Ireland v. Wales

Yesterday began with quite a flurry of text messages, mostly from my bed. D and I lazed about and drank the free coffee (Café Aromec). My feet were suffering heaps, the cut was protesting mightily and I'd accrued rather impressive blisters that were now stinging.

So, from the comfort of bed, texts were to and froed mostly between myself, Ruairí, Eric and Kieran to organise where we would watch the Six Nations final. The problem being that it clashed with the Arsenal match and, being a nation of footie fanatics, it would take priority in every bar over rugby.

I'd only managed to catch one other game in the tournament: Ireland v. England, and had thankfully not been the only England fan. This time I was definitely the only Wales fan! Nostalgic for the home in which I spent three years before arriving here (Caerdydd) I roared on the reds.

We'd eventually managed to wangle invites to Jane's house, the Deputy British Ambassador, which was extremely kind. Cathryn was the only one who knew the way, so Amy, Ruairi, another guy - Micheál (who we met at the ball), D and myself met up with her outside Novotel at the start of Embassy Row. I managed to hook a moto from my house. The driver spoke good English and was really helpful, so I took his number and he'll be my call-up guy whenever I need to get out of Gikondo as he knows where my house is and he can come straight to the door. His name's Theobard.

Cathryn directed Ruairí and Amy, who walked, and the rest of us took a taxi because of my foot. The taxi driver, too busy on his mobile phone, missed the turn-off. By the time we'd gone all the way to the end of Embassy Row and back again, Ruairí and Amy had almost beaten us there!

Jane's house is absolutely lovely, with a beautiful veranda and comfy chairs, a magical fridge that never runs out of beer, and a large box of extremely nice wine. Plenty of pizza to boot. Along with other guests, we piled in to watch the match. Creepily, she has two cats the exact same colour as mine: one black, one grey - with the little white bellies! Hmm... methinks perhaps their father got about a bit.

It was a great atmosphere, made exciting by occasional power cuts and waiting for the TV to find the channel again once the generator kicked in. That not-knowing suspense, nervously nibbled pizza.

Final result: Ireland 17, Wales 15 - first Irish grand-slam in sixty-one years! As a friend back in Wales said: "Seven world champs, women's champs, deaf world rugby champs... guess we can give away one championship to someone else for this year..."

It was a really nice night. We hung around on the veranda chatting afterwards, before tackling the hill back home. D and I walked all the way to the top, kissed goodnight, then I got on a moto that went right back down the hill the way I'd just come! *sigh*

Oh, well. Another extremely lazy day today. I like doing things on Fridays, it makes the weekend seem longer somehow.

Paddy's Day Ball

Me & D

So was it a night to remember?

Indeed it was! What a night.

It didn't exactly start as I'd envisaged: me in a cute dress, softly lit by the candles in my living room; D in a dark suit jacket wearing my white tie...

No, not quite like that.

Not sure quite how men do it, to be honest. I gave him the tie a couple of nights before so that he could find a shirt to match. He brings the tie back in a brown paper bag. He has ripped it, stained it, and now it is crinkled beyond any form of recognition. My one and only, beautiful eBay tie. I tried to steam it over the kettle, but no joy.

He's also wearing his old shirt that hasn't been washed in a week and smells terrible. I force him to go take a shower and panic-called Brad to ask him to bring a couple of spares to the do. Only, Brad is about seven foot and rather well built - D is distinctly shorter and extremely slim.

The next issue was entirely my fault. I should have thought to book a taxi during the day. I forgot I'm living in the black hole of nowhere, not Kisimenti anymore. Still, I assumed that if we waited at the end of the road a taxi would eventually go by.

How wrong I was. In very 'girlie' (as someone later referred to them) high heeled shoes, we start negotiating our way down the pitch-black, first mud, then cobbled road. Remember my lacerated foot? Well, by some miracle of science, walking was rendered possible in high heels by the fact you only ever put your weight on the front or back of the foot, leaving the bridge unimposed upon. Whereas, in flat shoes or flip-flops, I hobble like a lame horse, in high heels I can walk - and even dance - like a perfectly normal individual, provided I'm not stumbling over cobbles.

As with everything, there is a price to be paid: blisters. I'd spent the week steaming my shoes over a pot of boiling water in the kitchen and it made a phenomenal difference. But they're still heels. By the time we'd made it 15 minutes down the road (getting on and then off a static bus that went nowhere) to the taxi rank, I'd used up my 'new shoe time allowance' and had rather nasty blisters forming. Luckily, I had Compede second-skin thingies with me. I slapped them on but the damage had already been done.

Eventually, we got on the move and I phoned Brad to say we were on our way. "Oh, why didn't you say, we could have given you a lift!" - AAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!

Aaaanyway. Pulled up: people in tuxedos and women in very beautiful dresses already parading around. Made our way inside and up the stairs to the heaving mass of bodies that were the 'Guinness & Champage Reception'. There was only Guinness left by the time we got there, so D had one of those and I went for a Fanta Citron as I was dehydrated from all the leg-work.

Penny from Jeff's party arrived soon after, and tons of faces including my Country Director and Programme Manager. It was quite packed, so a few of us headed out to the balcony to sup our drinks and babble for a bit.

Me & Penny

Then it was time for food. Absolutely mouth-watering. Mélange, obviously, but of a standard rarely seen: chicken, lamb, and fish casseroles and curries, rice, fried chapatti, caramelised plantain (one of the best foods in the world!), beans, chickpea curry, salad and... champ. The first Serena Hotel in the world to serve traditional Irish champ, as taught by Cathryn.

Stuffed ourselves silly and went back for desert: chocolate mouse, fruit tart, black forest gateaux, blemonge, fruit cake...

D went to the loo and I saved him half my desert plate until Hirut called me outside. The guy at the door (unobservant 'security') had stopped D coming back in. You had to go downstairs to get to the toilets and although Serena Hotel had trained their security to notice people coming in (well, not everyone, obviously), they had forgotten to train them to watch which guests went out. I know they didn't stop muzungus as quite a few friends turned up later for dancing without having tickets.

So, that was a bit unpleasant. You could say 'he was only doing his job,' but if he was doing his job well he should have seen the guy go out. To add insult to injury, when we got back to the table, some quick-start waiter sod had nicked the bloody desert plate!

Anyway.

During the meal there was a slightly bluegrass band playing. I half expected them to wheel out a banjo. It was bit strange, but then it moved on to the raffle. FRW 3.5mil raised for child headed households, which was brilliant. Lots of prizes donated by places like Serena, MTN and Akagera Aviation. There was much laughter at our table when MTN's prizes were announced: Nokia phones, brand new Blackberries - "Yeah," the guy next to us said, "that'd be great - a brand new phone you can't call anyone on!" Which was a quip at how appalling MTN's service has been of late.

The only thing was that the guy who went up to collect his prize didn't half go on a bit. He said 'I would like to thank you all' more than five times throughout his speech and, after every potential speech-ending pause, he suddenly went off on another 'and I must thank...' We were all just clinging to the arms of our seats the longer it went on because he was the very last obstacle between us and the real Irish band they'd flown out from Galway: Riff Raff, headed by a guy with the coolest name in the world: John James Joyce.

When, eventually, the guy finally ran out of wind, on came the band! 400 people made an instant mass-migration to the dance floor and didn't stop for three hours solid, no break!

I don't think I've danced as hard and fast in all my life. As Ruairí said: 'They couldn't have gone wrong really, they're playing to a whole group of people who haven't heard decent live music in a very long time.' All the old classics: Sweet Home Alabama, Whiskey in the Jar, a jazzed-up version of Fields of Athenry, all the really good stuff that had us moving before they raised the parking rate.

It was AWESOME. For the band alone it was more than worth going (although the food and the company were also high on the list).

When I finally stumbled out for air and the toilet, I made the mistake of attempting the Serena Hotel bar... biiig mistake.

"Bottle of water please."

"What?"

"Water. Amazi. How much?"

"Amazi? One thousand five."

Handed over 5,000 (those pretty pink notes).

Got a glass of Mutzig.

"Uh, excuse me... no. Water."

It took five waiters, including the bar manager, fifteen minutes of shouting at each other and me, to figure out what I was asking for and how to deal with the change.

One girl took the order, gave it to one guy writing receipts, who gave it to a guy who passed it to the guy at the till who told another guy what to open and then passed the change back via another person whilst someone else supposedly gave you your drink. It was a mess. Happened the whole night long. Serena is supposed to be the swankiest hotel in Kigali! Nice that the service isn't any different to any other bar you'd go to.

Eventually, after threatening to just take back my 5,000, someone finally managed to get the water and the change: 3,000 - water costs more than beer here!!

Armed with that, I went back for more dancing until I was so pooped I had to flop down and chat to people. After the Irish band had finished, a DJ played more cheezy classics to which myself, Amanda (Programme Manager), Nidhi, Mike (Country Director, whose partner has just given birth to twins, so a lot of 'final freedom' to dance out of his system) and another vol, Tina, were making up the core final footloose-and-fancy-freers.

D and I finally stumbled our way home around half-two in the morning. It had been a most wonderful night. The music was outstanding. We tried to beg the Irish Committee to keep Riff Raff and lock them in a little cupboard somewhere, so that we could wheel them out now and then.

I felt extremely satisfied by the whole event and had a small pack of complimentary Rwandan coffee to take home for the morning. It was a great welcome for the new Irish Ambassador, Kevin Kelly.

D stayed over and we had an extremely laaazy morning - and that coffee - and totally slobbed out.

Final Word on the Matter

*** Just a little addendum: thanks to Ruairí for the photographs and (I assume) permission to publish them ;) And thanks also to MTN for their snail-on-valium service, which rendered the compilation of this post somewhere in the region of four hours long... cheers, without you I may just have had to find myself a life...***

Before the Arrival

Yummy Free Coffee on the Tables!

Riff Raff Warming-Up

Group of Groupies L-R: Tina (vol.), Malcolm (Country Director Ireland),
Amy (vol.), Mike (Country Director Rwanda), Eric (vol. standing behind Amy)

Balloonie Loonies: Ruairí & Cathryn

Before the Band...

After the Band!

Ruairí after a drink!

New House

View of Kigali from my new porch.

Tuesday night was my last night at the old house. I realised I could either finish packing or go to the pub. I didn't feel like spending my final night there alone with everything in boxes, so I called up Sarah, one of the new volunteers, and we went for a couple of drinks at High Noon. It was exactly what was needed and we had a lovely time. It was my first drink since the antibiotics. Two just about floored me!

In the grand scheme of moves it was pretty straightforward. I got up early and packed up the last of everything, piling it up in the front room. Cathryn arrived around ten and we hung out chatting, then went to Stella for a bite to eat. She's feeling much better now, but she's a major component of the Irish Committee organising Paddy's Day and her computer had died so she had tons to catch up with online. I let her crash my connection.

Soon after she left, around 2pm, Bosco and a helper from the office turned up in the VSO van to start loading my stuff: beds, book cases, tables, bags... Nice to have two strong blokies doing that.

The only traumatic part was the cats. They were terrified of Bosco and all the moving. I should have locked them in the toilet before they came, but I didn't think of it. By the time I did think of it (in case they ran off) it was too late and they wouldn't come down from the garden wall. I eventually coaxed them down with milk, one at a time, but when I tried to carry them past the guys and into the house they went absolutely mental. I couldn't let go or I'd lose them, so they completely shredded my top - which was very sad as it's impossible to get decent clothes here - and myself. I was bleeding noticeably from my arms and chest by the time I got them in there. Great, just what I need for the ball.

Whilst Bosco and his helper finished packing the first load, I tended to the cats. The second time I checked on them I could only see Sula! I swear, I looked everywhere: behind the loo, under the sink - just one cat!

I was distraught. Went out trying to call Shue, but no cat. Bosco left to deliver the first load of stuff and I stayed behind trying to find the cat with a second realisation dawning: I had thought they'd be calm enough to sit on my lap, but I was going to need a carry box and I didn't have one.

I was getting quite upset and phoned D, who calmed me down a lot. Then I went back into the toilet and there were both cats! I couldn't believe it. Didn't even ask St. Anthony. I was so traumatised at the thought of losing Shue that I cuddled him up and cried. Silly sod. he must have been hiding in there somewhere, but his skills of concealment are quite frightening.

The next trick would be transporting them.

I was getting quite worried because the baskets I'd taken them to the vet in were now a bit small for them, and already full of things. There was a large cardboard box, but it was in use, so I took the pillow cases off my pillows and stuffed everything from the box into those. Then I took the box into the toilet and put a jumper around it to tie the sleeves together to keep it shut.

Bosco returned. By the time we'd loaded the last of the stuff, Shue had voluntarily sat in the box, but got out again when I put Sula in there. Then they both got out of the box. It wasn't too difficult to get them in again, though. When I sat down, they both came for cuddles on my lap, which is when I grabbed them and put them in the box, tying the sleeves and a shawl around it and putting another shawl on top.

Quite an achievement, but the rest of the journey went really smoothly. They were extremely good on the way to the new house. The first thing I did was put them in a spare room with some water and the litter tray, to recuperate.

The house is quite amazing. Much bigger than the last one. No obvious kitchen, but I turned the room off the main room into that. It's divided into two. You have the main room with two small rooms off it (kitchen and storage) leading to the back door. Then you have a corridor leading down to a bathroom at the end. Two small box rooms on the left (one is the spare bedroom - very small though) and the master bedroom, which is HUGE, with en-suite shower on the right!! So, two bathrooms with (cold) running showers. Really impressive.

The top prize is the panoramic view of Kigali from the porch. You can see everything, it's wonderful. A really nice house. I felt at home the moment Bosco left (although his helper did have the cheek to ask if he could have my suit jacket!)

Before they left, Bosco ran me down to the local shop to get some water and cat food because it looked like rain and my foot is still a mess. When he dropped me back outside the gate it was tipping it down! I ran through the gate and up the steps, but I was still drenched by the time I got to the top. This is when I met my landlady!

My house is semi-detached. I think they cut one big house into two. My landlady lives next door and she is absolutely lovely. Her name is Eugenie and she works for Gasabo district. She lives with her sister, who is traumatised since the genocide, so needs care. They have several kids (about four I think - Diana, Berlize and I think two others). The electricity had been off and there was an electrician - John-Marie - fixing it.

It was torrential rain. I hadn't seen it so bad in a while, so much for the 'dry season'. The whole of Kigali disappeared in the mist. When it rains that hard the house leaks quite a bit, so I put a towel across the back door. Nowhere near as bad as Rose's house, which floods.

The electricity also appears to be rather temperamental. That's because it's all underground so, when it rains, things go askew. On the up side, I have cows and goats right outside my door, which is nice. I'm in an area called Rujahiro (spelling? = Rouge-a-hear-o) in Gikondo, which is the name of a massive mansion built by a supermarket mogul. It's huge and there is a cluster of houses behind it - one of them being mine. It's kind of tough when you have no hot water, electricity, or fridge, to look out and see that!

I really like both the house and the landlady though, so I'm very happy. The house is a lot more public, with people coming and going. I attracted quite a crowd whilst moving in, but I think it will be good for me to be forced to be sociable. My last place was so private that it was easy to hole myself away in it and become quite introvert. This will be good for me, although some lines will have to be gently drawn, as I'll get to in a moment.

D came over that evening around seven. The kids had gone to get me electricity credit about an hour and a half before, so I was sitting in the dark with candles. I'm glad he was there as a random man came walking up the garden to the door and proceeded to chat away in Kinyarwanda. I couldn't understand a word. D's Kinya is much better than mine and he ascertained that the guy - Stellatoni - is my guard, who I share with next door. I'm really gladhe was there as I would have worried.

D stayed. I cooked pasta and couscous and we listened to music for a while, but not late. Being my first night I didn't want to upset anyone by having a bloke in the house. Not before having a chance to introduce him.

The first night, I didn't sleep so well. I sneezed a lot from the moving dust. The cats were restless (still too scared to go out), and I was getting used to the noises of a new house. I was really tired by morning but pulled myself out of bed and tried to do some more unpacking.

That's when the kids: Diana, Berlize and another little one came over. They had no sense of privacy, just walked straight in and started picking up and looking at everything. Big smiles and lots of 'what's this?' It reminded me of Irish Eric's place in Kabarondo where the kids pop in and out all the time and the main room opens onto the path. I asked him if he ever felt like he was on TV? He said he preferred to leave the curtains open so that people could see him: "Once people have looked and know you're there they get over it, but if you hide away you feel more resentful and people keep staring." I think there's a lot of sense in that. It was still a slight shock though, coming from such a private house to kids wandering in, walking through your rooms, sitting in your chair and touching all your belongings.

Their first question was: 'where is the baby?' I think they'd heard me the night before calling Shue 'baby': 'come here baby, it's okay baby'... and assumed I was a mother. So I explained there was no baby, only cats. Then they asked how old I am. 'How old do you think?' - their considered guess: 'twelve'. Diana and Berlize are twelve and the little one was nine. They were a bit shocked when I told them twenty-eight. Then they asked where my husband is and I said I don't have one. Where is my father? England.

So, now they think I'm an unmarried twelve-year-old mother! :op

To reclaim my space I explained that I had to work and gave them some colouring pens (knew there was a reason I was saving those!) and paper, then told them to go away and draw me some pictures to put up on my walls. They came back later to ask where the cats were (still terrified under the bed!) but I sent them kindly away. Think I'll have to think about strategies for maintaining my personal space.

After that, two men let themselves into my yard and walked up the steps to look at me.

"Yes?"

"We are here to see Eugenie," says one of them pointing at the house next door.

"Right, well you go out of the gate and round into that house next door."

"Right."

Argh! Christ, you're pointing at her bloody house, you know that is where she lives, why are you standing on my doorstep gorping like a goldfish? I'm not the first mzungu to live here.

Oh well.

Then I went into town to the bank, post office, and Indian shop for henna. Had salad at Bourbon with Suzanne, one of the new-ish Disability volunteers who's also leaving soon for financial reasons. Cathryn and the Irish Committee were there too, and Tinks, another volunteer. Also saw B, who is looking well. It was a real social event.

I came home to henna my hair, but the electricity was off all evening, so I did my nails instead. Then I headed to Nyamirambo to see Martine. D joined me there and it was a good night: Nidhi, Irish Joe, Sonya, and lots of the new vols: Rinske, Sarah, Sandra and Christiane, the Canadian woman who used to live in my house. She didn't like it there so much, but I love it. She's very happy with her new arrangement living with two of the other vols. She also said the kids are in and out all the time and if you want privacy you have to keep the door shut.

It was a lovely night. Lots of excitement from Sarah and Sandra who are also coming to the ball.

I left quite early as I was absolutely shattered. D got a moto too, and made sure I got home safe before heading off on his way. When I climbed up the steps my landlady and the guard were on their porch talking and I said 'good evening.' I'd written some questions for her and left them on the table, but she hadn't received them (she was going to ask her sister if she had taken them) - so I asked her directly instead. Seems Stellatoni can also do domestic work. Cristiane had said she paid FRW 2,000 per month for the guard and rubbish, but he asked 4,000. To be honest I didn't argue that because I used to pay Karzai 5,000 per week! With prices going up in Kigali, I feel bad for domestic staff. I share the cost with next door but I'm happy to pay that, it seems reasonable. I offered 5,000 with domestic work thrown in but we'll finalise that later, maybe 6,000 at a push as it'd cost more to have a separate guard and a domestic, plus I can claim the guard money back from VSO. He's also very well known to the landlady, so trustworthy.

I also told her about the cats and about D. I was very relieved because she has absolutely no problem with my boyfriend coming round. I said I'd introduce them as soon as possible so that she knows who he is, but she was fine about it and kept saying 'it's your house, you do as you like' which was a huge relief.

So, all in all, it looks like I'm going to be very happy here. Although it's a bit further from town, I seem to be able to beat a moto down to the same price. It's cheaper to get to Martine's than before, but public transport isn't as easy to find. Buses stop down the hill, but they only go to town. Motos are scarcer and so are shops. It would be fine if my foot wasn't as knackered as it is, but it's a little inconvenient at the moment. I'll probably keep in with the kids and get them to buy my electricity and maybe go to the market for me. If they go it'll be cheaper than me trying to buy food.

I'm currently in the process of hennaing my hair, but I made the paste too thin and runny, so it's been a nightmare. I also made the stupid mistake, whilst trying to avoid hurting my foot the other day, of burning my leg for a second time on a moto!! In well over a year I never did that - now twice in as many months. It's right on the same spot, just as the other one had almost faded away! Would happen the day before I have to wear a knee-length dress for the ball! ;o/

Between the moto burns, limping on my cut foot, the cat scratches, and the hair dye, I'm going to go to the ball looking like Freddy Kruger ;o/

D's threatening to lock me indoors to make me slow down and stop hurting myself. He's just texted - panicking over a suit for tonight. Can't wait, though. Despite the injuries and the hair, I'm really looking forward to it. I will be glowing to walk (err - hobble) in with him. He's a total sweetie.

So, Friday is finally here. Just a Disability meeting between me and free champagne!

Will get some photos of this place soon.

[NB 2013: It was actually Rujugiro, after the business man Tribert Rujugiro. And the new volunteer I mentioned, Sarah, went on to adopt my cats when I left, and became the Disability Programme Manager after Amanda.]

Last Day

Well. End of an era, huh?

My last day in the house. Moving to Gikondo tomorrow, over the other side of town. No idea what the place looks like or whether I'll be able to get out again on public transport.

I've packed a lot of stuff, but I still need to finish off. Enias from the Programme Office is going to come with the van. I'm a little less than confident though, as trying to get information on when I'm moving is like getting blood from a stone. The PO are as informative as ever. I got a probable date from my Programme Manager last week which turned out to be correct, but no one in the office was going to tell me and all just assumed I'd know. Cheers guys. Another one for the team. Now I'm texting the guy moving me to find out the time and he's not replying. I give up, really.

Had a day of ups and downs yesterday. Went to the office and found out the AGM's moved to the 27th, which buys us more time at least. Asked what I could do or get involved with and was told 'nothing'. It's good that they've got it pegged themselves but it just means I'm floating about still. I told them to call/text me if I was needed, then headed to see Antonia, who is in town.

Before I had gone far I received a text from Cathryn, who said she was very ill and could I help? Suspected malaria. I headed to every chemist in Kisimenti looking for a home test kit, but they were all sold out. Finally, I found a lovely guy who phoned around for me and managed to obtain one.

Took the moto to Giudi's, where she's staying. It's a gorgeous house by the lake. They seem to be building children's rides on the shore but I may be mistaken. It's quite a rough ride down there, the track is all deep rain-furrowed mud.

Got there and did the test, which was clear. I felt like a proper nurse. You have to do the finger prick, collect a blood sample, put it in a testing strip like a pregnancy test. It's quite high-tech.

Turned out to be heatstroke as she'd been visiting Antonia in Komera out East and been swimming in Lake Kivu. It's been miserable weather here for so long that I can't remember, so I guess she wasn't expecting it. She was seriously burned across her back. I took a rehydration spoon (thanks Marilyn!) which lets you measure out sugar and salt to make rehydration fluids when mixed with water. Got her chugging that and it seemed to make a difference. Slathered on the aloe vera after-sun.

Problem was, having got there, I couldn't get back. Rich no-moto district, so I ended up limping back up the hill. My foot was killing me by the time I got there. Technically not strategic given that I have to be able to dance by Friday.

Got a moto straight to the Programme Office and hooked up with Antonia for food. I was starving by that point and we went to Stella for fish brochettes and fanta. She told me some very interesting news. Turns out the leading academic on disability here is backing the development of a sign language dictionary...!? One developed by the Deaf school in Kigali, run by hearing nuns. Interesting. Like someone said: "If one shop starts selling sardines, within a couple of days they all start selling sardines." Talk about re-inventing the wheel. Obviously the perfect way to spend more development money *rolls eyes* But, what can you do? Apparently RNAD are happy with this and the suggestion of combining the two dictionaries so that all of our hard work and research gets passed off as a joint effort seems acceptable to them. Maybe I'm mis-reading the situation, but it seems a bit bizarre.

Then I got a call from Kieran to tell me my cheque for the ball tickets had bounced. I went to my bank and of course they couldn't tell me anything. So much for a disability movement - everything in this country relies on signatures. When you're a wee bit dyspraxic or dyslexic you can't sign your name exactly the same twice. You have to sign all cheques on the front and back and if the two signatures don't match exactly they don't accept it. This happened to one I gave Rose, so I assume that's what happened here again because I had the funds in the bank to cover it. Bit like the genius idea of building bus stops and planting trees that prevent any form of wheelchair access. It's an awful lot of talk on paper, but I don't think the lights are on at all when it comes to interpreting the glossy 'disability law' that's been written. Sorry - it's a rant. Just because you have the document doesn't mean anybody's using it or understands it - or even cares. I know there are people who care a lot, but when the system itself is weighted towards apathy, what can you do? Only sit and hope that the act of having the document/legislation will somehow seep into the psyche of the country over time and manifest itself as a living entity in the judicial and planning systems...

So, anyway, had to go to the bank and withdraw the money to take to him. They couldn't even put a halt on the cheque. So, if FinaBank change their mind and it goes through twice, Kieran will refund me. But, really, such a simple procedure as cancelling a cheque and BCR just looked at me blankly as if I'd asked for a rhinoceros foot sandwich.

Up until that point I was having a somewhat less-than-average day. I went to Havana for 6pm to give the money to Kieran and met the rest of the Irish Committee, including Paul, who runs the movie nights. I was feeling pretty blue by the time I got home, so I texted D to see if he wanted to come over and watch movies. I'd been trying him all day the day before and no reply. I wondered if he'd gone to Uganda with the Eyecon lot, then - doh! - I realised I hadn't taken the +250 off his number. When MTN switched to the new 78 numbers the old ones stopped working with +250 unless replying to texts. MTN were still charging me for the texts but they were not getting through.

Once I worked that out it was plain sailing.

He said he'd love to and between that and him arriving I also received an e-mail saying I'd passed an online test I'd taken for a potential job a few days ago. It had been really tough and involved answering some pretty hard questions in a very short period of time. I was well chuffed I'd passed it, so it really lifted my spirits.

D arrived around eight and we snuggled up on the bed with the laptop and watched Stardust. It's a silly romantic fairytale but I wasn't in the mood for anything serious. I explained about unicorns and what they are - forgot there's one on the front of the British passport:

The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown,
The Lion beat the Unicorn all about the town.
Some gave them white bread and some gave them brown;
And some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town.

The battle between England and Scotland :)

It's funny the cross in folklore and the things you take for granted; the shared lexicon of mythology you forget changes so dramatically with each culture.

It was soooo nice just to snuggle up like we used to. I've really missed him, actually. He's really relaxed a lot in himself since last time. Sexy, confidence appeal. I always said there's chemistry between us and it's never gone away, which is probably why I ignored him for so long, because I know - as keeps on happening - that if I agreed to meet up again we'd just end up back where we were. But this time I'm fairly confident it won't be like before. I know - famous last words - but really, I think we've both changed a lot since last time and I think it's all going to be aaaalriiight.

It was a lovely evening and today I'm just carrying on with the Internal Policies & Procedures Manual for RNAD whilst idly packing a few bits and pieces. It's a bit of a weird situation really: the house, the job, finances, friends leaving, time passing, weighed against what? Familiarity, nice climate... D. I feel there's more to be explored between us but I don't know how long I'll be here. I've quietly suggested he looks into a Ugandan passport - just in case. You never know. He wants to travel and you can't get far without a passport. He wants to get Rwandan citizenship but, with a Ugandan passport, you can have duel one, and better to have one passport than neither.

It was just a thought... even if it doesn't work out again, it's still something he'll need one day.

Right, back to policies and procedures: TOIL, expenses, annual leave, interview procedure... the joy.

I Shall Go To The Ball

Dress shopping in Kigali - not as easy as it looks.

Oooh, so much to report :op

Gearing up for the Paddy's Day ball at Serena Hotel in Kigali this coming Friday. It's a big event as the newly appointed Irish Ambassador to Rwanda will be there, so they're doing it in style. I mean, not many Paddy's Days you'd go to with 'formal dress' and 'corporate bookings' - definitely not many that cost FRW 35,000 a ticket! Wasn't going to go for that reason, but so many friends are, and it will be something the likes of which we don't see that often round here.

Just spent the whole day looking for a dress. It's bloody hard in Kigali as you usually get clothes made, but I've left it a bit late for that. So, I had to do a major crawl. I started in town behind the Mosque, where Cathryn had suggested, but no joy. Then I did the whole of Nyamirambo, which is the main shopping stretch with loads of clothes shops. They were all rather average and none of them fitted.

I was losing hope fast after about three hours. I took another moto back to town and got him to come to a screeching halt outside another shop, where I saw a dress out of the corner of my eye. Too small, still nothing.

I crossed the road and saw another shop. Much better luck this time. A couple of lovely satin scarf halter-neck jobbies. They were really nice, but not the most flattering as they went directly out after the boobs, so made you look a bit like a parachute. Still, I felt more confident that, at least, worst case scenario, I would have something acceptable. At FRW 13,000 a good price, too.

I was in a part of town I'd not been to before and decided to keep walking just a little further. Up a rocky mud road I found a boutique and thought I'd accidentally fallen through a wormhole into London! It was bizarre. The sumptuous evening gowns slid back like the tides of the Red Sea as I entered. Everything was a mass of colour, glitter, and handbags. I could have wept. There were more dresses in this one shop than I had seen in the whole of Kigali. I tried on a couple - one too small and one very nice but a tad tight.

I'd given up. If I couldn't find a dress in that shop I was doomed. I had a headache, my foot was killing from limping all over town. Not good. I was ready to go home and panic. You can't spend that much on a ticket and have nothing to wear :o(

Then, just as I was stumbling back down the hill, I glanced to my right and saw an unimposing little shop with a dress hanging up outside. I thought 'what the hell?' I'd been everywhere else, this was to be my last-ditch attempt. It didn't look promising, but I had nothing to lose.

The moment I entered, a tingling of hope hit the back of my neck. Perhaps... just perhaps... almost instantly I spotted this lurvely chocolate brown knee-length dress with gold, cream, caramel embroidery and glitz in a swirly pattern. Classy, thought I. Bet it doesn't fit. Everything here's a one-off, no size range - either fits or it doesn't.

The lady kindly pulled it down for me and I went to try it on...

Success!

I swirled in the mirror and was amazed. I was then doubly amazed when all of a sudden, before my feet, appeared a pair of matching shoes! She had guessed my shoe size without even asking!

There was even another in a similar style, which I tried. It was slightly longer but much more cream embroidery - we both decided the first was better against my skin.

Then she decked me out with a necklace, handbag, hairband and would-have-been earrings if they'd been pierced. I felt bad, but just stuck with the dress and the shoes. Fairly reasonable, I felt: 20,000 shoes and 25,000 dress. As a one-off for something I'll definitely wear again, I was happy. I'd trudged all over the whole of Kigali. In this tiny back-street shop I found exactly what I needed. I half expected the shop to disappear after I left.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of the spending (Mum - this is where the birthday money went).

I have the dress, the shoes... and the man.

Ermn. Yes.

Uh...

So. Last night I got a text from D. I hadn't seen him in about five months. He'd been doing some stuff for Eyecon magazine back then. The editor was in town and wanted to meet me as I'd offered him some material.

We hooked up in Stella and had a good chat. They're planning to open an office here later in the year and wanted to recruit me to help with some promotional stuff. Not that I have a huge amount of time on my hands, but pro bono it could be kinda fun.

I only went to meet them, but of course D was there. Looking gorgeous. He's got cute li'le dreads now. The others went off to do an interview with someone and we just hung out a bit longer.

He's really changed. Hanging out with a good crowd and much more confident in himself. Doing lots of creative design stuff and looking really well. He even bough the drinks!

Well, I was determined not to, but that guy does something to me. Dumb and cheesy as it sounds, we both still had a picture of each other in our wallets *sigh* What can you do?

So - third time lucky. At least the third time around you know what you're getting yourself into. So, we're back together and I'll feel rather proud to attend next Friday on his arm. After all, it was St. Paddy's day one year ago that we first got together - romantic, huh? Was a slightly different sort of event back then ;)

I have to say, it does add something to dress shopping when you know you're dressing up for someone.

Friends so far have been good about it. I was expecting a smack round the ear, but I don't care. We're so comfortable around each other. I haven't met another guy here who I can just hang out with like that, watch movies, snuggle up to, and talk silliness with. I know he's always on my side even if I give him grief occasionally. So, we'll see how it goes, but I'm determined to keep my cool and give it a proper shot this time. He's a very handsome sweetie. It feels good he's mine again.

There we go, huh. Things come full circle sometimes. Now he's got to panic over a suit like I did over the dress, but I gave him my tie to wear - he looks sooo good in it.

La la la la la. Heehee.

Now all I have to do is focus on packing up the house and preparing for the RNAD AGM. By this time next week both will be over and I'll be putting on that dress again and dolling myself up for an evening with D and good friends.

Rock \m/

This 'n' That

Thought it was about time for some photos - been a while. This is me, Cathryn and the two Dans at Jeff's house in Kibungo last weekend.

Monday night was fun. Jeff & Addison were flying out of Kigali on the 4am Tuesday flight. Jeff stayed at Chez Lando over the road Sunday and Monday night, but I was way too whacked to hang out Sunday after the King Faisal adventure and being on antibiotics, meaning no booze. Cathryn and I caught up with him Sunday daytime though and checked out his room - very swanky. Nice place to stay if you have the cash.

Monday, I just zoned-out. Cathryn helped me to pack some of my stuff into boxes but I wasn't really with it. In the evening Addison didn't turn up until late and Jeff arrived soon after with a couple of friends, Kivu Writers in fact. Including Felix, who I trained in funding! Pretty cool, huh? Turns out he knew Jeff from a friend in Kibungo. Small world.

Then Jeff was off to round up some of the new Peace Corps volunteers who just landed. We met them at Stella. Jeff and Addison helped me to hop over there. I ordered a Primus (beer) out of force of habit and had to do a slow-motion 'noooooooo!' just before they opened it, remembering that I couldn't drink, so swapped it for a Fanta Citron instead - joy.

The Peace Corps were nice, on the whole. Fresh off the boat and brimming with enthusiasm... give them time. A lovely couple moving in to Jeff & Addison's old place. They were originally going to be working with Jeff before he quit.

They invited me for pizza anytime. Looking forward to that. Also Becky, Logan and Ahmed, who are absolutely lovely. Hope to see more of them.

I feel a bit sorry for them though, as PC isn't at all like VSO in the sensibility stakes. They force all of their volunteers to take Larium (this is the malaria prophylactic that lists 'suicide' as a side effect) and they test them to make sure they've been taking it! If they don't take it they get shipped home. Absolutely nuts! That stuff is seriously awful, I tried it for a week and vowed never to go near it again. Out of five other vols I know who took it, three had such bad hallucinations, depression and sleep disturbance that they swapped for something else, one persisted, and only one of the five had no problem with it at all. One of the girls freaked out so badly she thought she had little black worms swimming in her veins and went to the Polyclinique to get blood tests!

Given the extreme stress of moving to a new country, the ups and downs of daily life here, and the rocky adjustment period we all go through, bouncing off the walls on that stuff isn't going to do anybody any favours. Apparently, you could swap to another prophylactic if you asked, but two people had tried and been refused! I find that amazing negligence on the side of mental health. Jeff later explained it to me as the 'litigation culture' of America. Apparently people sue for anything in America and that's why PC babies people. Surely if you're going to sue for not taking your drugs and getting malaria, you're just as likely to sue for long-term mental health damage from taking it? I just find it astounding that you'd test adults to check if they were taking Larium. Weeeeird.

There were a few odd things like that. They also have curfew times by which they have to be indoors (good for integrating with the local community!) and they aren't allowed to access any funds from home or receive money from home. They have to live 100% off the allowance and it's less than we get! I can see a lot of people running for the hills before too long. There's getting people to integrate and focus on going loco, then there's torturing people in cruel and unusual ways. Bizarre. We'll see what happens. If nothing else, it's an interesting social experiment.

On the up-side they do get intensive language training in Kinyarwanda, so hopefully they'll do better than most of us did. At least when they're hallucinating like mad from the Larium, starving from the lack of money, and claustrophobic from being locked inside of an evening with no electricity, everyone in the street will understand what they're screaming as they run down it ;)

So, anyway, Jeff and Addison have gone and will be sorely missed. Just as we got to know them, they quit. I stayed up talking to Addison on the porch until 2am when he left to check-in. Cathryn's booked home around April 1st. Hirut's off to the States too, possibly for good. Brad's heading home for a break. Antonia's leaving soon, as is Giudi... There's going to be me sitting in a new house in a remote part of town with no friends left. Woopie.

Still, there is some good news. In a stunning turn of events my colleagues have gone into hyper-work mode! Drawing up action plans, organising conferences - all of their own accord! I've been mighty impressed. Just as I was blathering on to Cathryn about nothing much ever getting done, I blinked and it was all done! As she said "people can really surprise you sometimes." I'm feeling dead positive about work now. Seems like it's becoming that team I said I wanted to be part of.

The trip back to the doctor on Tuesday wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected. Thought they'd do the whole scraping the wound out thing again and I was braced for it. Cathryn came with me. Only, when they took the dressing off, it was completely dry and looked healthy. The antibiotics have taken the red down a lot and there's no more gunk. I'm still under orders not to get it wet or put any cream on it. It has to stay dry, but at least it's healing now. It does look gruesome though, sunken right up into my foot. Grim.

To cheer myself up a little, I decided to treat myself to a ticket to the St. Paddy's Day Ball after all. Hope I can dance by then. At FRW 35,000 (about GBP 40) a ticket I wasn't going to go because it's so expensive, but at the weekend I met Penny and we agreed to do it. Only problem being that neither of us own any formal dresses. She's coming to Kigali tomorrow afternoon and I'm going to grit my teeth and hobble around the shops with her. I'm a bit sceptical as buying clothes off-the-rack here is almost impossible. They're all second-hand, so you have to hope they fit, and there's so few available. You really have to hunt. Plus, they're extremely expensive. You pay more here for second-hand clothes than you do new back home. Usually people get things made, but we've left it a bit late now, the ball is next Friday (same day as the RNAD AGM). By the time you've bought the material, had it made, and had it adjusted seven times, it'll just never get done.

I'll also then need to trawl around for shoes that match and fit. I can see this taking me all of next week's spare time, in between preparing for the RNAD Annual General Meeting. It's going to be chaotic.

As a last sentiment, I'm starting to wonder which gods I've p!ssed off as, in the past couple of weeks, I've managed to burn my leg on a moto, lacerate my foot, and drop a coffee mug on my toe. I mean, really...!? I'm a health hazard to myself.

Anyway, enough self-pity. Here's some more photos - click to enlarge. I've been trying to upload them for ages but MTN has been unprecedentedly crap. So much so, they even issued a public apology the other day! Note they gave no time frame for the fix. Typical.

RNAD staff at the old office. L-R: Nadia, Bob, Gerard, Goreth, Michelline, me, Claire, Leon, Father Murenzi (visitor), John (visitor), Betty; Bottom: Apollo & Parfait. 2008


Just to prove that I do actually do some work sometimes! Strategic Planning Workshop at RNAD. L-R: Me, Parfait, Claire, Nadia & Blandine. 2008

Strategic Planning Workshop at RNAD: L-R: Gerard, Blandine, Claire & Nadia. 2008


RNAD - making the dictionary. L-R: Philbert, Michelline & Emmanuel. 2008


RNAD - illustrating the dictionary. L-R: Butare student & Goreth. 2008

RNAD - making the dictionary. L-R: Goreth, Betty & Emmanuel. 2008