A missing skill

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.