You have watches, we have time.

"You have watches. We have time." Something someone said to a friend here when they had expected European punctuality. It couldn't be more true. Rwandan life in 'African time' has meant that five months have passed here and I don't know where they went! I'm just cruising along, working lots and slowly but steadily, the days fly by.

There are plenty of stories to tell of adventures and new friends. Today I'll start with two; one old, one new.

Ups and downs

It started out with a hike. I love hiking. Stupidly, however, I didn't know a hike was planned and had only packed thongs for what I thought was a weekend a the lake. Bad move. We set out for an island on Lake Kivu near Kibuye, called Napoleon's Hat. As you can see, an island of that name is narrow, long and goes straight up and straight down on the other side. Glad I had those all-terrain thongs on.

 

The island is known for the bats that live there, so as we walked up the hill our guide clapped incessantly, rousing the bats from their comfy branches. There were so many and they must have hated us. But, it was incredible to get see them up so close.

 

 




Steep as it was, we made it to the top and took in the magnificent views that I've been all too spoilt with here. After that, all we needed was to get down again. And down I went, gracefully, I might add. I managed to fall in one of the only soft, grassy parts that wasn't covered with jagged rocks and cow poo (It's still beyond me how they get cows on that island in those rickety wooden boats).

So we made it down. Well not all of us, two girls got lost, then the guide went looking for them and managed to somehow make it to the top again without passing them. All the while we were waiting in the boat joking around.

It all happened too fast. I tilted my head back (full, mouth-open belly laugh) and they were in the water. My much-loved Wayfarers were in the lake. So, of course, I jumped in after them. Fun fact about Lake Kivu: it is one of the deepest lakes in the world and goes down 480m at its deepest point. Fun fact about Ray Bans: they sink bloody fast. I had no chance.

I swam back to shore. By that stage the girls had made it back to the boat and were wondering why I was in the lake fully clothed, laughing (hysterically, at my own stupidity).

Eventually we headed back to shore just as the skies opened. I was freezing! A Welsh friend kept offering me a dry Wales t-shirt but I just couldn't do it. The Wallabies were set to play Wales that night. They later beat them 15-6 as we watched on from a lakeside sports bar. Lucky I didn't take the t-shirt.

 

Lost and found 


It still doesn't beat an ocean breeze, but living at Lake Kivu is spectacular. I try to get down to the lake for a swim as often as possible. On one of the many public holidays over Christmas, I decided to do just that and stroll down through the back streets of Kamembe to go for a dip.

Not long after I had started into the village, off the main road, a man stumbled into me in a drunken manner. The whole situation was odd. He'd crossed the path and bumped into me right on the edge of the hill. In Rwanda almost everywhere is the edge of a hill. I had to grab hold of him so that he wouldn't fall down.

In a daze, I stared back at him as he walked away. By that stage everyone else around us had stopped to look too. They were yelling loudly to each other and then to me, "Ifoni" "Telephone". And then one guy says, "Excuse me, that man just stole your phone."

That little bugger! Then the same guy says, "Come with me. Don't worry, he is our local thief. We will catch him." Next thing I knew, ten or so kids had spread out in different directions, everyone shouting things to one another along the hillside, presumably about who they were looking for and which way he went. If only I had had my phone with me, I could have filmed it!

Ten minutes later, the man responsible for village security approaches me, "Is this yours?"

And off I went for a swim. Unbelievable. I love Rwanda.

Murakaza neza mu Rwanda!

Here I am, I've finally made it to Kamembe in the south-west corner of Rwanda!

Where do I start? I've been here for six weeks now and am beginning to develop a new sense of 'home' after now having made a nice little group of friends, finding my role at work and gradually getting my bearings in and around Kamembe.

Over the next year, there will be more regular posts on more specific aspects of my life here, but for now, here's a little introduction...

My new home: Munezero House. Munezero House (meaning: the house of joy) is simultaneously the Rwanda Aid office and my new abode.

The residential quarters are out the back where we have a cosy verandah to enjoy the afternoon sun. I'm quite literally the poorest I've ever been and I know now that I will never be able to afford a view like this from my backyard again! Below: one of the many pictures I find myself taking, trying to capture the sunset over Lake Kivu and the Congolese mountains.

As spoilt as I am at Munezero House compared to some my neighbours and co-workers, there are two creature comforts whose absence I notice: an oven and a washing machine. Filling a bucket from the water tank last Saturday morning, to hand wash my clothes, I had to strain it so the nasty little worms didn't work their way into my clothes and do the nasty things they do.

Our 'oven' here is called an imbabura. It's an outdoor charcoal stove. I've been shown how to use it as an oven and each weekend I have been experimenting, baking bread and potatoes. The picture below is of our housekeeper, Françoise, and I posing with my first Rwandan meal, red beans and green bananas. My cooking became entertainment for all of my Rwandan co-workers because they firmly believe that white people can't cook! Based on what they have seen in films or TV shows, they think all that we eat is packaged food.

Ah, now to transport. One of the first impressions any new country leaves. Transport in Rwanda ranges from comfortable to being an extreme sport! Most of the time I get around on the back of a motorbike taxi which, depending on the quality of road, can be either.

My first moto-driver above, Pascal, was a funny one. I could have sworn he was a teenager, he thought the same of me - it turns out we're the same age. My first trip out with him was fine, the next day he turned up with a bandana wrapped around his face to hide the injuries, which after probing him about it later in the day I found out, he had sustained from being attacked by a bull the night before. Several stiches, grazing and broken teeth later, I think the poor bugger probably suffered a concussion but the doctors at the local clinic said he was fine. He wasn't quite the same after that.

Break downs are inevitable... but costly when you have an umuzungo (white person) customer. Below, the roadside mechanics took apart the bike, despite it only having a puncture. They then proceded to charge my moto-driver, Florien, four times the price as well as for a new tube just because he was with me. In the future, I'll be waiting by the roadside a kilometre or so away.

Life by the lake obviously calls for boats. I went out to visit a school on the lake island of Ishywa and was mesmerised by the scene of boats lined up to reach the remote island.

As serene as it was getting over there, piling into a leaking boat with 20 other market-goers and their produce on the way back made us quickly assess what we'd save first should we have to swim the rest of the way!

Nyabugogo bus station in Kigali (below) is the definition of organised chaos. People, food-vendors, pushbikes, motorbikes and buses everywhere and somehow everyone gets to where they need to go and the buses leave on time.

The highlight of my week was discovering proof of how small the world really is. At the local market here in Kamembe I came across two Western Bulldogs caps, the AFL team my family barracks for! Underneath the pile I also came across a Wallabies cap which I think was an omen of the rugby defeat that came to upset my English co-workers the following day. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!

Lastly, the weather. Most days the temperature humidly hovers between 20-28°C, then a fierce thunderstorm rolls through in the afternoon causing the roof and windows to leak, the power dips in and out at least once a day, and then the sun comes out again. Yesterday was no exception, the difference was that I was out running when the storm hit. At first I was joined by every kid along the way, screaming a French-Kinyarwandan mix of 'Umuzungo couru!' (The white person is running!) Later, others taking shelter from the rain were calling for me to join them undercover but I was already drenched. By the time I made it back, a hot cuppa and warm clothes were the trick, and I was so grateful to find enough hot water in the pipes to have a warm bucket-bath, despite the power being out.

That's all for now. Work is about to get busy tomorrow but that'll be quickly compensated for with a lakeside getaway to Kibuye this weekend!

Please comment or email, I'd love to hear from you all. xx

Surprise!

 

Surprise video, family catch ups,  and

The Adventures of Sarah and Tim: A Roadtrip

COMING SOON!

Southbound and headed for sunshine

Can you believe that my last post came in June? Yes, you can, because you know me and I tend to get distracted living life to the fullest instead of stopping to write about it.

And boy have I lived up the past four months!

Let me pick up where I left off... carpooling my way to Grenoble, France.

As I said back in September last year after scratching my arms to bits picking blackberries on La Ferme d'Esmeralda, I found a new appreciation for a jar of jam. What I didn't know at the time, is that I was only involved in the harvest and not the preparation. Seeing Danièle and her husband, Jean-Pierre, slave away every day in their orchard and in the lab, preparing various jams, coulis and sorbets, earnt a new level of my respect.

And... higher culinary expectations, and... how amazingly dangerous (for my hips) it is to have ice cream and sorbet produced in a lab attached to the house you're staying in!

Situated in the Belledonne mountain range, their farm Clos de Martin in the small town of St-Martin-d'Uriage had a gorgeous view of the valley below and the immense snowy peaks above.

Jean-Pierre doesn't hesitate to put anyone hard to work. I certainly paid my way. I spent 98% of my time weeding raspberry bushes. That meant sore back, sore knees, long days in the sun and scratched arms. My time spent with Danièle made the aches and pains irrelevant. Her cooking was superb and our giggling sessions over glasses of wine taught me so much.

Crowds quickly gathered in search of yummy sorbets at a local running event. One scoop for them, one scoop for me...

On the few days that I ventured away from the farm, I found myself either pleasantly lost in the mountains or enjoying nearby towns and their histories.

The château below in Vizille was where the Assembly of Vizille took place in the lead up to the French Revolution.

Jean-Pierre and I, hiking in the Chamrousse ranges.

Enjoying a beer and a sandwich by the river in Grenoble.

As was the case with many of my French hosts, I was treated as the newest adopted member of the family and made to feel at home. Three weeks flew by so quickly and before I knew it I was struggling to repack my uggs and carpooling my way down to Carcassonne.

Carcassonne: poetry, history, wine, sunshine and so close to the beach. I'm still surprised I ever left.

Arriving in Carcassonne, it was hard to believe that I was still in France. The south is so vastly different from the Norman fields where I began my French adventure.

What better way to complete my WWOOFing experience than in the vineyards of the quaint village of Montlaur?

Life slows down quite a bit in the south. My work at Domain Baillat with Christian in his vineyards was started at the crack of dawn so that we were finished by the time the sun was out at its strongest. If I wasn't walking through the vineyards, reattaching fallen vines and trimming overgrowing ones, I was hanging off the back of the tractor treating them with either copper or sulphur.

The contrast of organic and non-organic vineyards in and around Montlaur was shocking. It really made me think about the amount of harsh chemicals which are added to your average non-organic wine. The non-organic vines grew in seemingly infertile soil and were regularly sprayed with awful smelling pesticides. The organic vines are only allowed to be treated with sulphur and a strictly limited amount of copper. Spraying the sulphur took me back to Indonesian volcanic hikes - this time I was prepared to protect my eyes with swimming goggles!

Hard work in the vineyards was made easy with my comedic co-workers. Eric, concentrating on his work below, his wife Françoise, and Mathilde, who I unfortunately don't have a photo of. They kept me giggling, most of the time because I could not understand half of what they said! Eric, missing most of his front teeth, and Mathilde with her thick Spanish accent, both speaking a strong Carcassonne dialect of French, were probably relieved when I left so that they could stop repeating themselves.

I ventured out to Carcassonne to see the old Cité and was blown away. Walking through the old streets felt like a walk in a time machine - unfortunely one where all the tourist cafés and souvenir shops had opened. Truly life within a postcard.

Part of the time I spent at Christian's was shared with another WWOOFer, Loic. He was a Frenchman travelling around France learning about agriculture. I jumped at the offer of a trip to the Mediterranean Sea and off we went to Narbonne.

Mediterranean sea salt fields. The photo below doesn't do the beautiful colours justice.

On my birthday, Christian took me to a gorgeous nearby lake for a swim and a picnic. Ironically, my birthday was probably the only day at Domain Baillat that I didn't drink wine!

Loic and I walked a local poetry trail, scattered with works of varying lengths and depths by the poet Joseph Deteil. Here are two of my favourites below: "L'imagination de la nature est inimaginable." (Nature's imagination is unimaginable.) and "Ce que tu rêves, fait le." (That which you dream, do.)

Having the view below to come back to, pondering the statement above, it's fair to say that I am.

While in staying in Montlaur I also had a whirlwind of a trip to London, leaving Carcassonne airport at 5:30pm and arriving at the same time the next day - so excited to see and grateful for being spoilt by David and Vini! I met David Chaplin, the founder and CEO of Rwanda Aid, at South Bank and my smile below tells of how relieved I was to officially be offered the position I'd been working towards.

Relaxing in the southern sunshine, with a job lined up in Rwanda at the end of August, I was ready to complete my French farming adventure and head further south (via Germany) to surprise my parents back home!!

Below: Me, Day One, and Me, Day Two Hundred and Seventy Eight.