable. The sheets prepared by Rob from Mary Abukutsa-Onyanga's Kenyan leaflets have triggered many useful conversations about diet and nutrition. Showing them to seed merchants in Kigali produced seeds for one and blank looks for the others. (The one everybody knows is amaranth, called dodo in Rwanda and lenga-lenga (or renga-renga) in Burundi where they use the Congolese name.)

The neglected one, 'isogi', called spiderplant in English but quite unlike our houseplant, is said to grow wild everywhere but to be too bitter for anybody to eat except the old and the very poor. I took a couple of photos in October each time somebody identified a specimen for me, but they turned out to be dodo after all.

Yesterday I had a breakthrough when the garden workers at College George Fox Butaro (generally called CGF Bo with the letter names in French) identified the photo I took in Byumba of an AIV named 'imbwije' as the cowpea listed in the table comparing nutrients in AIVs and exotics, though I have no confirmation so far. They also showed me yet another AIV called 'isogo'. I photographed that for possible identification later, and I'm wondering if it may turn out to be the African nightshade – it's clearly a solanum.

Today the group of church women at Rugarama went out into a field cum meadow where corn had been harvested and sheep were browsing on a great variety of plants. While the site for the sack was being prepared the oldest woman picked a bunch of greens within a couple of yards of the chosen spot, and gave them to me with a big smile. 'Am I to eat them?' I asked. 'Yes.' 'What are they called? 'Isogo.' They're much better specimens than I photographed yesterday. Then she took my hand and led me a few more yards to a spot where she picked one plant used for treating bad backs in babies (spina bifida?) and another used for open wounds. I said I hoped she was passing on her wisdom and some of the younger women nodded. I later learnt she's a pillar of the church (that's a cliche but it represents what I was told about her), so they probably listen to her.

I was on a roll. 'Is there any isogi here?' I asked. 'No, it's a long way away.' Well, if anybody spotted a plant I'd be very interested. In less than ten minutes somebody came back with a large bunch of flowers and a few leaves. 'Is this isogi?' 'Yes.' Next a second bunch of 'isogo' was produced, to compare the cultivated with the wild. I photographed them all.
Caption: The elusive isogi

Back in the classroom I launched into my usual spiel on the superior nutritional qualities of AIVs, reading out the comparisons. Poor old cabbage is definitely the bottom of the class. But I was wasting my time. For the first time out of ten or more groups, these women knew and used not only the ubiquitous dodo but the others as well. I asked who had taught them. It's the local health centre, where they also give advice on cooking. My translator observes that it's the next step after telling people to make the kitchen gardens now springing up everywhere in the country. Perhaps I shall be happily redundant in a couple of years.

I brought the spoils back to the headmaster's house where Antoine and I are staying. I hope they'll be cooked for supper.

[Later on Wednesday: they were and we all enjoyed them – Danzile, the yearly meeting accountant who came in the car with us and is examining the accounts at the two schools; Bonaventure, the Kidaho headmaster; Antoine and I.]

Speedy

2010-03-05T17:01:00.003Z

Monday 1st March (finished Tues 2nd)
This morning I did the basic version of the basic bag garden workshop in two hours flat.

Find small sack, cut top and bottom off a plastic bottle, ask my translator to turn off his phone (unsuccessful as he kept turning it on again and doing odd bits of business involving sending runners out for phone cards, copying numbers onto slips of paper, and writing long text messages). Five minutes.

Introduce myself and ask the class for their names and roles. I used to skip this sometimes but now realise I was probably being rude. (Class members include cooks, gardeners, the cowman, cleaners, the gatekeeper, the water manager.) Five minutes.

Show diagrammes and photos of various sacks in use, including some recent photos from gardens started in October during or after my workshops. An immediate comment is that this would be useful for people with very little space. Five minutes.

Invite consideration of location for the sack and get thoughtful responses with regard to protection from goats, chickens and children; and proximity to the house for ease of harvesting and watering. I add the importance of a mixture of sun and shade, drawing attention to the tree trunks in some of the photos of productive sacks. Five minutes.

Troop out into the school garden, which has some undistinguished flower beds, a few cabbages and a lot of dry maize stalks still standing. Somebody comments apologetically that they should be preparing to plant again. The class has chosen a good spot, under an avocado tree and out of sight from the classrooms. Filling proceeds quickly. I've told them we're using a 25kg sack for speed but that 50kg is better. The volcanic soil yields plenty of small stones for the core; partly rotted manure is playfully mixed into the soil by many hands; mature vegetable compost is brought and added as further soil is excavated; a eucalyptus sapling is felled and chopped into three stakes (I've stopped being sensitive about cutting down young trees, though when he was translating for me Baptiste did laugh ruefully about how the tree bleeds sap); old banana leaf is shredded to make twine to pull the stakes snugly up against the sack. While they work I spot and collect samples of the three kinds of leaves I'm going to recommend for making liquid fertiliser; my translator, who's a teacher not a gardener, is surprised to see me tuck the samples into my pocket. Forty minutes. One hour gone.

Go back into school dining room, which is our classroom. Wait for second half dozen class members. Are they coming or have they had to get back to work? They're coming. Select next batch of visual aids. Twiddle virtual thumbs. Ten minutes.

Any questions about what we've just done? They want to know straight away about planting. Referring back to the pictures shown at the beginning, I say there are many choices but also some guiding principles. I never know whether that distinction is understood, but it's important to me. Heavy or rambling plants such as cabbages or courgettes at ground level; tall plants with heavy fruits, such as tomatoes or aubergines, on the top where they can be staked; cut-and-come-agains - such as green onions, green celery, spinach – and leeks best for the sides. Five minutes.

Let the group choose the seeds. I have explained that my stock is for several groups and I can give them only ten packets. Steering their choices reinforces the principles outlined previously. Illustrated seed catalogues brought from home fill the gaps between my vocabulary, my translator's vocabulary, the names in French on the seed packets, and the students' knowledge. I wait for them to reach a point of agreement on which to plant in the three locations in this first sack. (They have already said they like the technique and won't stop at one.) I set aside the three choices, and half a dozen more packets. They choose one worker to take charge of the stock. Ten minutes.

Diversion. I was about to give method and recipe for liquid plant food. But there are urgent requests for advice on dealing with pests. What is my view about commercial pesticides (misleadingly called 'medicaments' in French)? I learned only last week that the warnings about waiting before consuming a sprayed crop are omitted from the small quantities sold locally, if indeed they reach the African distributors at all. 'Since you ask my opinion,' I say, 'I will tell you I don't recommend using such products, though I know that sometimes one is desperate to get rid of the pests at any cost. If you do use them, try to wait a week before eating the sprayed vegetables.' Of the organic techniques I am routinely teaching, this brewing of pesticides is the one in which I have the least confidence, but I don't say that. I do say I have tried some of the recipes on my own crops with mixed success. (Memo: find the French word for aphids.) Still, I share what information I have, describing the method and various ingredients. I did have a good report from the CGFK workers of the effectiveness of a concoction of tomato leaves in dealing with caterpillars, so I don't feel too much of a fraud. These students are full of enthusiasm to try various recommended plants. I add tobacco to the list. Ten minutes and time is getting tight.

Back on track. Liquid feed, called plant 'tea' on the teaching materials, is made from three kinds of leaves. These are represented in the samples I collected outside, before the rain cloud came down from the extinct volcano which is our backdrop. When I mention the leaves of leguminous trees as one of the categories, the cowman tells us such leaves are often fed to cows and goats. 'Now I expect you will start to laugh', I tell the class, introducing the subject of using human urine in compost or directly in plant food. But they don't. It is already common practice hereabouts to add one part of urine to two of water for feeding potatoes, they tell me. I've no idea why potatoes should have been singled out. They say the urine should be two weeks old, which is the same age as the plant tea brew before it's ready to be diluted and applied. Ten minutes.

What else can I cover? Oh, I've forgotten to talk about finishing the sack. They need to cut the holes and plant the seeds after I've gone. I had thought we might get the holes cut together but it's still raining and not likely to stop now till mid afternoon at the earliest. I offer to leave the file with six organic techniques if somebody has a flash drive. My translator produces one and the transfer is made. Five minutes.

Time to come to a close. One or two students are nodding. I take a final question or two then wish the class well. Will I come back to see how they've done? I really don't know, but i will if I can. I am formally thanked. They don't seem in a hurry to leave. Two hours are up and it's 12.45.

Lunch will be at one, we've been told. I go to the head's ofice and wait with Antoine. No sign of food. We wander round the grounds, cold and damp. Still no sign of food. It's eventually ready at 2.30. Well, the cooks weren't cooking, they were making a bag garden.

This is where they should have been.

What have I been doing?

2010-02-27T18:09:00.002Z

At this stage of my October 09 visit, nearer the end than the beginning, I wrote a diary of events. It seems the right moment to do so again. I'm sorry the layout is not clearer, but can't see how to improve it.

January
24 (Sun) left England
25 spent long day in Nairobi
26 arrived in Bujumbura before 2am. Afteer sleeping, planned programme for the week.
27-28 bag garden workshop with Kamenge church and clinic women
29-30 ditto with teenage HROC group
31 (Sun) church at Kamenge

February
1-2 workshop with group at Kamenge Friends church
2 (Tue) fly to Kigali
3 plan programme
4-5 revisit projects from October, discuss budget
6 visit Kigali genocide memorial
7 (Sun) Eng lang service at Gasharu Friends church

8-9 morning workshops with CGK workers, making keyhole gdn, afternoons w teachers
10 revision workhop with church women at Kagarama. Supper w Ruth & Krystan
11-12 make keyhole gdn w Byumba women. (Stay overnight)
13 drive to Gisenyi with David Bucura for wedding of Zawadi – HROC worker
14 (Sun) morning off. Meet w Dave Z in afternoon, then visit Antoine's family

15 bus to Cyangugu with Antoine
16-17 morning bag garden workshop with Kamembe women, afternoon sessions w teachers
18-19 bag grden workshop with Cyete women
19 last bus back to Kigali
20 to Nyamirambo for lunch w Ruth & Krystan. Free day basically
21 (Sun) bus to Nyakarambi to visit Dorothy & Vern

22 Kigina school visit w Dorothy
23 Global Schools Partnership w Dorothy, then bus back to Kigali
24 budget meeting w Josephine. Then herb garden work at David B's with Ruth & Krystan
25-26 keyhole garden workshop w Bihembe women
27 free day (ie today) – shopping and meet Solange to discuss October project
28 (Sun) Church at Gasharu, visit Antoine to confirm plans for next week, may see Cecile later

March
1 drive to Kidaho w Antoine. Session with workers then teachers at Fds school there
2 drive from Kidaho to Butaro. Ditto
3-4 bag garden workshop w Fds Church women (? Ruhengeri)
5 meet Joseph – Twa HROC facilitator – to plan for October, then drive back to Kigali
6 budget meeting w Josephine. Evaluation and planning meeting
7 (Sun) fly to Nairobi, then home early Monday. Phew!

English and French

2010-02-27T08:38:00.002Z

President Sarkosy spent three hours in Rwanda on Thursday.

Ever since France's original inaction and later intervention at the time of the genocide, relations between the countries have been bad. The abandoned French Cultural Centre is a symbolic eyesore on one of the main roads into Kigali.

Last year schools were instructed to change European language teaching from French to English, with little notice or preparation. Rwandan teachers of French in private schools (including the 4 Friends' schools) lost their jobs as did some other professionals unable to pass an English test; English speaking Ugandans were sometimes brought in to replace them. This year schools started back a month late, so all teachers could receive a month's intensive English language training.

With a few exceptions teachers, like other Rwandans educated here, struggle with spoken English, even if they can read and write enough to understand an instruction manual or use the internet, for example. In my limited experience, French is the language most commonly used in informal mixed groups of Rwandans and bazungu (whites) to avoid the necessity for translation.

It is probably well recognised by the general public that the change was hasty, even if it makes good economic sense for Rwanda to use the same language as the bigger players in the East African Economic Union – anglophone Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. It is also the case that most government ministers and top civil servants learnt English before French.

Many schools have gone beyond the advice to start English in year 4 and are labouring to use English as the language of instruction from the moment children are in Primary 1, though many primary teachers themselves have little fluency or aural comprehension, as I have witnessed. (Kinyarwanda, the mother tongue for all groups of Rwandans, is, at least, still part of the curriculum for primary and secondary.)

Now President Sarkosy has been welcomed – there were even a few French flags in evidence. On Friday morning's English language news programme on Rwandan radio, President Kagame's speech for the occasion was reported in detail and long excerpts played. While Sarkosy stopped short of a full apology, he acknowledged that grave mistakes had been made in the past. He invited Kagame to a France-Africa meeting in Nice next year and Kagame said he would not only attend but also take a full part.

Then he addressed the question of English or French. Apparently there have been rumours flying for a couple of weeks that the decision to change to English was to be reversed. That didn't happen. The president did say, however, that both French and English would continue to be taught and used, to help Rwandans play their full part in the international economy and world affairs. Perhaps they should be learning Chinese as well, he ventured.

What are the schools meant to do now?

Eat the greens

2010-02-24T19:20:00.001Z

Written Weds 24 Feb

Near the beginning of this visit, I went to look at the sack planted in October at Gasharu Friends Church. It's not it a prime position, as it needed to be tucked out of sight of the many children who pass through. It has a single green pepper growing on the top, and some good sized leeks on the sides. Why has nobody eaten the leeks?

Today I was walking past Mwana Nshuti, a training school for teenagers that is the longest running programme of Friends Peace House. In early and late October I took two photos of one of the sacks, showing how spinach beet planted last February, which was nearly dead at the beginning of the month, had revived when the rains came. I stepped off the lane to get a closer look at the year-old sack: there is copious spinach and three small heads of cabbage.

I took out my camera and four students pulling weeds nearby came to see what was going on. One of them posed next to the sack. Her friends enjoyed seeing the photo.

I had just been asked to advise on how to make best use of the land round the school, farsightedly purchased more than 10 years ago. I declined, offering my usual line that I do gardens, not fields. Debby or David Thomas will be much more use to them.

I tried to talk to the students, but as I expected they had no English of French. What I wanted to communicate was that the spinach needs eating, before it gets tough and dies back again.

Ruth and Krystan, the Canadian couple working with FPH, came to lunch before working for a while with me in David Bucura's productive garden, tryig to establish some demonstration herbs. David was talking about the difficulty of changing African minds, so that new methods and skills once learned can be usefully applied. Local churches and international development agencies are putting a lot of effort into finding ways to empower ordinary people to identify the real improvements that matter and to make them happen.

Malnutrition, affecting both bodies and minds, makes it harder for people to accept new ideas. Projects like mine tackle the problem by showing how nutritious vegetables can be grown simply and economically. Micronutrients could be a real help. Most Rwandans, however, are very conservative in their eating habits. To get the benefit from what you have grown, you have to eat the greens.

I mentioned to David that the leeks at his church need eating too. 'Yes,' he said, 'and the women are busy deciding which sick or old or needy people ought to get them.' I can't fault that.

Development – some vignettes

2010-02-24T19:06:00.005Z

Written Tues 23 Feb

Starting on time
I am in the District Office for Kirehe, a mile's walk with Dorothy (my British Quaker friend on a VSO posting) from her house in Nyakarambi, which I am visiting again.

Dorothy has been telling all the teachers participating in this morning's session – making progress with getting some local schools signed up for Global Schools Partnership (see globalpartnership.org.uk) by teaching some enthusiasts how to use the school laptop to do email – that we start at 8am. On our walk we pass several teachers going the other way. For example Jean Pierre: 'I have to go and ask my headteacher to let me attend the session.' 'Couldn't you phone?' 'No, it is better for me to go.' He might be only an hour and a half late, if he's prepared to pay a taxi-bus fare on the way back.

One of the skills I am painfully acquiring is waiting patiently for things to happen. Five minutes online time with the computer tied up trying to post a photo for my blog I can now survive fairly comfortably, for example. I have not yet found a way, however, to resolve the conflict between my inability to turn up late – except occasionally by accident - and most groups' seriously different interpretation of the meaning of a starting time.

The worst was in Byumba. As we were leaving on the first afternoon the group organiser came to ask specifically for an early start the next day so the finish could also be early. She suggested 8am. I said that was rather early for me as I needed to get breakfast at the Anglican guesthouse then take a moto from the other side of town. Would 8.30 be early enough? She was adamant. I bolted my breakfast, which was served late, paid the moto driver a premium for keeping him waiting 5 minutes, and arrived at 8 precisely - to an empty room. Eugene arrived from the Kigali bus after a minute or two, having left home at 6. The first student came at 8.30. It was 9.30 before we had half the class – enough to begin the day's work. I entirely understand that these women have to organise house and children before they are ready, but why insist on an unrealistic time that I as teacher have to observe? I've asked once or twice whether I too should come half an hour late. 'Oh no, you are the teacher.' (Classes of schoolchildren are quite often to be seen teacherless, but that apparently is different – or supposedly not happening.)

Not only planes but also buses do leave pretty close to the stated time and one can't afford to be late. My bus ticket for this afternoon carries a warning that there will be no refund if I arrive after the bus has gone. Most of the Rwandese with whom I interact personally keep appointments - with me at any rate – within ten minutes of the agreed time. Familiarising the whole population with the practice of the modern world will be a long job, however. Dorothy tells me that 7am is 'hour 1' in Kinyarwanda – an hour after first light. (The hours through the night are not even numbered.) In conversations in Kinyarwanda I sometimes hear appointment times being named in French on the 24 hour clock. It can be just too confusing, when the only meaningful distinction for many people is between now and not now (which may be never). This may explain why mobile phones are switched off with great reluctance and almost always answered, even in church: if not now, will there ever be a right time later?

Electrogaz, generators and solar power
By 9am four or five participants in Dorothy's session are here. But there is no current, so no internet connection – on which the whole morning's work depends. (I am running down my netbook battery as I write now in the expectation of being able to recharge it this evening in Kigali.)

Power for this complex of local government buildings is provided by a diesel generator. The generator needs attention. Motivation to keep generators serviced has diminished as pylons for power supply from Electrogaz, the national electricity supply company, have just been erected locally. So far they bear no cables, Help is on the way, it seems. Generation is from oil, imported by road from Dar es Salaam or Mombasa, vulnerable to congestion at borders, surcharges during political unrest, and Somali pirates. Rising international fuel prices are not yet perceived as a problem.

I see some small solar panels on homes and shops, and several of the new houses being built near here have one or two rising above a roof. (Were they planned before the pylons arrived, I wonder.) They are not cheap to buy or maintain, however, need a clunky battery, and are mostly perceived as a temporary solution to bridge the gap before Electrogaz arrives. I am told (by an Englishwoman living here) that the government is promoting solar power, that an intenet search will reveal plenty of information, and that there is a sizeable installation of panels on one of the hills above Kigali. But few people seem to think any development will be significant – 'It's just one of those government schemes.'
Caption: solar panels on some small shops at theborder. Over the River Akagera on the Tnazanian side, a traditional brickworks.

Fresh milk?
There are quite a lot of cattle in Rwanda. Indeed the number is presumably increasing as the government, despite a recent corruption scandal, promotes its policy of 'a cow for every poor family'. I see many small shops with a picture of a black and white cow – not so many with a traditional brown African longhorn. Fresh milk from such a shop can be taken home - and pasteurised to be safe. Many better off people outside town have a cow or several, and use the milk from their own source.
Caption: a splendid example of an African longhorn.

A hot drink bought in a cafe often comes from a vacuum flask containing a mixture of boiled milk and water, with or without a litle tea and ginger. But buying safe fresh milk is not straightforward. Refridgeration requires electricity. In one of my groups recently I asked how many used milk and not a single hand went up: it's too expensive.

The commonest brand of UHT comes from Uganda. I'm told some is produced in Rwanda but I haven't seen it. On a drive with David Bucura we passed an industrial ruin which he said had been a milk factory before 1994 (the year of the genocide). Can that be a complete explanation for the lack of significant progress towards this aspect of self-sufficiency?

In restaurants and the homes I visit, the milk served with tea or coffee is usually dried. Called Nido, it is made by Nestle. It's expensive. It comes from Holland.

Friends in Cyete

2010-02-20T10:00:00.004Z

Written Fri-Sat, 19-20 Feb

We were half a hour into day one of my introductory workshop – the one where we make a bag garden and talk about the forest ecosystem and human population pressure, composting and rubbish. The group of 12 women included the pastor – one of very few such women in the Friends Church of Rwanda. She left the group for a few minutes and came back with an urgent request. Would I mind if they prayed for a sick child? Of course not. (The picture shows some of the participants in a quiet moment.)

Into the church was led a teenage boy, looking completely shut down, as though tranquilised. An older man, presumably his father, had him firmly by the back of the hand, whether for reassurance or restraint I couldn't tell. A bench was brought into the middle of our working space and the boy encouraged to sit. The women surrounded him. Several, including the pastor, began tapping his back, his shoulders, his chest, then increasing the intensity till they were pressing pretty hard. All were praying aloud. One, alternately shouting a single word and making a harsh sound like a dog's bark, had her face within an inch or two of the boy's, rubbed her hands over his head and and pulled his ears from time to time. Then he was roughly shaken, though not toppled. After about 5 minutes the voices became calmer then ceased. The pastor spoke softly to the boy. I think she asked a question but he didn't reply. He was led away

We had about 10 minutes remaining before the scheduled morning break. I felt unable to return to my topic as though nothing had happened. I said to the group that in my worshipping community of Friends we didn't do what they had just done. I asked them to explain to me what had been happening. The boy had not been sick previously, they said. He was possessed by a devil. He had been working with his mother in their field and had suddenly fallen to the ground. Later – I don't know how much later – he had run to the lake and tried to drown himself. They were doing as Jesus had instructed his disciples, casting out devils in Jesus' name.

I lead a sheltered life in England, socially and religiously. For all I know the same practice may occur within walking distance of my home.

I don't have a better explanation for the boy's condition or a better remedy. The next day I asked after him. The tone of the reply was matter-of-fact: 'Il est gueri.' He is better? He is cured? He is healed? Does it matter which?

The church at Cyete has an area of floor where bricks give way to boarding. (When I was here dancing 2 years ago we skirted the area nervously.) I now know why: last weekend, visiting Antoine's family, I was surprised to be shown photos of the total immersion baptism of the three teenage children and checked that it was indeed in the Friends Church at Kagarama. We don't do that in Quaker Meetings in England either.

It hasn't seemed right to make an issue of the theology, and so far I haven't even asked what distinguishes Friends (Quakers) from other protestant Christians here. (I see from the emailed minutes of our recent business meeting that Ealing Meeting has declined the opportunity to contribute to a leaflet from local churches to be handed out at the Good Friday procession of witness to a church in the town centre, which a few Friends support with their presence.) My translator the other day was Silas, a teacher at the Kamembe Friends School and a theology graduate. He was eager to talk about George Fox, about his emphasis on personal spiritual experience, and about how Friends emphasise the gospel of love above strict adherence to rules.

In Britain our weekly Quaker magazine, The Friend, has frequent spates of letters on the question of whether Quakers are Christians. Am I doing what I do here as Christian mission? No, I don't think so – and the denial is not entirely because of my negative perception of the cultural baggage brought by well-meaning Christian missionaries in Africa. Would I be here if I were not involved in the spiritual community of Ealing Quaker Meeting? Probably not.

Collecting soil to go in the sack.

Two gallants

2010-02-18T15:35:00.001Z

It's 6pm on Tuesday and we've been in Cyangugu – or rather in its hilltop extension of Kamembe – for 24 hours. This time yesterday three of us got off the bus: Antoine and I and Emmanuel, a geography teacher from CGFK, with whom I have worked twice now, on his way to promotion as a head of department at the Kamembe Friends school.

I hardly recognised my backpack as it emerged from the luggage store at the back of the bus – it was covered in fine red dust. As we wait at the side of the road for Antoine to make phone contact with our hosts, Emmanuel dusts off the rucksack, ensuring that the dust blows away from me, not onto my navy skirt. When I hear that we're to travel by moto to the rendezvous, I take out my hoodie and put it on for warmth, only to discover to my embarrassment a series of stains down the front and round one pocket. 'Oh my mother,' says Emmanuel, 'That is very sticky.' And he scrapes at one of the marks with his keyring. 'My mother'... I am honoured.

The three motos are selected. My fully stuffed rucksack is on my back and my handbag across my chest. I also have a cloth bag full of teaching materials. (Next time I'll bring a cabin-sized suitcase, but that may turn out to be the wrong choice then.) Antoine has a soft bag of clothing and a computer case; Emmanuel a medium sized suitcase. How the motos will carry us and the luggage I don't know. Can I hold my teaching bag and not fall off? My last moto ride took me down an exceedingly bumpy back lane when I had reckoned on a smoother route. Dorothy, my VSO friend, says she's heard that moto riding is good for the core muscles – I can well believe it, because the only hand hold is low behind one's saddle, leaving much of the work of gripping to the seat of the pants, as it were. I put on the inadequately fastened passenger helmet, mount, and hope for the best. Just as we are about to take off Emmanuel, whose driver has loaded the suitcase up front, extends a hand. 'Grandmother,' he says, 'Give me that bag.'

The walk to the church and school this morning after last night's heavy rain is torture. I have my respectable teacher's shoes on my feet and my sandals in my backpack ready for gardening. Antoine leads the way, along first a tarmacked road, then well beaten dirt, then by degrees increasingly slithery and sticky mud. If I had known I would have changed my footwear at the beginning, but now it is too late: there is no way I can open my rucksack without putting it down, extract my sandals, change my shoes, and put the muddy ones back in a plastic bag in the rucksack. I am lagging further and further behind Antoine, the mud sucking at my shoes and frequently pulling them off my heels. Tiny steps feel safest but the hummocks of solid mud between the puddles of slop are not closely spaced.

Ten minutes or so later, we arrive at the school gate, beside the church. There are two shoe scrapers, both clogged with mud right up to the top. (When we were here two years ago Mark or Demi would have commandeered a spade and restored function.) The mud protrudes from the front and sides of my shoes; clinging under one heel is a large clump of vegetation. I try to scrape one foot at a time along the side of the drain in front of the headmaster's office, but my rucksack is quite heavy and I fear losing my balance together with what remains of my dignity.

Emmanuel is among the small clump of onlookers. We all greet each other – no degree of discomfort precludes that. I am told to come inside, muddy as I am. I change into my sturdy if inelegant sandals and my shoes are taken away to be cleaned. Five minutes later the morning's formalities are over and I leave with Tertullian for the short walk to the teaching room for the women's group. As I emerge Emmanuel considers my feet. 'Grandmother,' he says in what might be a teasing tone, 'Those are not the shoes for a teacher.'

Caption: On Weds the lane still loads my sandals with mud. A kind workshop participant washes them with soap and water.

At the end of the morning's teaching the women and I walk to Tertullian the pastor's house. The lunch arrangement has been changed again, I note. Thunder is rolling but only a light drizzle has fallen. By the time my class of teachers for the afternoon session arrives to join the group for lunch, a burst of heavy rain has been replaced by something lighter but steady. I am sitting next to James, a young teacher of accounting, brought in to make up the numbers because not enough science teachers want to take part in my two classes. We chat. At the end of the meal there are introductions again – the teachers and the women don't all know each other – then a few words from me. James is asked to translate and does it pretty well. Tertullian invites us to wait for the rain to let up before the 5 minute walk back to school, but after half an hour it is decided that the rain has set in so we'll just have to get a bit wet. I produce my umbrella and get a round of applause.

Walking back to school is not bad in my stout sandals. The one woman among the group of teachers slithers in her light sandals before changing into something plastic and more serviceable. Two of the men tuck their trouser bottoms into their socks.

At the end of the discussion class an hour later the rain is still persistent. It is time to make my way back to the lodging. Antoine and I have agreed to meet there instead of waiting for each other at school. I have noted the name of the place, and I ask the departing group if somebody can point me in the direction of the short cut Antoine mentioned in the morning. James volunteers to set me on my way. I observe that both he and Tertullian have wellington boots. We retrace the morning's steps, from the worst mud to the less threatening. At least my sandals stay on my feet.

We turn to take the short cut. At first it seems no worse than anything else, until round a bend there is a steep descent. James firmly seizes my wrist. I slither and he checks me. Back on level ground he points out the roof of Umucyo Lodge and Bar, our destination. But the lane has become a path, and so steeply descending I don't know if I can manage at all. Again he holds me in a firm grip. At one point we edge sideways along a domed ridge around the top of an enormous puddle. Young women coming in the other direction laugh at the sight of the poor bedraggled muzungu. Going up wouldn't be so bad, I think.

After a few more slithery yards we come to the relative security of a flight of uneven steps, running with water which at least washes off the worst of the mud. We turn onto the road and James delivers me to the gate. I offer to buy him a drink but he has to go. Perhaps tomorrow?

Thank you, James. Thank you for your youth and strength, your local knowledge, and your thick-soled wellington boots. I hope it won't be quite as wet tomorrow.

In Kamembe

2010-02-18T15:23:00.001Z

Written on Monday evening 15 Feb

A new bedroom, a new set of plusses and minuses.

The plusses: an electric socket in the bedroom and another in the bathroom, both working (except during power cuts), so I can charge both laptop and camera batteries; a light strong enough to read by (and they moved me from the room down the corridor where the light only stayed on if you kept pulling the switch cord); two pillows (I brought the second one from the abandoned room); a couple of hours to myself before it's time to sleep. The big minus: the water tub is empty, the tap is dry and it's raining far too heavily to negotiate the steps and courtyards btween here and reception. I have drinking water so I can clean my teeth – washing and flushing must wait.

Most of today has been spent on the bus between Kigali and Cyangugu, in the south west corner of the country, with DRC on the other side of the river outlet from Lake Kivu. Antoine, who is now superintendent of the 4 Friends Schools, has brought me and made the introductions. We shall breakfast and sup together but otherwise go our separate ways. I have met my two organisers – one from the church to accompany me and translate for the two women's groups in the mornings – Tues-Weds and Thurs-Fri – and the head from the school who is drafting 8 teachers – preferably of science subjects – for afternoon sessions on Tues and Weds. Photocopies have been made of Anne's sheet on childhood diarrhoea, which was very well reeived last time at CGFK. Tertullian, my translator, has taken the bag garden diagramme overnight to make sure he can assemble all the materials I shall need.

And we've done the budget – quite an achievement. Josephine, the Freinds Peace House accountant, has given Antoine a bundle of cash but it turns out to be less than we need. It will be the middle of next week before I can see J to sort out the discrepancy. Meanwhile we make the best of what we have. Arrangements for mid morning snacks and lunches have not been made. We consider using the services of the restaurant at the hotel but by the time we've added in extra for transporting the food and considered the mediocre quality of our supper it's decided to use the school kitchen, with the added benefit that there will be fruit with lunch. That's all for Tues and Weds; on Thurs and Friday the women's group is at an outlying church and they will provide the lunch themselves (so the cash will have to be got to them to buy ingredients).

I have fetched pen and paper. Writing and counting in a mixture of French and English, handling input from 5 voluble men, and still getting confused over the number of zeros on everything (1,000 Rwandan francs is just over £1), I do a less than perfect job, though the discrepancy that needs sorting out is under £5. Antoine's bundle contributes 145,000 rwf; I add 23,000 from my personal money, to be squared with Josephine later. My hotel room is ridiculously cheap by Kigali standards, at 5,000 rwf per night. The programme budget is not going to be over-stretched.

It's still raining. I shall clean my teeth, spread the mosquito net, and relax with a book of short stories by Uwem Akpan, a Nigerian Jesuit priest the blurb tells me, borrowed from Ruth and Krystan, the Canadians to whom I bequeath my spare books.

The view over Lake Kivu to DRC from outside our lodging

After my own heart

2010-02-14T19:26:00.001Z

Written and posted on Sunday 14th

The wife of the newly appointed pastor in Byumba, Yvette Marcelline, is the star of the class from October. It is to their garden that we repaired on Thursday and Friday to construct a keyhole garden. When I asked for compost it came – and nearly free of rubish. As we heaped the soil round the central basket Francois-Xavier, the pastor (and HROC facilitator) suggested cow manure, and that too arrived by the bagful. 'That could be enough', I suggested after 4 or 5 bags had been emptied. 'We have plenty,' he said.

Would they show me where the manure was coming from? They led me round the back of the outhouse, through a low gateway where we had to duck, and onto a small area of compost heaps - turned and new; manure heaps and a pool of black liquid; 3 storey planting of beans, cassava and fruit trees; senna branches with pods, to keep the cows healthy; a glorious view of the hills beyond. Then to the cowshed. Was that a native breed? No, she's a jersey, and we have 3 more out at pasture. (It was her slim build that misled me.) As we completed the circuit F-X showed me the wood stove with a chimney vent to protect the cook from smoke inhalation, and then his newest pride and joy – an avocado plant about a foot high, twice grafted, from which he hopes to get 3 varieties.

When I was doing VSO in Singapore in the mid 60s, travelling between school terms to Borneo, Thailand and Cambodia, I found myself frequently taking pictures of plants and cultivation to send home for my father. (The slides have faded badly: how will today's digital records fare?) In his childhood in Edwardian London he knew hunger. It was from him that I learnt about grafting fruit trees – not something I've yet tried for myself. Is it from his influence that I am doing this work now, encouraging sustainable cultivation and better nutrition? I'm certainly no expert. I wish I could find the way to recruit some volunteers withbettr knowledge and training. Meanwhile I offer what I can; I genuinely protest that there is much my Rwandan students understand far bettter than I do about their soil, their climate, their plant varieties. It was not a reasoned decision that brought me here: I am following a path with heart.

[pics to follow]

After the break

2010-02-14T10:30:00.002Z

After the break, back to work with a vengeance.

It's now Thursday evening, 11 Feb, and I'm in the Anglican guest house in Byumba, chosen in preference to going back to Kigali by bus this evening and out again tomorrow morning, an hour and a half's ride each time. The evening meal is billed to start at 7.30 but it's now 7.55 and the dishes are not yet being lined up for the buffet service. Fortunately I can see from my room so I don't have to keep going to look.

This morning was the start of my fourth group in as many days. On Monday and Tuesday mornings I constructed a keyhole garden with the workers (ground staff) from CGFK, working in French with Antoine as my translator; in the afternoons I worked with a group of 8 CGFK teachers in English, discussing nutrition and development; yesterday I had a day with 15 women from Kagarama who had worked with me before but not all in the same group, with good English translation from Joyce, whom I first met two years ago; today it was pretty much the same group of 15 at Byumba as in October, but working in French not English. (Bonheur is in South Africa. My translator here is Eugene, who was the pastor here in October but has now gone to take charge of all the training work at Friends Peace House in Kigali: he is stopped every few yards in the street by people wanting to greet him.)

Keyhole gardens - so called because the footprint is like an old-fashioned keyhole, with a pathway to a circular compost basket in the centre - are fairly common here. I've seen some very productive ones, and some that look OK from a distance but are missing either the enriched soil or the essential central compost basket. I'm told the government is promoting their construction and that people avoid possible trouble by constructing something that looks right even if the principles have not been grasped.

At CGFK you might say we were denying the essential principle by putting our construction in an already productive vegetable patch, but I told the group they were learning the technique so they could apply it elsewhere. Similarly today in Byumba we worked in an already well-tended garden, with a good collection of sacks established since October. But I don't have time to coax a group to assemble materials and make progress in a difficult location, and people are constantly assuring me that what I teach is passed on. All I can do is trust.

Caption 1: the CGFK workers begin to heap soil round the compost basket.

At 8.25 the young man from reception knocks on my door. 'The meal is ready now.' 'Thank you but I've decided not to eat this evening.' (Fortunately I was not able to pay in advance because there was no change.) Really I don't need another meal and I could do with the sleep. I do hope breakfast is ready in the morning early enough for me to get some before leaving for an 8 am start.

Caption 2: I demonstrate how to strengthen the basket with string. Behind us is the productive garden, with local greens I have yet to identify.

[CGFK is the College George Fox a Kagarama, one of 4 Friends Schools in Rwanda. Sorry, but I can't do accents. Kagarama is a suburb of Kigali, the base for the Friends Church.]

Kigali genocide memorial

2010-02-09T14:24:00.008Z

Two British brothers who were profoundly moved by Yad Vashem, the genocide memorial in Jerusalem, as I had been in 1964, founded the Aegis Trust, to enable the creation of this memorial on the edge of Kigali. I knew I had to visit. The information is no longer new to me – how the Belgian colonisers fixed the previously fluid categories of Hutu and Tutsi; how having ruled through the Tutsi minority they started promoting Hutu in the last years before independence; how violence kept breaking out; how the genocide flared in April 1994 and the international community did nothing to stop it, even withdrawing UN forces after evacuating the white people...

Beginning with the outside part of the memorial, as recommended, after walking around and between the mass graves where new bodies are still being interred, I visited a series of gardens. At first I thought them simplistic but now in retrospect their simplicity creates thoughtfulness without analysis.

Inside I read every word in English, watched every video clip, looked at every photo. I wasn't hassled out into the rain at closing time but given a few extra minutes. The final section presents other genocides throughout the twentieth century in Namibia (the Herero people), Armenia, Germany, Bosnia... What is there to say? 'Never again'? If only!

Business and pleasure

2010-02-06T08:36:00.003Z

Writen on Friday evening, 5 Feb

Friday morning
I spend a couple of hours at Friends Peace House. My first task is explaining what will be needed for follow-on workshops where I'm hoping the groups will construct a keyhole garden. I was delighted yesterday to see some very healthy bag gardens. (To the left: onions and kale; above: tomatoes, parsley and Rwandan spinach, all in the school and church grounds.) I am reasonably confident that what I start will be continued – a necessary condition for even short-lived success since the planting can't be done till the soil has settled for a week or two, by which time I will have moved on.

Then there is the budget negotiation. For the first time I am an active participant. In October I was present but the 'owners' of the various groups, working in Kinyarwanda which I couldn't follow, shared out the total I had brought, and when I later saw the accounts each event had cost exactly 100,000 or 150,000 Rwandan francs as budgeted, though some involved travelling and/or translation and others didn't. David has suggested using exact figures for costings this time, as is done for HROC events, which are also funded by AGLI.

This time the programme money, from UK and US donors, has already been sent by AGLI to Josephine, the Friends Peace House accountant. It is almost exactly the same amount as I brought last time. I am prepared to top it up if necessary, rather than trim my schedule, but I'd like to see the figures first.

To work, then. Yesterday David asked how many participants I thought there should be at each event. Already the phoning round has begun, alerting local organisers to how many to recruit. We establish a daily price for meals and 'tea breaks' at each location (dearer in Kigali) and arrive at an exact sum for participants' food – a major item at each event. We add my food, travel and out-of-town accommodation; communication (by phone); translators' fees, food etc; seeds. I say we don't need to provide notebooks and pens for the small amount of optional note taking. I am surprised and relieved to see the interim total is comfortably within budget, though some of the travel and accommodation costs for later weeks are not yet known. If necessary the budget will stretch to buying sacks or other materials, and paying for some photocopying. It might cover a private taxi into town for an early bus a couple of times. There is even a small contingency fund, in dollars not yet converted.

At the evaluation meeting at the end of my last visit, I asked to be more of a participant in decisions being made concerning my work. I feel pleased that has happened over the budget as well as over my schedule. Good.

We finish at noon. Regular readers will remember how much of my time and energy has been taken up on previous visits by struggles to get enough internet time. There is a new phone and internet provider in Rwanda whose prices are said to be very reasonable; I decide to buy a modem/dongle for my netbook, and put an end to using other people's computers and office space.

Jean Baptiste, a young yearly meeting employee, whom I also know as choir leader at Gasharu Church, is released from other duties for an hour or two to accompany me to the shop where I shall get set up. He is happily using Tigo, the new provider, and his office netbook is almost identical to mine.

I buy the modem, which plugs neatly into a USB port. Baptiste almost doesn't want to wait to load it but I say I shall be happier doing it where help is available if needed. Connection should happen automatically and in seconds. But it doesn't. The first assistant has no success trouble-shooting and turns to a colleague who has no success either and phones a boss who will be there in 20 minutes. Baptiste gives his phone number to the assistant and we go to look for something to drink, at least. It is now 1.30. We try to order a quick lunch, but anything will take at least 40 minutes so we make do with a cold drink.

The boss arrives on time, and goes ever deeper into the Linux operating system. Meanwhile I read the user guide, which mentions Mac and otherwise assumes Windows. I am advised to install some Linux updates, which I can't do here because I'm not connected! The two big supermarkets in town have free internet access. The deal is that I'll take the modem and go and try to do what has been suggested. If it doesn't work they'll give me my money back. The netbook battery is down to 40%.

Jean Baptiste phones David Bucura, his boss, and gets permission to accompany me. This is nice, though not strictly necessary as I am confident of every bit of the process apart from finding the bus boarding point to get back to Tigo if I have to. We get to Simba Supermarket at 3.30. I offer to buy us both lunch. Baptiste has been here before several times, and has been introduced to the beefburger. I learn that he is a theology graduate from Kampala, which explains his good English.

I am given the internet password, and google as instructed. Now what? There are discussions of named updates, descriptions of updates to come, theoretical articles about updating... But where is the item that says 'Click here to update your Linux'? I hunt, Baptiste hunts. My battery is getting lower. Food comes. Enough!

Baptiste's phone rings: it's his father, who is not often in Kigali and is hoping to see him, having sought him in vain at the church office. We've done all the work we can, so we invite him to join us. He turns out to be a long-time colleague of David B, from when Friends first came to Rwanda 20 years ago and the yearly meeting was established. I buy him a drink. Baptiste gently mentions that his father has had no lunch; I invite him to eat and Baptise encourages him to try a beefburger. While we wait for the food, he asks about my work. Fortunately I thinned the images on my camera card last night, so I am able to show a brief selection from Burundi, including some bag garden classics of hands around sacks. Father and son are delighted to see pictures of the new church construction as well. Friends here admire the pioneering work of Burundi Friends, the first church to move into war-torn Kamenge. They are pleased to hear that David Nyonzima is still pastor there.

At 4.30 Jean Baptiste's father has eaten his beefburger and chips and smilingly shows off his empty plate – he has passed the test! With distinction, I add. He sets off across the road for his bus home to Ruhengeri. I shall go back to Tigo. Baptiste has choir practice at 5 but he does have time to help me find the right bus – not where he had expected. I get my refund and directions for the 10 minute walk to Remera bus garage, where I learnt from Rachel two days ago how to get home.

I pick my way down the rutted lane, now nearly dry. I walk into the house just after 6pm. No modem, but a thoroughly pleasant 6 hours nonetheless.

Rain and roads

2010-02-06T08:33:00.002Z

Written on Friday morning, 5 Feb

The heatwave is over. Yesterday at the end of the afternoon it poured with rain as David and I were in his car. The window on the passenger side is stuck half open and he hasn't got round to having it fixed. (The practical priority at the moment is getting a couple of doors re-hung in the house. Yesterday morning he fetched the workman and took him to the house, but the electricity was out and the man now depends on power tools.) For most of the journey it wasn't too bad, then we changed direction. My waterproof jacket was at home but I had an umbrella. Opened inside the window it didn't d0 a bad job.

David and his nine-year-old daughter Dina were about to set off for a keep fit class at his church, offered on Thursday evenings at present by one of the church members who is a PE teacher. But the rain cam back even heavier. Going was pointless, as nobody would be able to get there. It rained for several hours.

This morning it's overcast and damp but not actively raining. The temperature has dropped by about 15 degrees C I would think. After last night's scouring the lane from D's house up to the metalled road is patterned with deep gulleys. I comment that I wouldn't like to be driving here. 'Oh', says David.'Is it the roads?'

I take the opportunity to fill in my background understanding of how things work here. Who is responsible for the lane, I ask. We are, says D. 'We' is a group of around 30 neighbouring households, the smallest unit of lcal government. The leader is elected but not paid (and that can lead to petty corruption). No, there are not a lot of candidates – as at home, I say. There are monthly meetings to which D usually sends his house worker, Jean de Dieu; he thinks that the last time he went himself was 4 or 5 months ago.

I know that the last Saturday of every month has a few morning hours designated for community work. (In Bujumbura, with a similar system, I could get a cup of coffee at breakfast time only because the cafe staff knew me and took pity on my ignorance.) Would the neighbours get together to patch the lane? Yes, eventually: it's already nearly too bad to ignore. How often does it get patched? About twice a year.

Back in Kigali

2010-02-04T13:43:00.000Z

Weds evening, 3 Feb

Leaving Bujumbura on a hideously expensive 30 minute flight yesterday, I was looking forward to a more comfortable temperature in Kigali. Not for long: the pilot cheerfully told us it was 32C at 5.30 in the evening. It's not just that I have left Britain in winter: everybody is remarking on the heat and here they are saying it must be climate change. I tried the term 'climate chaos', which I now prefer, on Rachel, my hostess (David Bucura's wife) and she didn't demur.

I slept for more than 10 hours in a quiet house where even the dog barked quietly when something moved in the night. Then after breakfast David presented an outline programme, to be firmed up tomorrow. He is responsible for the work with the women's and church groups, Antoine for the school contacts. (Antoine is no longer the head of the Friends School here in Kigali at Kagarama but has been promoted to superintendent of all 4 Friends schools in the country. I expect to be visiting 3 of them.)

Rachel leaves tomorrow for Nairobi, where she has 4 more months to complete her masters in counselling. We went into town together. The bus journey requires one big bus or two little ones. Fortunately for me we got on a little one, so I could learn how to change over in Remera bus station. I wrote down the name of our stop: Chapere, and the name of the district to check with the driver: Samuduha. I have no memory for meaningless words. On our return we get off the bus beside a little church, whose board says 'chapelle'.

We both changed money; I went seed shopping, while Rachel bought her bus ticket for tomorrow. (The journey takes 24 hours but flights are just too expensive.) The local seed company, Agrotech, had a much better selection than previously, including several herbs, which had seemed almost unknown. (It's om my schedule to se about making a demonstration herb garden.) Another innovation was a computerised system which gave me a printed list of all 18 kinds of seed instead of a hand-written scrap with a bare total. The Kenya Seed Company, a few shops further down, had some of the same staples and a few additions: a second variety of tomato, chard, kale (known here as sukumawiki – the Swahili name usually translated as collards), and spinach – especially useful for the sides of the planted sack which is my first project with every group. I have packed up samples for Burundi, where the choice was very limited, and will ask the church office to find somebody to take them to Alex – contact between the two yearly meetings is frequent.

I see more multi-storey buildings going up each time I come here, though many remain unfinished. Very pleasing to me is the increase in size and number of street trees, though most don't yet cast deep shade. Town was very crowded, and Rachel said the extra people were students preparing to return to school. All the schools have been closed for an extra month at the end of the long holiday while the teachers have training for teaching in English. A month is certainly better than nothing.

I didn't take my camera into town, and I didn't see anything I would have liked to capture. I was sorry, however, not to have had it when I went for supper with Alex on my last evening in Bujumbura. Hearing that I had not seen the lake other than from the aeroplane, she took me a few hundred yards from the house she shares with the two QPSW workers to a place called the Sunset Bar but nicknamed the hippo hole. There we sat sharing a drink, counting three solid dark shapes in the water as the light faded and glad of the protective netting even if it did mar the view.

Kamenge Friends Church

2010-01-31T18:59:00.000Z

Sunday 31 Jan

The plan is for me to attend the whole 3-hour service at the Friends church in Kamenge, a block away from the clinic where my workshops have been held. My lift from Adrien is not very prompt, so I miss the first half hour. As we drive up and ease into a parking space, I notice a lot of people clustered round the church building, some looking in and some greeting and talking to each other. Florence arrives and takes me to a side door. Two chairs are reserved for us, next to the various pastors, at right angles to the children's benches. Florence says there are probably 1000 people inside; they need to be getting on with the larger church being constructed adjacent to this building, so the others can fit inside.

As we sit down and greet our neighbours, a group of a dozen men makes its noisy way onto the raised area at the front. They are enacting the Israelites' journey through the desert from Egypt. Moses, with a briefcase, is being berated, quite fiercely, by the other men. The props for the others are staves, bundles and baseball caps. They shout at him, he sings a prayer (which they harmonise). Ah! God tells him what to do. He crouches down, banging his stave along the ground. The men huddle near the ground, obscured by the lectern, keyboard etc. The tension eases. They get out their plastic mugs – the same design as for drinking water in the workshop yesterday – and drink deep. They leave to cheers and applause.

Visitors are welcomed. I go to a microphone, with Florence beside me to translate. I have never spoken to so many and I say so. I read part of my travelling minute, using its quotation from Ecclesiastes and a verse from Genesis to show cultivating the ground as doing God's work. Enough.

Several choirs sing, each performing 2 songs. One choir has two young male soloists who jump about vigorously throughout. (Later they do a double act with shakers and fancy stepping during the offertory.) Each choir has rehearsed carefully and accompanies the words with gestures. In front of me many of the older children join in quietly with words and actions. Some members of the congregation sing along. As each group leaves the raised area there are cheers and applause.

After the offertory, the children file out and their benches are carried to various spots under trees. Next the sermon. It lasts almost an hour. The preacher uses not only his voice, highly amplified, but also his whole body. As he describes how Jesus saved him from being murdered by a gang, he writhes and throws his head back, calling out to heaven. He moves from Deuteronomy to Matthew, exhorting everybody to act lovingly to at least one needy person. The address is frequently punctuated with 'Alleluia' 'Amen'. Florence moves between calling out suggestions, joining in general responses and giving me a translation – usually of the bible passages I have in front of me.

It is very, very hot. I excuse myself and slip outside for 5 minutes. At least there is an occasional breeze. When I come back to my place Florence commiserates: 'Only 15 minutes more.'

The heat and the sound level are almost unbearable. So why don't I walk to the bus stop and take myself home? Well, it's tempting, and I know the way well enough not to be an obvious target for a thief. On the other hand, there's something uplifting about the mood of rejoicing in this huge community. We've had theatre and a concert. As well as Adrien and Florence I see Edith, my translator for the workshops, Alexis, the clinic doctor, and many of my students. Children and adults greet me, taking my hand or embracing me. I feel genuinely welcome in this community of faith.

Harvest and seed time

2010-01-29T06:17:00.013Z

Caption: Marcelline harvesting maize

Caption: taking a share of the harvest

Behind the clinic at Kamenge, a poor suburb of Bujumbura where my workshops are taking place, is a piece of land which might eventually be used as a hostel for patients. Meanwhile at the far end by the back gate is a small room with tables and chairs, and a kitchen area with bamboo walls, partly roofed. This is a small restaurant - not just a canteen for the clinic. It raises around $50 a week, which is used for micro-credit loans for HIV+ patients.

The rest of the land is waste ground, I have been told. Last July, US work-campers here asked me for advice by email on how to start cultivation and I advised making compost. Even when Alex arrived in November, nothing was planted. When I looked at the site for the sack garden project on Wednesday we walked into an enclosure of full grown maize underplanted with sweet potatoes. The soil is rich. I thought I must have seriously misunderstood something. Or was there another adjacent barren plot?

The explanation was simple: Marcelline, one of the clinic staff, had decided to make a start.

On Thursday, even as we were planting the seeds in our sack, she fetched a machete, summoned a helper to carry the cobs, and cut the crop. Alex, my American colleague, commented that she had only ever seen harvesting done by machine.

I gave a variant of my usual lesson on rubbish and compost - how new materials such as plastics need treating differently from organic rubbish, how dangerous are the fumes from burning plastic, how we need to learn new habits for new circumstances. How it is up to the people who live here to decide whether to do anything new, while my contribution is to sow some seeds of ideas.

I had thought the clinic might start a demonstration compost heap, using the peelings from the restaurant kitchen of course. As the session broke up I heard that they were going further: they also planned to divide up the land to give small plots to patients with no gardens. (This will be even better than trying to establish sack gardens in odd corners, because gardening will become a social activity.)

At the end of the afternoon session Marcelline was all smiles and excitement. I was taken to the room that serves as a laboratory where testing for HIV and diabetes is carried out. The cobs were divided into heaps all over the floor. There must have been at least a hundred. Alex and I were asked to help ourselves. I took two. Then the workshop participants and staff members were invited to take a pile each.

I brought my two cobs back to the office, where I offered them to Florence, a HROC facilitator I have met briefly in Rwanda. Would she like to take them home and perhaps bring me a portion tomorrow? No, she will cook them here. There is a kitchen but I haven't used the electric hotplate. I strip the cobs while F gets a pan. We break the cobs into portions and set them to boil.

The corn is delicious - not sweet but full of flavour. Florence gathers up the peelings, walks to the door of the first-floor office and returns immediately, empty-handed. Later, when everybody has eaten, I contemplate the husks. I already have banana peel, used peppermint teabags and other assorted rubbish accumulating in the bin in my room and I don't know where to empty it. I take the husks to the door, look over the wall, see a bonfire site - corn peelings, paper, plastic - and drop the husks onto the pile.

*********

Technical PS: posting images is very dodgy. I'm trying to send a photo or two but keep getting timed out.

Pastures New

2010-01-27T18:17:00.003Z

Weds 27 Jan, 6pm

It's hard to believe it's only 72 hours since I left home on Sunday evening.

On Monday instead of sitting for dull hours in the airport in Nairobi I got a transit visa and went to meet F/friends old and new. A highlight was participating in the afternoon session of a HROC advanced workshop run by three facilitators – 2 from Rwanda and one Kenyan – and in English. (My Swahili is even worse than my Kinyarwanda.) Healing and Rebuilding Our Communities has been running for a couple of years in Kenya, where AVP (Alternatives to Violence Project)is also much in demand. I also managed to spend some time with Sarah Anusu, a Kenyan member of the 2008 Friendly FolkDancers tour which first took me to Rwanda.

Having landed at 6.30 I took off for Bujumbura at 23.40. So once I'd queued for a Burundian visa, collected my 2 heavy suitcases and been driven through the warm darkness, I was glad to go to sleep knowing I had arranged an easy day for the rest of Tuesday.

I am staying in the guest room at the Burundi Friends Church office, which also houses HROC Burundi and other programmes. Alex is another AGLI volunteer who has been here for 4 months working on capacity building with Friends Women's Association (FWA) – a programme set up by the Friends Church but not owned by them, which makes its main work with HIV+ women easier. She stayed when she first arrived in what is 'my' room for the week, and was able to help with locking the door – tricky when a pull dislodges the handle – before pointing me to money changing and an internet café for breakfast.

Actually I don't need the internet facility as the office building is connected. Not all is straightforward, however: follow through is unreliable and I've already lost a couple of messages while trying to send them. So I'm not composing this on line and the picture I'm hoping to attach – of the view from the office door – won't be embedded.

The rest of Tuesday went on discussing my programme of 3 workshops before my flight to Rwanda on Tuesday afternoon; buying seeds, which was unexpectedly difficult; deciding I didn't need a café meal and dining on cheese from the first flight and some little cakes, some peanuts and a carrot, bought round the corner.

Today, Wednesday, was day one of the first 2-day workshop, attended by 15 women including 3 staff from the clinic at FWA, 4 men and 3 babies. I had re-read a lot of my materials since leaving home, and thought of some new approaches. Filling the demonstration sack doesn't lose its interest for me, and always entertains the participants. Seeds have been chosen for planting tomorrow, once the sack is staked and slits cut in the sides. Then composting will be a main topic. We've already considered the differences between a naturally self-sustaining forest and conditions in modern Burundi. I've given the figures on the nutritional benefits of some AIVs (African indigenous vegetables). I've used the nutrition chart (for vegans) that my daughter spotted in a Truro health shop.

It's hot and sticky. Now at 6.30 night is falling but I'm assured downtown Bujumbura is quite safe to go in search of supper. So I'll attempt to post this and attach a photo, then leave you all till next time.

PS No response from blogspot then, so I went to eat and am now about to ry again.

Looking back and looking ahead

2009-11-13T14:53:00.003Z

The difference two weeks of rain makes! This is one of the sacks planted at Mwana Nshuti in February.

Friday 13 November
On my last full day (27 October) there was to be an evaluation. Arrangements were vague: all I knew was that it would be in the afternoon. Rashly I assumed a pattern similar to last time, with a meeting at Friends Peace House and supper at a restaurant. Wrong and wrong!

In the morning I texted Cécile and David B for information. Cécile sent a holding reply, then phoned not me but Antoine. By degrees I asked the right questions to elicit the information that there would be no opportunity to change clothes between meeting and eating, that the meeting was to be at Gasharu, that Josephine was to be there (so I need not have made a separate journey to see her at FPH to discuss the accounts). As far as I could tell, Antoine was as surprised as I that on our arrival at 4pm a full festive meal was laid out for us, very soon after we had finished lunch together at home.

Antoine, David and I ate what we could, drank tea and waited for the others, who arrived at around 5. By now some of the food had been taken back to the kitchen and it was agreed that we'd talk first and C and J could eat afterwards. (If I'd been able to anticipate this, I'd have eaten later too.)

It was established that I would speak in English and the others in Kinyarwanda, with Josephine - the lowest status person with the requisite skill, as customary - translating. That marked the formality of the occasion, as we all would have understood each other in French.

(I don't think I've written about a style of discourse which seems to be traditional, whereby there is a master of ceremonies whose job is to welcome participants -or guests on a social occasions, outline the programme and introduce speakers. I had been surprised, for example, taken to a party to celebrate a graduation, to find a family friend invited to play such a role. For our meeting Antoine was in that role.)

I'm writing now of an event more than two weeks ago, so I've forgotten some details. I was warmly thanked, mainly by David, for my various activities, which were itemised (see below). Then it was my turn. I was not looking forward with any pleasure to this moment. David had previously told me I should speak frankly about any difficulties encountered. My eyes prickled and my voice wavered. I was relieved to find, at least, that I did not sob and no tears fell. I said that it was obvious my feelings were influencing my thoughts.

First I wanted to emphasise that all my working experiences had been positive. The programme was well shaped. I had learned from seeing what had worked well and what less well after my previous departure. All the new groups had been welcoming and enthusiastic. I loved spending time with the women and their babies.The young adult students at Shyorongi would have a lot to share with their communities and the confidence to introduce new techniques.

I had, however, found the rest of my time much harder than in February. My not speaking Kinyarwanda was a difficulty, but not one I could realistically do anything about, for a few visits of a few weeks only. Previously there had been times when I didn't understand what was being said and nobody translated even the gist of it - that had not been a problem then. But during these last weeks there had been too many occasions when I might as well not have been there at all, with long periods of conversation and laughter from which I was excluded. It was a social problem, and one which I might just have to live with. More importantly, however, plans and decisions regarding my work were also made without consulting or even informing me - witness the arrangements for this very meeting.

There were apologies, of course. They would try to remember to include me in conversations; it was mostly carelessness to switch out of French or English and not switch back. And for work arrangements they would try to remember to appoint somebody to tell me what had been decided.

That would be an improvement, I said. But what I hoped for was to be treated as a colleague, not just a visiting technician. In February my work had all been based in Friends Peace House and I felt I had a place and a role there, albeit temporary. This time I had been working for one programme (and one individual) after another but with little continuity. I would like there to be one person for each visit to have an overview of my work and be my first point of contact - to be a kind of line manager. I think that was understood.

We discussed the importance of follow-up work, deepening and refining, enabling those I had trained to go on and become trainers themselves. I said there had been a good balance this time between return visits and new groups. Cumulatively there would be more groups I had worked with, so it would be more difficult to keep up with them all .

They asked me to propose a programme for my next visit, which will probably be for five weeks in Rwanda after a week in Burundi at the end of January, and I agreed, while pointing out that I don't know about possibilities for new work and shall need suggestions. (Already mentioned were my desire to work with science teachers in Friends schools, and a possible project with a HROC facilitator and a group of Batwa.)

That was a hard meeting but a good one. Now I must write a proposal.

Back in England I went almost immediately to a stimulating and challenging weekend looking at the question of a zero growth economy for what probably need to be called over-developed countries, especially the UK. While I don't expect to have any direct influence on how Rwanda develops, it feels important to have thought through for myself what moving towards greater prosperity and well-being while avoiding our Western mistakes might look like. And there's no question that Africa is already suffering the ill effects of Western generated climate chaos and financial instability.

On my allotment I have done some pruning, weeding and tidying, ready for winter. I have planted broad beans as usual, and for the first time some peas that should give an early crop next year if not waterlogged. If I am encouraging people living with summer drought in Rwanda to keep vegetables growing throughout the year, I should also learn to grow more through my own low season. Winter salad shouldn't be too difficult in any but the coldest years.

This morning the BBC news carried an item about the National Trust, guardians of many historic gardens, organising their male gardeners at one property to urinate on straw bales for compost. I smiled at the memory of many surprised groups considering my suggestion of using human urine for their own compost making. Biological fact makes no concessions to culture.

Sunday 15 November
It rained and blew long and hard last night. My roof leaked and my peas may be waterlogged already.

Before planning for my next visit I should record what I did where during October. So here is my calendar.

Wednesday September 30th: arrive in time for lunch with committee of CGFK adult school.

Thursday October 1st: morning visits to homes of 3 women from Karembure who had taken part in my final workshop at FPH in February; in the afternoon visit Solange, a HROC facilitator living near FPH, who had a sack garden behind her house still producing spinach, made after seeing the women's work. (It was her wedding I attended in February.)

Friday 2nd: visit Mwana Nshuti in morning to look at February's work. Go with Musafiri in the afternoon to meet the youth group at Shyorongi and plan a second workshop with some of them.

Saturday 3rd: go for a drive with Antoine in the afternoon.

Sunday 4th: go with Fiacre and Emile, Antoine's sons, to the English language service at Gasharu Friends church at 7am. Go with Antoine to a graduation celebration in the evening.

Monday 5th, public holiday for Teachers' Day: visit Théogène, organiser of the CGFK adult school; go with him to the last hour of speeches for teachers and pupils from several local schools, assembled at CGFK; join some other teachers and Théogène for lunch in a local restaurant.

Tuesday 6th - Thurday 8th: daily workshops with the ground staff from CGFK; daily English language sessions with some primary and nursery school teachers and admin staff (not the science teachers I had been expecting).

Friday 9th: workshop with around 15 women from Gasharu church (my first time of working with Bonheur).

Saturday 10th: workshop continuation. Teach 'Amazing grace' for English service tomorrow. Evening meal with David Zarembka and Gladys K.

Sunday 11th: Gasharu church. Restaurant meal with Jeanette, joined by Musafiri.

Monday 12th - Tuesday 13th: two day workshop with Shyorongi youth group.

Weds 14th - Thursday 15th: two day workshop with Churches Mobilisation for Poverty Reduction women's group at Friends Peace House, Byumba (an hour's bus ride away).

Friday 16th: free day (but including meetings with Josephine and Solange).

Saturday 17th: shop with Antoine in the morning and cook for the family in the evening. Meet with David Zarembka at David Bucura's house in the afternoon to discuss future plans.

Sunday 18th - Tuesday 20th: to Nyakarambi/Kirehe to stay with British Quaker VSO, Dorothy Nelson, and visit 2 state primary schools, looking at their gardens and 'One child, one tree' projects.

Weds 21st - Thurs 22nd: two day workshop with Churches Mobilisation women's group at Bihembe.

Friday 23rd - Saturday 24th: two day workshop with women trainees at Kagarama.

Sunday 25th: church early.

Monday 26th: follow-up session with CGFK ground staff. Session with 4 CGFK science teachers.

Tuesday 27th: meet with Josephine at FPH in morning to discuss programme expenditure. Final meeting in afternoon (described above).

Weds 28th - Thursday 29th: fly home via Nairobi.

Bonheur, PS

2009-10-27T11:39:00.000Z

Bonheur PS

We have exchanged views on living in one's capital city, I in London and Bonheur in Kigali. It would be cheaper for him to move away - perhaps to Byumba, where Eugene, the pastor, is so happy, for example. But this is where he belongs.

He tells me he was once refused a visa to visit Britain. Now he is president of the youth section of a new interfaith organisation – one of David Bucura's projects. Perhaps he might get another invitation. I tell him I can give no assurances but he will be more likely to succeed now he has a wife and child here. The authorities are cautious about giving a visa to a young man who may want to stay in the UK. He is astonished. Why, he asks, when Kigali is my city, would I want to live anywhere else?

Bonheur

2009-10-27T06:38:00.000Z

At work in Byumba in Pastor Eugene's garden

'Happiness' is the translation of his name, and he does seem remarkably happy, this thirty-one-year-old husband and father, unemployed for more than two years, and with cataracts caused by diabetes diagnosed a few months ago.

I met him first at the English service at Gasharu Friends Church, playing keyboard or guitar, taking a leading part in the service. Then he was my translator for the workshop there. I was surprised to be given a male translator to work with in a group of women but didn't find him a problem at all. So when he came as translator to Byumba as well, and then to Bihembe, I was glad enough. For all those jobs he was paid out of the workshop budget. At Jeanette's suggestion I employed him with my own money for the final training workshop at Kagarama; quite tactfully she suggested that I might find myself constrained by my less than perfect French and it wasn't too hard to swallow my pride.

We quickly established a professional relationship. I needed him to be a cultural as well as a linguistic interpreter. When a question to the group elicited no response he could tell me if they were puzzled or embarrassed; I trusted him not to translate anything inappropriate. The only time that happened was when I wanted to say to the group of young women from several protestant churches at Bihembe that the days in the Genesis creation story are not literal human days; 'I can't say that to them', he said, while making it clear he himself understood the concept of myth.

He was keen to talk with me about religion. On my second Sunday, after a conversation around emphasis on human sinfulness, I was surprised to hear him tell the congregation they might think less about original sin and thank God for original blessing. He was one of many people who have heard, through Antoine mostly, of unprogrammed Quaker meetings for worship. Where could he go to one? The nearest is in Nairobi. I gave him a copy of Advices and Queries, then realised when he hadn't read it that he needs the large print version.

Between working sessions, at meal times or travelling, he talked openly about his life. I told him early on that I was not reporting personal conversations on my blog. 'You can write anything I tell you about myself', he said. Growing up in the Congo, grandchild of Tutsi refugees from 1959, and schooled partly in Uganda, he speaks good English, French, Swahili and Kinyarwanda. I haven't sorted out the chronology of his education: he studied music for two years but didn't complete his degree; he has David Bucura to thank for his secondary education, presumably in Rwanda. Now, despite his deteriorating eyesight, he is financing himself through a three month course at a film school in Kigali – one month paid, two to pray for. He is hoping to have one cataract removed at a hospital over the border into DRC, which would cost no more than the equivalent in Rwanda and where he has confidence in the American doctors.

I learned something from him of the complexities of healthcare here. A year's subscription to the national system costs 1,000 RwF, around 12 pounds sterling, and gives access to medical treatment for illnesses like flu and malaria, family planning, basic maternal and child healthcare, subsidised childbirth at around 1,500 RwF. I asked about broken limbs. No, you'd have to pay to go private for that, and yes, there are traditional bonesetters but the government discourages their use despite the lack of an affordable alternative. Government employees have access to a superior system. One day when he was drinking even more water than usual and said his diabetes might be approaching a crisis, I thoughtlessly asked if he did blood tests. 'How could I possibly afford that?' he asked.

I asked him what his dream job would be. His first answer was that his dreams were constrained by his lack of a degree. Then he said he loved working with vulnerable people – old people and children. Then it emerged that he used to work at Friends Peace House, where he set up the children's work. I'm sure I didn't get the whole story, but he was 'let go' during a funding crisis, then replaced when the money was restored. Since then he has had TB and lost 25 kilos, of which he has regained 15. (Can I really have got that right?)

His modest standard of living is sustainable only because when he was getting a proper salary he built a small house for his mother and grandmother. When he asked them to move in, his grandmother said she would do so only if he could build another house for himself and a wife. So they stayed at the other side of town and he can live rent free with his wife, their nearly two-year-old daughter and two orphan girls of around 10 and 15. His wife worked for a residential landlord before having the baby but is now also unemployed; her mother is nearby so it's not childcare that's the problem. (I knew in abstract terms that the developing world was expected to bear the brunt of the international financial crisis; now I see it in rising unemployment and in several instances of staff – including those at Rwanda Yearly Meeting - simply not being paid at the end of the month.)

The neighbourhood where he bought his plot was considered undesirable, though some expensive houses have since been built behind walls nearby. It's too far out for the water and sewage systems from Kigali to reach. Many of his neighbours are destitute and when he was employed he would buy a sack of rice to distribute, until people started saying the money must have come from foreign donors and ought to be given to them directly. Now he gives away a mosquito net or a kilo of rice when he can afford it.

They are a modern couple, Bonheur and Immaculee. They are open about their love for each other and go so far as to hold hands in public – a gesture usually reserved for same sex friends having a private conversation. They gave me my only invitation to a private house, apart from David Bucura, and shared a meal with me, which is usually done only with one's family or close social equals. As we chatted outside church on Sunday, looking forward to meeting during my next visit early in 2010, I felt more completely at ease with Bonheur than with any other Rwandese so far.

Moringa

2009-10-25T14:35:00.000Z

Here is the packet of moringa powder from Antoine's cupboard..

The moringa trees behind the Thomas's house in Kagarama

Sunday 25 October, 5pm

On my first visit to Rwanda I was introduced to the moringa tree. Debby Thomas, a missionary attached to the Evangelical Friends Church of Rwanda/Rwanda Yearly Meeting with her husband David, showed us a small plantation behind their house, described the many properties of the plant, and talked about a budding enterprise to dry and market the leaves. In February another Evangelical Friend from Oregon was here to advise on setting up the business. The Thomases have just bought a donkey, not part of Rwandan culture, to use on their moringa plantation out of town. Now packets can be bought, though they are not yet widely distributed. Antoine produced a packet, complete with teaspoon, at supper one night and it has made several appearances since. Most family members take a little, though he seems to be the keenest.

The particular focus of my work so far has been kitchen gardens, and particularly the smallest kind, in sacks. Travelling around, even walking up the main road to Friends Peace House, I have seen many examples of raised beds, usually circular, for intensive cultivation of vegetables. I am told that the government is encouraging their construction by fining those who don't act on instructions. There is much work to be done in helping the owners of these small gardens to make them productive and sustainable over many seasons – I have seen some very good and some very dubious practices with regard to planting and mulching, and to the feeding via a central compost basket which is a key feature. (I have puzzled over the name 'kitchen garden' and come to the conclusion that 'garden' is meant in the American English sense of 'cultivated bed' within one'ss whole 'yard' or plot. 'Kitchen' has the double significance of being close to the kitchen door and providing food for the kitchen.)

I could meet local expectations by continuing to teach the same techniques to group after group in subsequent visits. However, the project needs to develop, and Dave Zarembka, AGLI co-ordinator, is supportive of ideas for variety and expansion. I have shown groups pictures of tip-taps (google it!), a food cooler, domestic-scale drip irrigation, and cookers that use less wood or charcoal. I've exolled the virtues of African indigenous vegetables and given out recipes for two known but under-valued here. But so far I've stayed away from moringa.

Well, that's not quite true. In Friends Church circles, where I have mostly been moving, I have not wanted to trespass on Debby's territory. When I was visiting Dorothy, however, she introduced me to two of the primary schools where she is working. Both have school gardens, one much more successful than the other. Both knew of the government initiative 'One child, one tree', which one was supporting with a plantation of individually named coffee bushes. That school's head had heard of moringa and both were very interested. I have arranged for Dorothy to meet Debby in a couple of weeks' time.

For various reasons I didn't manage to meet Debby until Friday. She gave me a couple of files from Trees for Life, a US charity. I've just read them and I'm fired up to see how Growing Together might promote moringa. As I come to the end of this visit I'm conscious of the need to find funding for my next trip, the urgency of writing applications to two possible sources already identified, the lack of time to have the conversation with Debby I need to have now I've read the literature she gave me. (To see what's exciting me, go to treesforlife.org/moringa.)

I hadn't thought of this project as a means to teach me patience. It is one of Africa's gifts, however.

How am I doing?

2009-10-24T17:11:00.000+01:00

Desiree, Francine and Asteria take their trun at filling the sack.

Friday 23 October

Baby
In Oregon in April I met a Friend who had worked in Burundi on trauma healing. What she most wanted to impress on me was that despite our Western knowledge and skills, in such countries we are like babies – unable to fend for ourselves, unable to interpret what we see, needing constant watching so we don't come to harm.

Rwanda is not Burundi – much safer, not as difficult for women. Still, I don't have some of the skills here that I take for granted at home. By far the most significant is my inability to speak the language. Like a baby I can recognise words and phrases, and am learning more all the time, though I utter them distortedly and cause much amusement. Unable to join in conversation, I swing between trying to guess what might be being discussed – there are enough French loan words that I get some clues – and drifting towards sleep.

Toddler
Yesterday I had an outburst that might be described as a tantrum. Four of us were in David Bucura's car, going to day two of the Bihembe workshop. The previous day D had said, as we passed a plant nursery, that it was a very nice place and we could get some seeds there. That suited me well, and I said so, because I was close to running out and still had another group to supply. Now as we passed the spot again he said that no, they didn't have seeds, only seedlings. I had made two arrangements to see people at the end of the afternoon, having thought I didn't need to use the time after the workshop going into town for supplies. I tried out various re-arrangements in my head over several minutes, then asked D if he could drop me on our return at a particular point, to make the change of plan less drastic. (My main task was to meet Jeanette, co-facilitator of the next day's workshop, and there was no margin for rescheduling that.)

'That won't be necessary', he said. 'There's somewhere else we can go on the way back. In fact there are a couple of places.' I was not pleased. I don't know how angry I sounded, but I was clearly upset.

“Please,' I said, 'tell me when you're making plans for me. It isn't enough that you know a problem can be solved: I need to know because it's my problem and I am responsible for the outcome. I want to do the best job I can, and I can't teach what you want me to teach if I don't have the materials.'

I can't reconstruct the whole conversation with any accuracy, but I know we went on to discuss my need to have certain things within my control. Bonheur, sitting in the back, had spoken a few days earlier about how anger boils up and over in young men who are supposed to show no pain or softness. That was a useful point of reference.

Since I'm not actually a toddler, I had the mental and emotional resources to calm myself and reassure the others, well before the end of the drive. David said I should speak frankly about all such problems at the evaluation meeting next week. I hope I can do that gracefully.

Adult professional
I was not looking forward to today's workshop, despite the pleasure of being paired with Jeanette - in her last days before leaving Kigali to live in Dar es Salaam. A group of women had been recruited who were keen to learn from me in order to teach others. So I would be functioning as teacher trainer as well as gardening technician and organic advocate. This information reached me only at dusk on the eve of the workshop, before an 8 am start. It was to be on Friday and Saturday at the end of a long week, after the bus journeys to Nyakarambi and back, and long bumpy rides on dirt roads on Wednesday and Thursday.

Having been told we would be at the church at Kagarama, I was surprised to find we are back in the room used by the Friendly FolkDancers, close to CGFK (with the toilet block still unbuilt where the dancers carried some bricks as our practical project well over a year ago. FFDers Mark and Demi may be pleased to know one of the inside toilet cubicles still has a functioning hook to close the door from the inside, after their good work.)

We got off to a slow start. By 8.10 Jeanette and I, plus Bonheur as translator and two Canadian women attending as students, were ready to go. Among the first two or three Rwandan students, who arrived before 8.30, was one of the women I had visited at her home in Karembure in my first week. At 8.50 there were 9 Rwandans out of an expected 15 and J said we should start.

J introduced the workshop as different from most that these participants would have attended. It was not about peaceful relations and conflict resolution; it was about growing food. Hearing her, I decided to start in an unusual place. As she drew up a timetable, I switched on my netbook and found the photo I wanted.

I introduced myself as a fellow gardener. The photo I had called up shows my table at Ealing Meeting, with a week's surplus allotment produce and the notice saying that any money donated will go to Quaker projects in Rwanda. I passed the netbook round the group as I told them that although I was the only one here, other members of my meeting at home were supporting them too.

I said that having more ways of growing more food made a contribution to peace, both because it could ease conflicts caused by scarcity and because having enough to eat in one's own garden gave a sense of personal security. We went outside and filled a sack in the usual manner. We took a break for tea and a chapatti.

I decided those who had not yet arrived probably weren't going to, so I asked the group members to introduce themselves and each give their reason for wanting to be in the workshop. Here they are.

Jacqueline is a farmer ('cultivatrice') who wants to grow more for her family.
Monique is in charge of the dormitory accommodation at the church. Any vegetables she can grow behind the kitchen will mean she has to buy fewer so she will spend less.
Josine is a primary school teacher and wants to share what she learns with her class as well as growing food at home. [It emerged later that her school is the only one round here with tip-taps for easy hand washing.]
Francine is a farmer.
Louise has only a small garden and wants to make the most of her limited space.
Marie Rose has only a small garden. She would like to increase her knowledge and grow a greater variety of vegetables.
Desiree is the accountant at the church. She would like to have a method where she doesn't have to water a large area.
Constantia wants to learn about bag gardens so she can extend her growing season and do less watering.
Asteria came to my February workshop and already has a bag garden to help feed her children and grandchildren. But lack of water is a huge problem where she lives, and what she can store from the rains doesn't last through the dry season. [Next morning this treasure of a woman comes with specimens of the three types of plants recommended for making plant ‘tea’.]
Pastor Gaspard's wife, whose name I didn't catch, has only a small garden and likes this easier method.
Jeanette had no interest in gardening, but having worked with me in February she is now getting excited and will start growing things.
Ruth already has 3 bags and a raised bed. She is working at Friends Peace House. Her house worker, Eric, learned from me at Mwana Nshuti in February and showed her the techniques. (Later we all go to view her handiwork and I am amazed at how her plants have grown in the 3 weeks since I first saw them.)
Micha, Ruth's friend, is working in India but at home in Canada she was responsible for a community garden and is delighted by this idea because she was always short of space.
Bonheur developed his interest through working as my translator. (This is our third collaboration.) At home he is always being asked for money to buy vegetables; now, if he can keep his new bag garden productive, he can use the money for other things. [At the end of the workshop I go home for a meal with him and his wife and we find the first cabbage seedlings with the seed case still attached.]

How could I have been reluctant to work with these people?

In the evening, after some conversation with Debby Thomas at last, I am invited to stay to eat with the family, extended by four young American Evangelical Friends – two teaching a small school for missionary kids, two teaching at CGFK before going to college next year. After the meal we go round the circle, each saying something about the week. As the last, I have enough time to plan what I will say, balancing enthusiasm for the Growing Together project with openness about the challenge of isolation. Then each prays aloud for the next round the circle – another challenge!

Tomorrow it's compost again.

Family night

2009-10-22T18:15:00.000+01:00

Several people have asked to see the rest of the family. Here Emile, on the left, and Fiacre are preparing to control the sound system for the English language service at Gasharu Friends church.

Sandrine comes to visit me in my room. She put on a hat for the picture: 'Oh, my hair!"

I've taught today, and planned tomorrow's teaching. I was given a bag of avocados, which got much jounced around in the car on the mud road back. So they'll all go into a guacamole for the family tonight. No lemon, so I hope vinegar won't taste too odd. I cooked spaghetti bolognese last weekend, which went down OK despite problems with the slithering spaghetti, but they didn't care much for snow peas, never seen before.

My own furrow

2009-10-21T16:17:00.000+01:00

From above the falls, we could see the line of trucks waiting to enter Rwanda from Tanzania. There is no railway so everything comes in like this.

Dorothy is putting a base layer of seed pods and twigs into her new compost pit.

Weds 21 October, 6.30am
Lonely? Isolated? Unsupported? No, those are all too strong. Yet mine is for the moment a project with only one worker. From Sunday to Tuesday I’ve had a brief experience of a different way of being 'muzungu' (rich white) and working not for profit in Rwanda.

Through a mutual friend, I’ve been in touch with Dorothy, a VSO (Voluntary Service Overseas) volunteer working as a primary schools adviser in Kirehe District, in the south east. She has a small house, rented by VSO for her predecessor and kept on for her, in a small town on the main road to the Tanzanian border. She met me off the bus, walked me a couple of hundred yards to home, and there were two more VSO’s, one from Quebec and one from south west Ireland. Christine from Quebec is living with Dorothy until her own house in a nearby village is habitable. Karen was visiting from a different province.

An expedition to the Rusumo Falls, on the Akagere River which forms the national border, had been arranged with yet another VSO from a bigger town some 20 kilometers towards Kigali. In the event the two younger women didn’t come because one had been ill overnight; Dorothy and I had a good walk – my first – and met up for lunch with Jason, English, an enraptured amateur ornithologist on his second placement after 2 years in Eritrea. Evidence of colleagues, contracts, in-country training, health and safety advice, water filters and motor cycle helmets…. Up till now I had chatted for a few minutes after church with some American Friends Church missionaries, arranged a useful meeting with a Canadian Mennonite couple attached to Friends Peace House as capacity builders, and had good contact with Dave Zarembka, AGLI co-ordinator, whose visit to projects in the region happened to coincide with my being here. (I did see a surprisingly large number of white people on Saturday, shopping in the Europeanised mini-market where Antoine took me to buy the food for the meal I cooked, but I have no idea what any of them are doing in Rwanda.)

Experiencing Dorothy’s wide circle of contacts emphasised my cocooning. She employs a ‘domestique’; she shopped for breakfast each morning (and chose what to have for breakfast each morning!); she uses a particular moto taxi driver several times a week to get to different schools, and on Tuesday morning he brought two colleagues so three of us could go together; she has to get the solar panel engineer to return because the system bleeps loudly in the night; she is glad to use the services of a couple of young ‘Mr Fixit’s for finding people to do various jobs and negotiating the price. On Monday morning she started to dig a small compost pit in her garden to my recommended pattern. Immediately her neighbour landlord came to see what was going on, and he and the domestique had to be reassured this was a modern project for gardening, not a bad old-fashioned rubbish pit. (In Kinyarwanda the same word is ordinarily used for rubbish and compost – which illustrates the difficulty of teaching different habits.)

In some ways my life is much easier. And of course being here only for short periods makes a big difference. I probably work more intensively than she does. I couldn’t run my own household without much more training and back up. I would have to learn to speak Kinyarwanda beyond my few polite phrases and isolated words. I made a clear decision not to be a VSO again, as I was in 1965-6 in Singapore, and I’m not regretting it. Still, it was a thought-provoking visit.

Now I’m about to be summoned to a quick breakfast with Antoine before he sets off for school and David B collects me for the first of two days at Bihembe, wherever that may be. More later, perhaps, about being an adult baby, or maybe a cultural orphan.

Egypt or Canaan?

2009-10-20T18:58:00.000+01:00

[This piece was composed last Friday and this is my third attempt to post it! My next news will be of my visit to Kirehe district, near the border with Tanzania in the south eastern corner of Rwanda.]

My translator, Bonheur, and I arrived rather later than expected for the first day of the workshop in Byumba. The pastor, Eugene, was waiting for us with the group of 14 out of the expected 15 women. As soon as we were seated he launched into the bible study. That hasn't happened in a workshop before.

On the flip chart paper taped to the wall, already headed by the textual reference to Exodus 3, 7-8, he drew two rectangles and labelled them Egypt and Canaan. In the box for Egypt he wrote some of the bad features of life – in ancient Egypt or in present day Rwanda: slavery, poverty, ignorance, violence, disease, conflict, drunkenness. In Canaan were milk, honey, peace, riches, joy, health and knowledge. Along the road, in a kind of pilgrim's progress, hunger, thirst, lack of leadership, fatigue and fear were to be overcome. At the very gate of the city was the temptation to be persuaded by the ten despairing spies not to take the final steps encouraged by the two truthful spies. (I borrowed Antoine's bible in English this morning and eventually found the story of the spies in Numbers 13 & 14.)

Most of my knowledge of the bible dates from my schooldays, when our agnostic headmistress, an ancient historian by training, would read to us at 'prayers' each morning from what she pointedly described as 'the history of the Jews'. British Quakers, in my experience, if not entirely hostile to the whole book or what it represents for them, show a marked preference for the New Testament over the Hebrew bible: love, not law. There's no question that the theology of Rwandan Yearly Meeting prioritises biblical authority, as taught by pastored evangelical Friends from the USA; my hackles rise in anticipation of negativity and narrowness. Yet nearly all the exposition I have heard here during three visits has been tender, moderate, community-building. Much of the story is comforting, taken as myth and metaphor.

At the final summing up I find myself coming back to the idea of daring to change. You are in charge of what use you make of ideas from this workshop, I say. Live your lives, in harmony with the natural order, as best you can. Canaan is here and now. Egypt is also here and now, it's true. There are choices, however, and change starts internally for each of you, in the country of your heart.

Eugene, the pastor, leaps to his feet. Than you for saying that, he says. The teaching I've planned for next month is going to be that Canaan, the promised land, can be already here.

This dear man was widowed last year and his four children are at school in Uganda. He is frank about being lonely and sometimes sad. But he loves living in Byumba and he loves his work. He will support and encourage the women. I hope to see them again.