My journey home
on Melissa Hipkins (Rwanda), 04/May/2010 18:13, 34 days ago
After the familiar chime ofwindowsclosing, I shut my laptop's lid, zip it up in its padded powder blue carrying case. This is one of the few western concessions that we have allowed ourselves or indeed reliably work here. It has been a godsend as a work tool, but more impressively, albeit at a snail's pace, a conduit to the outside world, news, sport and family. The election seems a distant ghostly blur, it has been worth the trip alone to be away from the continuous hype and banter surrounding a UK election. No telephone surveys....no telephone (well no landlines anywhere), no half ripped adverts on bill hoardings...Rwanda is a litter free society (almost), with virtually all public street-side adverts devoted to condoms, beer and breast cancer awareness; a really odd combination that reflects the extent of the drive to promote healthy living. The beer certainly forms an essential part in my healthy lifestyle! I get up from my hard wooden ladder backed chair, neatly placing under my somewhat lopsided formica desk. Closer inspection reveals gaping holes between the top and its legs, despite the selotape carefully strapping the two pieces together. I make sure that the windows are closed. This action is an artform in itself. You carefully put your hand through the metal bars to retrieve the open window. With a hefty tug you need to pull the metal handle towards you, making sure that in doing so your arm is not pinched within the elaborate bar structure. With a loud thud the window usually closes first time but if your effort fails, it demands an even greater pull. One day the whole pane of glass will shatter sending shards of glass cascading round my feet.The education office, which five of us share, along with many transient Headteachers, is a recently rendered breeze block single storey construction, with a corrugated metal roof. The breeze blocks are made in situ with a crafty pressure mould, then sun baked. The cement concoction is mixed by hand to a recipe only the creator has in his head. I must say over several days I have watched the recipe be made time after time with an amazing consistent consistency. On leaving the L-shaped building you have to go through an avenue of what looks like flame trees before reached the tarmac road. Bright scarlet flowers descend from the top of the20m high canopy throughout the day, only to be swept up by a lady with a twig/stem brush every morning. She manages to clear the mud path effortlessly, straight backed, she bends at the hips, without bending her knees. Astonishing!On reaching the road, you are usually met by a steady stream of school children. Such is the eagerness to ensure that all those eligible have at least some schooling over the recently extended nine years compulsory education schools have to 'double shift' students for up to six of these years. This means that year groups are halved, with each group alternating morning or afternoon attendance. The teachers work from 7.20am to 5.0pm with a couple of 20 minute breaks and one hour for lunch during the switch over. In rural areas sometimes the staff club together to ensure that, usually, a 'domestique' buys ingredients and cooks a large bowl of beans/rice and seasonal vegetables. It is common for teachers to live an hour's walk away from the school...so a midday meal is very welcome and it helps to galvanise the staffroom. Uniform is compulsory here, girls wear royal blue dresses, whilst the boys wear khaki shorts and shirt. Shoes are a must, although not everyone can afford even the bright green or blue or orange imitation crocs. Bare feet abound, slightly muddy in hue and texture. Schools often set aside funds to help those who are at the poverty extreme. But cash is limited. School materials sometimes only comprise of a second hand piece of plywood painted black and a small piece of chalk. Having said all this, all pupils I have encountered strive to learn with such eagerness, they are well behaved, always smiling. English is not their mother tongue, but their yearning to learn overcomes such small hurdles. Kinyarwanda language and culture quite rightly remain the bedrock of this society. But there is a future generation here who will hold a nation's hope in their capable hands.Walking along the side of the road, you often hear from distant doorways 'Good morning. How are you?.....I am well thank you' despite it being 5.30pm. Little arms are out stretched to shake your hand. Sometimes you are fully embraced around the groin....nothing sexual, just sheer happiness to see, touch and be with you. There are times that I have wandered down the road with a child happily holding each of my hands, whilst the parent chats away to me in French.It is common to carry goods/vegetables in fact almost anything on one's head (including an umbrella and a rucksack!). The posture that this demands must take years of practice. I have watched people carrying 2m lengths of firewood on their head, turn through 90 degrees pass between a narrow gap in a hedge, without using their arms to steady the load. Bicycles are another mode on which goods are transported....normally crates of beer or fanta. The bikes resemble the old fashioned sit up and beg versions common in the early twentieth century, but with a twist. The saddle is always two foot too high and at a 45 degree angle to the floor. Often these contraptions whistle passed your ear at a rate of knots with millimetres to spare. I must say that there is no evidence of a braking system, but I have yet to test the lack of stopping capacity, thank goodness.The road from the centre of town to our house is compacted mud, along which the recent rains have cut a series of deepish channel. Vehicles, particularly motos and bikes, try and avoid crossing these ruts, which does make for some amusing antics, particularly by the goats tethered along the verge, as they try and avoid being bowled over by the swerving vehicle. I often pass groups of two or three people apparently gossiping. They often stop and look at me as I pass. I believe that the novelty of having a white muzungu in the neighbourhood has waned, as frequently smiles light up their faces and a greeting is proffered, accompanied by either a wave or a hand shake. After nearly four months it is good to have that feeling of being accepted (even in part) by the local community.