Settling in

Settling in

Red for reconsider, red for rejoice! Lurking modestly along the side of my little laptop is the slot for my photo card. How could I not have looked properly before? Some 300 images are now copied onto the hard drive and backed up on a red flash stick.

I'd like to say that means there will now be illustrations with the posts, but I don't for the moment see when that will happen. It could be as soon as the occasion on which I next have a usable internet connection, but time is at a premium for the next few days and I may have to choose between getting a few relevant images onto the same flash stick as the blog text but not having time to post them or posting unadorned text.

The sense of settling in probably results from having done several things more than once. I went back today to the shop where I bought seeds for the first workshop last week. It would be a longish slog from where the taxi buses arrive in town, but I could manage on my own next time if I need further replacements. I asked this time if I could look through the cheapest range of seeds for myself and was allowed behind the counter to browse. 5 gram packets, made up in the shop, of a dozen staples cost about 15p each. I was prepared to pay 10 times as much for a fancy packet of cherry tomato seed, but they'd sold out.

After a day spent mostly in the Friends school in Kagarama, I set off to walk home alone, also for the second time. I haven't enjoyed the helplessness engendered by needing a guide for every expedition to cyber café or the church and school complex or Friends Peace House. Jeanette has been wonderfully patient and I have gradually got the hang of looking for landmarks – a blue roof, charcoal by the side of the road being tipped from a sack and sold from quart-sized containers, the wall of neat blocks surrounding Antoine's house that means I'm nearly home and can relax. (I'm also learning here are some 'faux amis': several corners have that tree shedding its yellow flowers; every hundred yards or so there's an MTN sign for mobile phone cards and every couple of hundred a little shop selling Fanta and Coca Cola.) The difficulty is that none of my usual methods for finding my way is available: no street map, no street names, no way of explaining what I'm looking for in order to ask for help. Yesterday for my first solo effort I retraced the steps I'd taken with Jeanette that morning. Today, bolder, I set off from a different point with the confidence to steer in the right general direction and not to worry too much if the particular lane didn't seem familiar. I now know, too, that there is a broader, flatter road that I couldn't miss if I overshot and that getting back up the hill to where I need to be would be tiring but not impossible. I also suspect there's a fair sprinkling by now of neighbours who recognise me. I had a brief but charming encounter today with a little boy of less than two who seized my hand in both of his and told me goodness knows what as I looked around to see where he belonged.

Tomorrow my second three-day workshop begins, this time with Jeanette and the women's rights group in the Friends Church, Gitarama, where we danced last year. Yesterday Gaston and I sorted out a collection of sound equipment that I understand, just about compact enough to be carried on the bus - no driver this time. I'm beginning to feel dangerously like an old hand.