I had a mini adventure today. One where I wasn’t the centre of attention and where I discovered something more interesting than a muzungu on a bike (or in her garden or walking down the road, or hanging her washing out for that matter!) I’d driven about 40 minutes from Kirambo to a school to do some training. All had gone well, really well in fact; I got a thank you song sung to me about having Jesus as my friend! After the training had finished, my moto driver came to pick me up...the same guy I always have, Yousef. He speaks no English and no French and I speak no kinyarwanda, so communication is always quite amusing... and consists of a mixture of no communication at all, a few words we have learnt together like 'rain, the days of the week and tomorrow' and hopeful hand flailing! In fact, the other day, in an effort to open up communication, the poor guy started singing a song he’d obviously learnt in school many years ago about his mother in the kitchen and the father in the fields and the brother and the sister doing equally gender specific jobs! I digress, but the point is that our levels of conversation are limited and we have developed our very own system where he looks after me and I provide him with an income and smiles.
So I'm happily driving along, when Yousef suddenly stops.
The grey clouds are looming ominously.
I get off the bike.
This has happened a number of times before.
He squeezes the back wheel.
I squeeze the back wheel.
Completely flat.
Nobody needs to know the Kinyarwanda or English for ‘puncture’, we are both aware of the situation.
Now when we've broken down before (on two other occasions!) we've (I?) been very lucky. The first time Yousef managed to flag down a local taxi bus - basically a dilapidate mini bus where the gears grate and the speedometer is broken, which they fill with double the number of people that can realistically fit. It is imperative that the gear stick is shared between passenger and driver and that at least one person is bent at an angle round the roof of the bus. They rattle along on their last legs at great infrequency. It was purely down to good luck that we had just over taken one on the way up the road so it didn’t take long to cram me on to the vehicle as it came shuddering past. I quite literally was levered and wedged in. It was not a comfortable experience. And the other occasion a truck was coming by because it was evening, and it was on the way back home. I was put on board without any problem and no questions asked.
This time... well, the road is empty.
And it is so going to rain as Yousef so kindly points out by pointing at the sky and saying 'invura' ... my new and most frequently used word.
So we walk back up the hill because he indicates that this is what we should do.
When we get to the top of the hill, he parks the bike, takes off his coat and marches back off down the road in the direction we've just come -leaving me sitting on the side of the rain looking very out of place and muzungu-ish!
People wander by, but no crowd gathers which is a miracle. A few brave children shake my hand, a woman gives me a grin as we strangely enough witness another muzungu whizz by on a fully functioning bike, it's not pouring with rain yet, so all is good.
I just have to wait....for what I don't know. But waiting is definitely the name of the game.
About fifteen minutes later a guy in luminous orange overalls that are about five inches too short comes skidding to a halt on a bicycle, dismounts, and shakes my hand with a very confident good afternoon as if he has worked for Michelin his whole life! He takes out a puncture repair kit and sets to work.
Yousef is nowhere to be seen.
And for the first time since I've arrived Rwanda a crowd gathers around something other than myself
In fact I'M part of the crowd. Me, about 10 kids and a helpful old man who has taken it upon himself to assist in the rescue mission. The kids are fascinated. I'm fascinated by their fascination.
He's fixing the bike in these too short orange overalls like rescuing the muzungu in distress is a completely normal part of his day. Distressed Damsel Roadside Services Inc. All in a day’s work.
And then of course the heavens open....and the rain comes down with no apologies. The kids try to stick it out...some shivering as the winds pick up. They're bedraggled and their clothes are torn and filthy, but this is the highlight of their day, so they continue to watch. I few less hardy souls run for the trees but most are determined that the rain will not stop their staring.
I make an executive decision and decide that a little staring in my direction is a small price to pay for remaining dry. My water proof trousers are conveniently (and always these days!) in my back pack.
The thing is, I'm on the side of the road, in the middle of the countryside, in a long skirt, in close proximity to a number of stare-prone children and I'm a muzungu!
But, I would rather be stared at that soaking wet. So there I am, with a punctured bike, no driver, a man in orange overalls and a bunch of drenched kids.... pulling on a pair of trousers and trying to whip off my skirt all without creating a scene or exposing myself!
The kids do stare.
But I grin at them now I'm kitted out for the most torrential of rains.
They catch my grin and start to laugh.
I mean, it really is funny.
The little old man is holding his coat over his head, the repair guy is levering the tyre back into place with some miniature crow bar thing, now wearing Yousef’s jacket. All is looking good. Then I'm directed by Too Short Orange Overall Man to get back on the bike. He drives me to the next village which is by pure luck, very close given how far the villages are apart up here.
I get to the village and Yousef is sheltering under some villagers porch...of course he has no money so I pay the repair guy and give him a packet of biscuits to show him how grateful I am. I’m not sure if this is local currency but he seems happy.
And off we go.... to the usual stares and frantic waves.
I think the thing I loved most was that I was not the centre of attention. Finally there was something more interesting than a muzungu on a bike!
I like thinking of the children who were in that crowd this afternoon. Imagine their conversation when they returned to their homes given their days aren’t usually very varied: “hey mum hey dad, today I went to school, then I got water for you, then I cut some grass for the cow, then I saw a muzungu changing her skirt on the side of the road while this guy in bright orange overalls changed the tyre on her bike in the pouring rain!!!! And we all stood and watched!”
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