Out of Kigali

It's been a while since my last update. Let's just say I've been preoccupied with doing things that are update-worthy. I spent the weekend in Butare with my housemate and a couple of Rwandan blokes. Butare is Rwanda's second largest city, but a provincial university town by Western standards, home to the National University of Rwanda and its 14,000 students. Kate and I, for the purpose of discounted accommodation, were a married couple for the weekend. We decided we'd adopt and have a 'rainbow family'. I'm a whole lot less PC since living in Africa. I'll have to clean up my act before coming home, but then now that David Cameron is PM...

After visiting the National Museum - a pretty collection of baskets, beads and reconstructed huts, which successfully skirts Rwanda's recent history - we went to a surprise party of a friend of a friend. What an odd affair it was. It was held in a sort of outdoor pavilion attached to a pub, and we waited around for a couple of hours till the birthday girl arrived. After the initial commotion of "surprise" and the presentation of a funny looking cake (a whole banana and half a papaya stuck to its icing), the event quickly simmered down to a formal and dry occasion. We sat in rows facing the head table where the birthday girl was seated, were each served a soda, and subjected to some God-awful game. We were each given a number, and when our number was called we were asked to perform a task, sing a song, answer a question etc. I was picked on - my number was not called - to tell everyone what my greatest fear was. I said it was 'dying of an allergic reaction' (a blatant lie) - met with silence, exchanged glances and a few giggles. Oh well. Me and Kate escaped to the (dank) toilets at around 11.30pm, and called the boys to meet us out front. Phew!

Back in Kigali, it's been a slow week. I've had very few, if any students, and for two days now I've not had a classroom. Someone has taken the key and run to Butare. They try their hardest to stop me from working. They're succeeding. Monday I took the afternoon off work to accompany my housemates (who work for a charity called As We Forgive) on a trip to a village on the outskirts of Kigali to witness the work of a local association for survivors and perpetrators of the 1994 genocide. The community had gathered at the house of Violet, a 40 year old survivor with three children. They cleaned up her yard, presented her with gifts of food and provisions, and made a collection to pay off her debt to her landlord. A perpetrator also spoke. He had spent 10 years in prison, and through As We Forgive training, had stopped fearing survivors and instead sought forgiveness. Both survivors and perpetrators had put together their land, and were planning on farming it as a cooperative.

It's a hazy day in Kigali.