Please note that VSO is in no way connected with or responsible for the content, comments and observations in this blog: these are solely my own in a personal capacity.
PROJECTS
One of the things I had in mind when I came out here was to look around for a couple of useful things I might do to help while I was here - full details in the next blog and I will also be emailing all my friends and family with details - so watch this space!
WORK
Finally, finally – a week of really busy work in the office. It has mostly been statistics but at least now I know this is stuff that is actually needed and will be useful, as well as teaching me a lot about the various primary schools in my district. The chaos that started last week has continued this week. All day Monday was taken up with imihigo: this is the official signing of the District’s performance contract for January-June 2009 and is an all-day affair. I was going to give it a miss as it would go on forever and all be in Kinyarwandan but I got the feeling it was quite a big deal and decided I had better turn up. Just as well I did as I was actually mentioned as part of the proceedings (part of the drive to learn English) and it would have been v. embarrassing if I hadn’t been there!! I met two Norwegian Red Cross volunteers (Kristen and Camilla) who also attended as their boss was giving a presentation. Apparently they have been living in Butare since September but I never ran into them! Then I ran into them in the supermarket on Friday and we also ended up on the same bus to Kigali!
Other than that there isn’t much to say about work, apart from the English classes (Alfred: Oh no you don’t! You promised I could tell that story!). My otherwise mild-mannered and calm Director of Education almost had to be physically restrained from killing the chargé on Friday when we discovered he had screwed up a piece of work we had been preparing for the last week-and-a-half (Alfred: those of you not conversant with Excel may prefer to skip to the next paragraph!). Children here are allocated to secondary schools by the central department of education, often to the other side of the country (virtually all secondary students are boarders) but they can appeal to be sent to a different school. So we had amassed a file of about 190 such students and their details and I had tidied it up for them, sorting the students by the school they wanted to be transferred to. Anyway, Alexis (the chargé), as best I can figure out, decided he wanted the list in alphabetical order by student, but only sorted the students’ name column and left the rest of the data as it was. He then saved the file over the backup file and turned off the computer. We only found out the next day what had happened and that’s when Francois lost it. I sat in the corner working on my statistics and listening to the Dolly Parton album they were insisting on playing (Alfred: Niamh, if you are reading this – remember Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital??)
ENGLISH CLASSES
Alfred: Gather round my children while I recount to you the ongoing saga of Gisagara’s district’s attempts to teach its workers English. You may recall our erstwhile hero’s earlier attempts to organise English classes before Christmas, his expedition to Kigali to find textbooks (aided by the White Lords of the British Council) and his subsequent search for the Magic Photocopier. Well, this week saw another twist in the tale. Tuesday was imihigo day so no joy there. He turned up on Wednesday and was told there was a meeting of the co-operative committee so there couldn’t be a class (apparently all the workers are in the co-operative and get to divvy up a load of cows at the end of each year). So Thursday was to be the day. Having slaved away over a hot laptop all morning, our hero dashed home for a spot of lunch (peanut butter and bread and plum juice – yeah, I know, McDonald’s it ain’t) and then turned up, eager and willing, at the District Office, accompanied by his faithful squire Enoch.
On arrival they were met by the all-powerful Eugene, Executive Secretary of the District who said he had personally informed all workers to be there that day on the dot of 1530 for their placement test. ‘At last’ cried Ruairí (to himself), ’our labours can commence’. Installing themselves in the majestic meeting hall, Ruairí and Enoch awaited their adversaries ... I mean students.
The fated hour of 1530 came ... and went. At 1545 the all-powerful Eugene entered and realised he was the only person who had turned up. Dismayed and crestfallen, he and our two heroes (a stature that Enoch has surely earned at this stage) wondered what to do. The quest for the learning of English was a noble one but while the spirit might be willing, the flesh was weaker than a cup of tea in a 1950s rural Irish convent. So they hatched a cunning plan. What if the workers could be tricked into learning English? Eugene revealed that every Monday there was an assembly of all workers, for the purpose of planning the week ahead. What if Ruairí were to suddenly appear, English tests in hand, at the meeting and force all and sundry to complete it then and there??
A test at 0700 on a Monday morning? Could such a thing be countenanced? Bloody right it could, and will!! Watch this space to see what happens!
OBAMA’S INAUGURATION
After work Tuesday I headed into Butare to meet Jane and watch the inauguration ceremony. We went to the Faucon and there was a HUGE crowd, about one hundred and twenty people packed into the bar. It was a gerat occasion, though the coverage was from France24 so they voiced-over everything in French, including Obama’s sppech. By the way, does anyone know why Jimmy Carter wasn’t there? Saw Clinton and Bush senior all right (Bush senior looking like a Protestant archbishop with all that purple stuff shoved into his coat) but no peanut farmer-turned-President. Maybe he is still at Harare Airport trying to get in and sort out Mugabe.
MUSIC AT WORK
This is going to be the undoing of me. I can cope with all the other things Rwanda is throwing at me – rain and mud, an extremely limited cuisine (I think herbs and spices are against their religious beliefs), inefficiency, constant requests for money, sponsorship and whatever, insane moto and bus drivers, body odour, bedbugs, Kinyarwandan grammar (Alfred: ‘cope’ with it? You haven’t even tried learning it yet!), baton-wielding policemen (see details later), complete changing of the education system on an almost daily basis (or so it seems), computer viruses, eternal speeches, those really wierd shoes the men sometimes wear, the fact that most people support Arsenal, always being called a muzungu and being stared at – all water off a duck’s back.
But the music. The first problem is that they like to play the same track over and over and over and over and over again. My chargé Alexis – you MUST remember him – always plays music in the office. Loudly. Poorly chosen. And his favourite is to put one track on repeat for up to three hours at a time. No kidding. Three hours. He played one Dolly Parton track from around nine until I fled home for lunch. The terrifying thing is – you begin to wonder if you are staring to enjoy it. He has a particular fondness for religious-based country-and-western tunes of the most banal type. And nothing as entertaining as ‘I don’t care if it rains or freezes/Long as I got my plastic Jesus/Sitting on the dashboard of my car’ or ‘Drop-kick me, Jesus, through the goalposts of life’.
That brings me to problem number two: here’s a clue. Do you recognise the following lyrics?
When I was young/I never needed anyone
Near, far, wherever you are
You were my strength when I was weak/You were my voice when I couldn’t speak
It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now.
Yes – Céline bloody Dion! Morning and night, on buses, in restaurants, ringtones, discos, hotels, again and again and again and AGAIN! I have occasionally found myself humming one of her hits and realised the insidious way she is creeping into my brain. This is not going to end well.
FOOTBALL MATCH
Today (Saturday) I went to my first football match in Rwanda. It was Rwanda v. Ghana in the African under-20 championships, the first major football tournament hosted by Rwanda. Rwanda had beaten Mali 2-1 and drawn 1-1 with Cameroon: they needed to beat Ghana to be sure of going through. A draw or even a loss might be enough if Cameroon failed to beat Mali. Mike Silvey, our country director had organised tickets for about 20 of us and we all met at the ground at 1515 (kickoff at 1530).
Getting in was chaotic – the entrances for the terraces were absolutely packed. The police were doing incredibly methodical body searches of all spectators and, with only two stewards on duty at our entrance, a massive queue built up. As the game started, the crowd got frustrated and began pushing and arguing – every time this happened the police would stop their searches and let no one in. By now I had got fairly near the top but the crush from behind was getting quite scary. Then someone in the crowd at the front made some comment to one of the police who slapped him really hard across the face and pushed him down the stairs into the crowd. When another person (pushed by the crowd behind him) bumped into the other policeman, the two of them just waded into the crowd with their batons. The two guys on either side of me got whacked on the head – either he missed me or decided that clubbing a muzungu was unlikely to be a career-enhancing activity (Alfred: probably the latter – he seemed to hit pretty much everything else he aimed at).
Eventually things settled down and they recommenced the body searches. And they were thorough! The last time I remember being touched like that was when I went for my medical exam for joining the pension scheme 25 years ago (Alfred: Ah yes, a rare opportunity to use the verb ‘palpated’). I mean, what kind of weaponry did he think I was hiding down there? (Alfred: nothing your average Rwandan would be scared of, I’m sure!). When I got in and found the rest of the gang, we actually had a great time. The standard wasn’t great but they were only juniors, after all. 0-0 at half time but Ghana stepped up a gear in the second half and ended 2-0 winenrs. And Cameroon beat Mali so Rwanda are out.
Another interesting thing. President Kagame was at the match and every time his picture came up on the big screen there was huge cheering and applause. I couldn’t help thinking that if Gordon Brown or Brian Cowen were in the same situation, I doubt the reaction would have been the same!
LAUNDRY
For some reason, I am actually enjoying washing all my laundry by hand. I think it’s the challenge of seeing how much laundry you can wash succesfully in as little water as possible. And also the continuing look of incredulity on my guard’s face when he sees me doing it!
ÁBHAR FAOI RÚN!!
Ceann de na rudaí is fearr a tharla dom ó tháinig mé anseo ná gur chuir mé aithne ar Enoch, múinteoir ó Uganda atá ag múineadh Béárla sa mheánscoil áitiúil le deich mbliana anuas. Téimid amach ag ól uair nó dhó gach seachtain, buaileann sé timpeall chun leabhair a thógáil ar iasacht uaim agus, toisc go bhfuil sé sa cheantar le fada, cabhraíonn sé liom leis an iliomad fadhbanna a thagann i mo threo ó am go ham.
Agus, toisc nach Rwandach é, is féidir liom ceisteanna a chur air nach mbeinn ar mo shuaimhneas a chur ar Rwandach, go háirithe faoin gcinedhíothú i 1994. An oíche dheireananch a bhíomar ag caint, d’iarr mé air arís faoi mo thiománaí Deo Gratias a chaith 13 bliana i bpríosún ó 1994 go dtí 2007 – tá sé i m’aigne iarracht éigin a dhéanamh cabhrú leis a shaol a chur ar ais le chéile arís tar éis an méid a tharla dó ach theastaigh uaim a chinntiú – chun na fírinne a rá – nach raibh sé páirteach in aon bhealach sa mhéid a tharla. Ní amháin gur chinntigh Enoch dom go raibh Deo neamhchiontach go hiomlán, d’inis sé roinnt scéálta eile dom. Dar leis, tá na cúirteanna traidisiúnta (gacaca a thugtar orthu) truaillithe go hiomlán ag breabanna agus caimiléireacht de chuile shórt. Tugtar breabanna do na giústis le cinntiú go gcuirtear daoine áirithe i bpríosún, íocann daoine eile le go ligtear saor iad go luath nó nach dtéann siad ann ar chor ar bith. Agus muid ag ól ansin, dhírigh sé a mhéar ar bheirt a bhí ag siúl thar an ngeata. Dúirt sé go raibh a fhos ag cách go ndearna an bheirt sin sléacht sa cheantar i rith an chinedhíothaithe ach, toisc iad a bheith saibhir agus cairde acu sa chóras polaitíochta áitiúil, níor gabhadh riamh iad.
Scéal eile ná rud a tharla i scoil aitiúil. Má chuirtear i do leith go raibh tú bainteach leis an gcinedhíothú, coinnítear i bpríosún thú go dtí gur féidir an cás a iniúchadh. Bhí an príomhoide i scoil áitiúil ag éiri as a phost ag deireadh na bliana. Chuir múinteoir amháin sa scoil i leith múinteora eile gur ghlac sé páirt gníomhach sa chinedhíothú. Thóg sé dhá bhliain an cás a fhiosrú agus, faoin am a scaoileadh saor an fear (a bhí iomlán neamhchiontach) bhí post an phríomhoide faighte ag an bhfear eile fad a bhí a iomaitheori sa phríosún.
TRANSLATING AS GAEILGE
What exactly is the Irish for ‘uncontended high bandwidth services’, or ‘highly resilient wireless radio transmission network’? Answers on a postcard please to ......
HAN AND MANS FAREWELL PARTY
One of the best things here – probably the best, actually – is making fantastic new friends. And, in the nature of volunteering, every now and again you have to say goodbye to them as they head back to their homes, as you yourself will one day do. On Friday night a huge crowd of volunteers gathered in La Sole Luna restaurant for Han and Mans’ farewell dinner. We had an absolutely fantastic night, a fitting send-off for two people who did so much excellent work here. Mans spent ages showing me his work and gave me a copy of everything he had done over the last two years (550MB worth); they invited me and many others who were here for Christmas to their house and have been friends, helpers and supporters of so many of his here. They will be sorely missed though I do look forward to visiting them in Utrecht when I get the chance (pictures will be posted on the next blog – forgot to bring a USB cable with me to Kigali!)
GENERATOR SAGA
Oh dear! I finally managed to track down the shop that sells petrol in the village as my generator had run dry. Off I went with my jerrycan, and Enoch in tow as well. They charged RWF1000 per litre which wasn’t too bad. The price at the pumps is RWF768 and it has to be lugged all the way out to the village (and a considerable portion got spilled on the floor while they were trying to measure it out). My guard miraculously appeared just as we had finished so he got to carry the full jerrycan back to the house (16 litres of petrol weighs a lot).
So, back home, filled up the generator amd decided I was going to have a double helping of Cauliflower and Broccoli Cup-a-Soup! I could actually taste the creaminess, the slight crunch of the broccoli (don’t know how they manage it) but, most of all, eating something HOT in my own house. The generator wouldn’t start. Poor Alexandre worked himself into a complete lather pulling the starter cord – eventually I had to actually order him to stop for fear he would either injure himself or, to be frank my greater worry, break the starter cord. So far, I have managed to boil three kettles and cook one stir-fry: not a great track record (Alfred: well, I don’t want to sound, like, bitchy or whatever, but you do have a kerosene stove, don’t you? All the other volunteers seem to have figured out how to use it – you tried twice and then gave up! Get a grip and stop whining!)
POLICE!!!
Yeah! On Wednesday morning, my police clearance arrived in Butare post office. All I had to do, I figured, was bring it up to Kigali Friday, hand it in to the Program Office and wait for my visa and work permits to arrive.
On Thursday the police called to my door. Oh-oh, I thought, here comes trouble. They gave me an Alien’s Registration document which all non-Rwandans are being required to fill out – the problem is they say they absolutely have to have it back by next Monday and there is no way my stuff can be processed that quickly! Going to have to stall them somehow – that could be interesting!
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