Musanze, motos and men in white shoes

We got up early and by 7am we were on the medium size bus of death, the only one to leave the village that day, me bound for Musanze , two hours to the west in the direction of Congo and Catherine back to Kigali. The journey was your typical hysterical, heart pounding, panic inducing, bend swinging, pot-hole bouncing affair. Luckily, we had a seat and I more or less managed to stay on it for the duration, despite the plastic coating that had me sliding violently into the aisle on numerous occasions! It’s strange how when I’m most uncomfortable, I’m suddenly reminded of how free I feel. It’s a feeling I only get when I’m way out of my comfort zone, far off in another country, embracing the madness, watching from outside, knowing I’m now on the inside. It’s the Sri Lanka feeling all over again. At one point I had someone’s large aluminium bowl wedged into my shin, their sharp cornered and heavy bag resting uninvited on my leg, a shell suit jacket (NOT mine) billowing in my face and my hair entwined in another mans bling watch as we careered around corners and I bounced off my seat for the hundredth time. I felt like I’d arrived. It felt strangely good.

Arriving in Musanze, I was supposed to meet with Roisin, a fantastic Irish girl in the same role as me who had also arrived in September. All I can say is that it’s a great testimony to travel and living and working abroad that you can meet a stranger one day and say good bye to a friend the next. We of course talked non stop. There was much discussion about the role of a Methodology Trainer, but we also spent many a moment admiring the countryside around us;  me in total awe, her still in excited appreciation of her surroundings. How could one not be annoyingly smug when surrounded by the dark silhouettes of jagged volcanoes against clear blue skies as they nurture a rolling basin of green green hills and dense banana plantations. I took my first moto (riding pillion on a motorbike) which left me both fearful and exhilarated. What a way to see the country. Beats the drive down Muller Road every morning. The roads of Rwanda have far more eclectic traffic. Women swathed in brightly coloured cloth carry wood and buckets on their head, men in pairs push bikes heavily laden with jerry cans of water, children sit on door steps in blue and mustard school uniforms, the occasional goat on a string trots by, there is an endless stream of people, bicycles and motos all navigating the same potholes and bumps in the road. I fell utterly in love with the region from my first early morning moto journey.



Musanze



Sorgham drying. Apparently it's red at the beginning and then turns black as it dries

The first of possibly many cliched photos. This was taken on demand after leaving a school and before mounting our motos.

We went to see a school and I did my first observation and feedback with Roisin. It gave me the sudden burst of energy I  needed to realise I was excited to get going and no longer anxious about my capacity to do the job. Can’t wait to get my teeth into the role and start working with teachers and doing what I came out here to do. Based upon my first visit to a school in my own district today, I realise I have got my work cut out for me. Some of the teaching was pretty dire, but the teachers are enthusiastic and I hope that with time and perseverance truly effective change can be made.

That evening Roisin and I devoured an entire roast rabbit (we discarded the head, the ears were a little off-putting!) The ibirayee (roasted and crinkle cut potatoes) and thinly sliced onion were amazing. I'm disgusted with my ability to eat so much and to feel so very unstuffed! Weight loss in Africa? Ha, not likely!!!

From Musanze the next afternoon I boarded another bus to Kigali to meet up with Catherine and another volunteer before catching a further bus to Gitarama, further down south (check out the map), where there is a large volunteer community. From there, and other parts of Rwanda, 27 VSO volunteers were all going to converge on Butare, another hour and a half south, for Christine’s birthday. The lasting image from Gitarama was the incredible night sky I experienced. We forget in our light filled cities and towns of the UK quite how many constellations there are. I don’t think I have ever seen a sky so littered with stars. I was practically stumbling over my own feet with my desire to look up when really I should have been looking down at the rutted and rocky red earth under my feet. By day I’m awed by the endless rolling hills, tea plantations, rice paddies, banana palms and lush and fertile slopes, and by night I’m filled with awe all over again by the night skies. I’m very lucky indeed to have found myself in such a beautiful country, especially given how little I knew before I arrived.

Meeting up with Cam, Kathy, Tricia, Jerry and briefly Burt again from my orientation group was so good. Familiar faces are very welcome no matter what kind of time you’ve been having. There were many volunteers I’d already met and chatted with from different sessions during our orientation, and it was a great opportunity to make and extend connections in the grand network that is the VSO family. There are some really lovely people out here, and visiting at weekends is practically a volunteer institution. Rwanda is so small, it is possible to travel to most places within the country for the weekend without too much hassle. We talked tailors and tailor disasters, we waited two hours for a meal, giggled in rooms divided by walls that didn’t reach the ceiling, got lost, compared notes, swam and went to bed early from total exhaustion!

The return journey was long and took two buses and a 45 minute moto journey. I was slightly nervous as I didn’t have my VSO (un)limited edition helmet, I hadn’t been on a moto on such bad roads for such an extended amount of time. My driver had pointy white shoes on, kept trying to turn round to talk to me, enjoyed accelerating down hills, took humps and bumps and maximum speed, answered his mobile whilst steering one handed and liked to stop frequently for reasons unexplained! Rain hung ominously in the air, threatening us with huge grey clouds. When it rains, moto journeys become dangerous as the roads become slick with mud and slipping is likely. However, as luck would have it, not only did it not rain, but it hadn’t rained for a number of days and the roads had become very dusty. Catherine and I arrived dishevelled, orange streaked  and with dust in every orifice. The joke about why the muzungu always has dirty feet seemed a little understated when we disembarked. We looked totally mad. I FELT totally mad. The drive had been pretty hairy and I confess I felt terrified almost all the way. I know I’ll get used to it, but that journey had my heart in my throat all the way. The white patent shoes did little to instil faith, but I just kept telling myself that these drivers know every bump and hole in the road and throwing a muzungu off a bike is not ideal for business! I laughed all the way to the house in a slightly hysterical manner. Think it was exhaustions. But happy exhaustion.


This is merely a fraction of the dust damage.


Am feeling a great deal of humble gratitude for the incredible welcome and start I’ve had to my time in Rwanda. I have very much landed on my feet. This is not my usual style, but very grateful for it.