Looking back and looking ahead

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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.