Development – some vignettes

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.