And so it goes as Kurt Vonnegut (I think) once said.

Re-integration. Five little syllables (Alfred: Not that there are really any very large syllables to be honest). I figured the real challenge would be immediately after returning - the shock of traffic, the first visit to a supermarket, the prices, the pace at which people walk and so on. But, to the contrary, initially things were fine. It is now, after three weeks or so, that life is becoming very strange. Or even difficult.

I think part of the reason is because - unlike most volunteers - I never went home during the 22 months of my placement, so my brain decided it was home for a brief holiday before heading back to reality .i. Rwanda. So the first while was all meeting family and friends, being reunited with my beloved Martine, drinking the first pint of Guinness, eating all my favourite foods I hadn't tasted in two years (Caesar salad, breaded fish steaks, a Big Mac (Alfred: An underwhelming experience but I suppose if you spend two entire years waiting for something, the level of expectation would make almost anything an anticlimax. Except sex, probably. But then, how would I know. I'm just a teddy-bear), pickled baby beetroot, black pudding with fried eggs, paté, cheeses in all their amazing, bewildering, heartwarming profusion (I discovered a new one in France, a soft creamy cheese called Roblochon - absolutely incredible), rillettes, freshly-baked French bread ... and, above all, chilled white wine). Ireland was fine, the south of France even better, maybe a bit weird but cool.

Now I am back almost four weeks and I think my brain has realised I am not going back to Rwanda. Plus I have been receiving many emails from Rwandan friends asking me how I am getting on. So now I know - I am back. I am not going to wake up tomorrow, have a cold bucket shower, eat two hard-boiled eggs with bread and coffee and then head off for the District Office. I am stuck here in a world where I grapple with tax rebates, house insurance, plumbing problems, car tax, electricity and gas provider agencies, strict recycling protocols, where nobody knows me when I venture out of my house - so I do so less and less. I spend my hours on Facebook reading the gossip and chat of my friends back in Rwanda. When I visit the supermarkets I resist the urge to buy compulsively and try to stick to what I need.

My first day back in the office was .. interesting. The teacher who had filled in as Deputy Principal for me while I was away ran me through the changes and other things that had happened while I was away. It was only three hours but it really left me reeling - so, so different to what I have become used to. And so much of it not really practical hands-on work (.i. working direectly with children or teachers) but general administration and bureaucracy.

Monday I head to England - Edinburgh Monday (Martine), Tuesday and Wednesday Bristol (Hayley, my sister and my sister's kids), Thursday Birmingham (Els) and Friday and Saturday Nottingham (Thom, Andy and the First Test Match between England and Pakistan). Meeting all these people I was in Rwanda with is really important to me. Not that I want to endlessly relive all that happened, but I know that just being with them is a sharing of what we all did and experienced together.

But I do miss so many things. I miss my friends, I miss my office, I miss the avocados, I miss riding on the back of a motorbike, I miss (and, I swear to God I never ever ever imagined I could possibly ever say this) being stared at, I miss Mutzig, I miss wandering down the main street of Butare and people calling me 'Joe Cole', I miss being able to wear my Chelsea jersey without worrying that some Neandearthal supporter of some other team will take it for a deadly personal insult (Alfred: He hasn't worn it since he came back; he did wear it in France but things are a lot more civilised over there about things like that) , I miss brochettes, I miss the slow-motion insanity of the early Monday morning meetings in the District. I especially miss the weather and the light: I still can't get used to its being so bright so late ... and so early. So here I sit at 0300 on Saturday/Sunday because it only got properly dark a few hours ago and I am waiting to go to bed - but I need to be up in about .... hmm, five hours. OK - more tomorrow. Night all.

So, where do we go from here?

Just back from a week in France, meeting my wonderful Martine's mother and family and introducing her to mine and hanging around with my brother and his wife and wonderful kids (Alfred: Em, I presume you think Brian and his wife are also pretty wonderful ... or whatever. Just wondering about the syntax). And my sister Máirín too. And I had hired a seven-seater car to drive them all around in. Picked it up in Lyon, with Máírín and Martine, and drove down to Montelimar .... the rest will have to wait. Driving an outsize seven-seater car around France for seven days when you have never driven on the right before ... interesting. (Alfred: Yeah, right - only drove for a few of the days, though the last day when he drove all over Lyon - and I mean ALL over Lyon, trying to find Brian's hotel and then, even more hilariously, trying to find the car agency , during the latter which experience he managed to cross not just one unnecessary major river but TWO (Rhone AND Saône) - now that entry is going to be worth waiting for).

Meanwhile, now that I am back in Ireland, the question arises - do I continue the blog or not? The consensus seems to be that I keep going while I am describing the reintegration process - after that, probably not. So that's the way it is going to be!! And I will be updating the last few weeks - for my sins!

READJUSTING part two

CUSTOMER SERVICE

It was Martine who drew my attention to it first but since then it has been a real pleasure – customer service with a smile. It’s not that it doesn’t exist at all in Rwanda but every time you encounter it it makes an enormous impression because it is so rare. Here, maybe it was always like this but it is such a pleasure shopping or ordering stuff in bars and restaurants. No grunts, no waiters lying slumped asleep across their counters, no padded bills, genuine smiles and conversations, food being delivered exactly as ordered, hot and promptly. We went to McCloskey’s in Donnybrook one evening to watch football and have a drink and get something to eat. There were about 25 customers in the place and just one barman on duty. He managed to serve everyone their drinks, brought food for five of them/us, tidied up in general and still had time to chat to everyone for a bit, check that everyone was happy and read the newspaper. Rwanda has a distance to go yet.

BUSES

Well, Rwandan buses may be driven in a lunatic fashion and are somewhat of questionable condition but at least they leave on time and get to where they are going more or less as expected (I am talking of the inter-city buses of course). I walked down the road to catch the 1400 75 bus to Ballinteer. By 1410 it was obvious it wasn’t coming. At 1415 a 75 passed in the opposite direction – presumably it was the one coming back up at 1430. Eventually at 1445 it appeared. I asked the driver ‘What happened to the 1400 bus?’. ‘No idea ‘ he said, ‘probably just didn’t turn up.’ Thought of telling him this wouldn’t have happened in Rwanda, figured there was no point.

HORSES

Driving through Cavan, I saw horses. There are no horses in Rwanda. Not one. They looked wonderful.

THE PORTERHOUSE

One of the absolutely most fantastic, wonderful things about living in Dublin is The Porterhouse. The first Porterhouse was (and is) in Temple Bar, a pub where all the beers served are either brewed themselves on the premises or are other specialty beers from microbrewers all over the world. You cannot get Guinness, Heineken, Carlsberg, Coors or any other commercial brands. And what they do have that I really love is a range of porter and stouts that cannot be matched anywhere: plain porter, Oyster Stout, Wrasslers Stout, wheat beer, American-style lager, red beers – you name it, they have brewed it in the basement and are serving it upstairs. There is now a second Porterhouse on Nassau Street near Grafton Street, more central and accessible though the pub itself is nowhere near as nice as the original Parliament Street one, and a third one in Bray. There is also one in Covent Garden on London – check it out if you are over!!! My personal favourite is the Oyster Stout – if you like Guinness, taste this and see what real stout is supposed to taste like!

CHAT

I am a gregarious kind of person, there is nothing I like better than talking to new people in strange places. In Rwanda this has been a real problem. Normally when I travel, it is me who has to take the initiative to strike up conversations (except in the USA where people are naturally chatty and open to strangers). In Rwanda, you are lucky if you get a few minutes to yourself before someone sidles – or strides – up to your table, plonks down and immediately starts questioning you (Where are you from? Are you married? How many children do you have or Why not?) and then immediately start into what they want from you – money, books, a scholarship, school fees for their kids, university fees for themselves, a drink or whatever. Looking back over the 22 months I spent on Rwanda, this was definitely the single most negative aspect of my entire stay. All the more so in that when I visited Uganda and (briefly) Kenya I found nothing of the same attitude – no begging, no requests, no reflex ‘Give me stuff’ reaction. Maybe joining the East African Community will help Rwandans to shake off this attitude of dependency.

So it is all the more wonderful to be back where you can simply strike up conversations at will without worrying that you are involving yourself in a situation you will find it difficult to extricate yourself from. At the cash register, ordering from a barman, peeing in the loo, standing in a bus queue, I can just start a conversation and chat away! Awesome!!

ATTITUDE

Things are not good here in Ireland at the moment and are getting worse. All kinds of cuts and claw backs, cuts in disability services, tax hikes, repossessions, a general air of gloom and despondency. Under it is a feeling that things will in the long run – maybe even the medium run – get better but for the moment all is doom and gloom. Rwanda, for all its difficulties, is (forgive the phrase) a ‘happening’ country. Things may not always be planned carefully or carried out with foresight and planning (Alfred: That is phrasing it very diplomatically indeed!) but the general air is of progress and expansion and optimism and confidence in the economic future (Alfred: political and social is a little more complicated).

LITTER

People always said Rwanda was a very tidy country compared to its neighbours. To be fair, we have always known Dublin was dirty but I had forgotten just how dirty it is. My first visit to the city centre I was stunned at the litter everywhere and the casual way people added to it as they walked around.

SO, WHAT WAS IT LIKE?

How in the name of Jaysus do you answer this question in thirty seconds or less, which is the maximum time the person asking you is going to devote to any serious level of concentration on your answer?

PRICES

This was a big surprise. Things are a lot cheaper here in Ireland than in Rwanda, in real terms. A pint of Guinness in central Dublin cost me just under RWF3000. This is the same as a similar drink in Novotel or Milles Collines and three to almost four times the price of a Mutzig in a local bar. Given the relative rates of pay and salaries it makes me realise just how expensive Kigali is (Alfred: AS all your Ugandan friends kept on telling you!)

I HAVE A CAR AGAIN!

Oh man! My sainted brother Aindriú gave me a car, a silver Honda Accord in really nice condition and I cannot even begin to express the wonderful feeling of being independent transport-wise!!!!

GUINNESS

I don’t drink that much Guinness as a rule, preferring lager or cider. But Ken Goodwin had abjured me to have a pint of Guinness when I got back and to think of him as I was having it. So I did. Wow – amazing taste. Since then, it has been Guinness every time (other than in the Porterhouse where the Oyster Stout is possibly the best stout in the world).

Plus seeing my family again, having a fridge/freezer again, walking on Killiney Beach by the sea (!!), and – most amazing of all – finding Martine waiting for me when I got off the plane. La vita è bella!

READJUSTING part one

Sitting in Lyon Airport at 1745 local time waiting for Martine to arrive from Heathrow, this is a good time to reflect back (Alfred: Tautology! Or maybe you were thinking of reflecting forward the next time, eh?) on the last week or so. At first, I felt there was no real problem settling back in but, as the days went by, things got stranger and stranger. There are loads of good things, loads of things I don’t like and quite a few that are under the general heading of ‘strange’.

But the biggest is that I can’t sleep normally because of the light. In Rwanda, night falls at 18.30, give or take a few minutes and it is reasonably bright around 0600 or so. The day Martine went back to Scotland, I went for a pint in the Porterhouse in Nassau Street (Alfred: or, to be more accurate, went BACK to the Porterhouse, having been there with Martine earlier). Then I noticed it was about 2000 and felt it was time to head home. When I walked out of the pub it was still broad daylight. I checked my watch (which has been giving trouble), then double-checked it against my phone and Palm pilot. Yes, 2000. And then it dawned on me that it was summer! But that doesn’t change the habits of the last two years. I go to bed about three to four hours after sunset and can’t seem to shake this. So several times I have been going to bed at 0300 or even 0400, by which time it is getting bright again. Last night I actually managed to get to bed by midnight given that I had to fly today but the lack of sleep is definitely catching up with me!!

Other than that, here are the pluses, minuses and wierdnesses about being back in Ireland, in no particular order (you can figure out which category each belongs to):

BODY ODOUR: I remember reading a report that, now smoking is banned in Irish pubs (Alfred: Em, he means pubs in Ireland), people were becoming much more conscious of the body odour issue. Well, my friends, that may be the case for your refined nostrils but for me, the freedom to inhale deeply while in crowds is a blessed relief.

BEGGING: No one is continually calling out ‘amafaranga, muzungu’ here – but there are a lot of beggars! OK, they don’t get in your face the way beggars did in Rwanda but I was really surprised how many people I saw begging around the centre of Dublin.

COMPLEXITY: OMG, I had forgotten, and I mean completely forgotten, how much more complicated life is here. Even the process of opening the mail for two years reminded me of so many things that exist here and don’t exist in Rwanda - gas, electricity and phone/broadband, cable TV, refuse collection, house insurance, health insurance, car insurance, salary protection insurance, having a garden, taxes, charity contributions, ... (Alfred: Or, to be more accurate, many things that you have to take care of yourself here are taken care of by VSO in Rwanda). And I have SO MUCH STUFF!!! Where the hell did all these things come from? When I left, all my possessions went into my attic and I have been removing them one bag at a time and discovering what I have. I seem to have a grand total of fifteen cooking utensils – pots, pans, woks, casserole dishes. Two entire sets of cutlery plus endless odds and ends. FIVE sets of table mats, only one set of which I can ever remember having used (and I brought another set back from Rwanda). Three swimming costumes??? (Alfred: the irony of this last one will not be lost on close friends and family). Clothes I don’t even remember owning and that I have never to my knowledge worn. And so on and so on. Not to mention all the things I brought back from Rwanda (Alfred: I am sure faithful readers will be pleased to know that the two DHL parcels arrived safely and pretty much intact – the frame of the framed ‘Thank You’ drum was slightly damaged but this was in the parcel Ruairí packed himself, not the one DHL packed!) What made me think I needed four psychedelically-coloured stuffed elephants? Hollow wooden fish? Not to mention the clothes I got made which looked fine in Rwanda but here...... (Alfred: Ha – YOU may think they looked fine in Rwanda but I don’t remember you venturing outdoors in most of them).

O TEMPORA, O MORES: though it should be whatever the Latin is for ‘place’ rather than ‘time’. My first trip into the city centre was quite a shock to my sensibilities. Were skirts ALWAYS this short? I remember about a month ago seeing a girl in the street Butare wearing a skirt that showed her knees: here – well, I seriously had to keep looking away, I was so embarrassed. And people eating in the streets (and messily at that). I went to a funeral in Cavan where they served chicken and sausages and sandwiches after the service – but no one washed their hands first or used a napkin to pick up the food!

Mind you, so far no one has picked their nose or coughed up half a pint of phlegm from the nether regions of their lungs while chatting to me – like everything else I mentioned, I can get used to that.

ANONYMITY: No one stares at me, no one shouts ‘Muzungu!’, no one comes up to me when I am standing somewhere, parks themselves two feet away and looks at my face with a dropped jaw and a thin line of drool slowly escaping unbeknownst to them from the corner of their mouth.

ANONYMITY: No one pays any attention to me. Instead of being unique, known to everyone in my community, someone complete strangers want to talk to, shake hands with, be seen with, I’m just me in a city of over a million others. And, curiously, this very anonymity makes me much more self-conscious of how I look. In Rwanda I could wear pretty much what I liked, the fact that I was fatter than most others was a positive thing, I could pretty much set my own rules as no-one there really expected me to follow Rwandan rules. But now .... I don’t even wear my favourite Chelsea shirt into town like I always did in Butare, because here football shirts are a sign of tribal allegiance and can spark hostility, rather than attracting friendly comments and chat from fellow football-lovers.

SCHOLARSHIPS, BLOODY SCHOLARSHIPS

I know everyone in Rwanda wants to improve their level of qualifications but the incessant requests for me to find scholarships for people to study abroad has been the single most wearing thing of the last few months. And almost every time, it is the same conversation (and almost always in French):

Random work colleague/bar customer/complete stranger: I need to travel abroad and do an MA and I need you to find me a scholarship.

Me: What do you want to study?

RWC/BC/CS: I don’t care, I just want to have an MA. Anything will do as long as I have a scholarship to do it. But I would prefer Sociology or Psychology.

Me: And where do you want to study? There are scholarships in Belgium and France ....

RWC/BC/CS: No, no, no. Not in French, I need to study in English.

Me: But you don’t speak English.

RWC/BC/CS: I will learn. I am very good at memorising stuff. I will call you tomorrow so you can tell me where I am going because my family want to know.

Me: Your family?

RWC/BC/CS: Yes, I told them yesterday I was meeting you today to arrange a scholarship and they are very excited. My mother said she is going to pray for you every day because of the wonderful thing you have done for me and she gave me this present for you.

Having said that, there is one person on whose behalf I am actively going to look. Paul (nicknamed ‘Jambazi’, which means ‘thief’ in Swahili) is currently doing an MA in Pure Mathematics in the National University of Rwanda (NUR) but really wants to do a PhD. However, there is no-one in the entire country who would be able to supervise him for something like that. It strikes me that helping the first ever Rwandan to do a PhD in Pure Mathematics might actually be something some university department might be interested in supporting. Anyone out there with any ideas, please let me know! (Alfred: As for the nickname, which I notice Ruairí was just going to leave hanging there – Paul currently has three jobs: he teaches Physics in St Philippe Neri secondary school, teaches Mathematics in the Catholic seminary in Butare and also lectures in the Mathematics department of the NUR in Butare. Because he has three jobs, people say he is stealing the jobs of two other people, hence the nickname ‘jambazi’).

TAYTO CRISPS: If you are not Irish, you have no idea what I am talking about. If you are Irish, no explanation is necessary.

AVOCADOS: The first time I visited a supermarket, it was a little bit bewildering but not quite as mind-blowing as others had said. And, after all, Nakumatt in Kigali is a supermarket, albeit a small one by our standards. But it was still interesting gauging my reaction - -part of me found it really difficult to buy anything, a little voice in my ear saying ‘Do you REALLY need that?’. The other part of me wanted to buy everything immediately in case it was all gone the next time I came back. I did succumb and buy a few treats - three ripe pears, pitta bread, a piece of Comté cheese, a nice bottle of red wine – but my first meal in Ireland was Chicken Caesar salad: chicken breasts, romaine lettuce, croutons, good parmesan and a bottle of Caesar salad dressing (the green and red one with the Italian name which I can’t remember now). Washed down with a bottle of Astrolabe Australian chardonnay, one of my favourite white wines.

The downside was when I saw a sign for avocados (possibly my single greatest food experience in Rwanda) in the supermarket: I had been steeling myself for this moment but, even so, what a massive disappointment – tiny, wizened dark green objects as hard as rocks. I couldn’t even touch them! But maybe if I hunt around the specialist greengrocers I can find something faintly resembling what I had in Rwanda.

CAVAN: On Friday last I went to a funeral in Cavan – Jennifer Anderson, who had been head of the boarding house in Rathdown School where I teach since before I started there, died suddenly and a large group of us went up on the school bus. On the journey I got a chance to speak to a lot of the staff and catch up on what was going on. Then I just sat and looked out of the window for a bit.

If you live in Rwanda, sitting on a bus staring out of the window is something you spend a LOT of time doing, so it felt really familiar in one way. And then I noticed what I was looking at and, possibly for the first time, realised that I really was not in Rwanda any more. Large herds of cows, flat landscape, wheat and barley (though there was some maize, which gave me a familiar little thrill). And, most of all, no banana trees. This had been something I had been thinking about because in Rwanda, with the exception of a few areas given totally over to tea plantations, banana trees are ubiquitous. And, sure enough, that was the strangest thing of all – miles and miles of landscape with no banana trees. And so few houses – where were all the people gone??

WEATHER: I had forgotten what real weather is like, as in having many completely different kinds of weather in on day! Hot, cold, wet, windy, calm , dry – it was great! I remember my brother Aindriú telling me about when he worked in Los Angeles and the thing that really drove him crazy was that the weather was utterly predictble. I loved the weather in Rwanda – warm but usually not too hot, predictiable rain (well, for the most part) but it is so nice to have this again!

CHILDREN: a real shock. Sitting in Brussels Airport with my friend Karen. An empty table next to us. A French/Belgian woman with two small girls, aged probably 6 and 3, comes over, plonks them down and then goes up to the counter to order. The older girl immediately starts teasing the younger one, who starts shouting across the room at her mother. The mother shouts at her to behave, whereupon the little girl gets off her chair, picks it up and hurls it at the wall. Then runs over to her mother screaming abuse. NOT what I have been used to from small children for the last two years!

High points of the last few days in rwanda

Farewell party in Zaffran

This was a great evening – 60 or so friends from all over Rwanda, an excellent meal. Afterwards we went down the road to a bar whose name I still cannot remember and then I got a moto home to the Beau Sejour in Kisimenti. The moto driver was fine until we started catching up on an army pickup with eight soldiers in the back. My moto driver immediately applied the brakes and dawdled about twenty metres behind it in a manner absolutely calculated to attract attention. After a while the soldiers began nudging each other and staring at us. Then, when we came to the speed bumps outside the school in Kimihurura, the pickup slowed right down and my moto immediately accelerated and took the bumps rather like an Olympic ski-jumper and then roared off ahead of the pickup. We then covered the remaining few kilometres in about three minutes flat. An astoundingly perfect example of how to attract attention to yourself.

Presents
This is always a worry – Rwandans rarely if ever fly so getting across the idea of a limited luggage allowance is difficult. Added to this is the fact that Rwandans are extremely generous with the idea of giving farewell presents and the fact that most traditional presents are ... well, large. I accumulated the following: a large gorilla statue, a framed drum, a banana-leaf football, a giant wooden map of Rwanda, a small wooden map of Rwanda, a statue of two entwined giraffes, a large woven basket (a present for another volunteer back in England), a set of peace baskets (like Russian dolls, one within the other), a hollow wooden fish, packs of coffee, earrings, a necklace, three shirts, a dress and skirt for my mother ... em, there was probably more. Add the clothes I had made and the four imigongo paintings I ordered ... all I can say is thank God for DHL. Expensive but worth it!

Imigongo

French World Cup team

Sitting in Gasaza’s bar in Gisagara on my last night, there was a special item on TV about the French team’s latest fiasco. One of my Rwandan friends leaned over and said: ‘No offence, Ruairí, but it was probably a lot more fun for the rest of the world having France rather than Ireland in the World Cup!’ It was hard to disagree.

Rwandan videos

As Alfred previously noted, I have accumulated a great collection of Rwandan and East African videos, some of which I feel encapsulate very important aspects of Rwandan culture. For those of you living in broadband land, I will upload a few on YouTube in the near future. My personal favourite is one called ‘Aka 500’. The plot runs as follows: man has wife, pays her an allowance of RWF5000 a day (presumably for all wifely functions, including sex), comes home early one day and finds her in bed with another guy, turns out he is paying her only RWF500 for ... well, presumably sex. Husband is very angry and confronts other guy, he blames the woman, husband complains bitterly .... and then says he is cutting her allowance to RWF500 a day, the same as the other guy paid her. And that’s it. Here is the link – it’s actually a well-sung song, rap-style but sharp and crisp http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whGfR8OwxA0. More video posts to follow.

And here is another one that was already on YouTube when I was trying to upload it. Akasimu with Dr Fred Sebbaale is in Luganda and is about a row between a husband and wife. Actually, it is pretty self-explanatory - the guy trying at various stages to keep them apart is the husband's father.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAha3XvLSbI

World Cup

You know, I kinda figured everyone here would be supporting the African teams no matter what but, no. Watching Brazil v. Côte d’Ivoire one night I was really surprised that most people were supporting Brazil.

Past pupils

As I spent my last few days in Rwanda, I remembered all those people who supported me through their emails, Facebook messages, contributions towards my various projects and so on. It was particularly uplifting to be contacted by so many of my former pupils: Fiona Spargo in Australia whose accounts of her fire fighting exploits during the Australian bush fires last year was riveting, and scary; Orla Keane/Goggin who kept me in touch with what was happening at home; Susan Connolly who, when things were not going too well for me, showed me how you cope with adversity in a positive manner; Anne-Marie Florence for her discussion on ... well, she knows; Beth, Justine and Ríona for their amazing fundraising; Antonia Hart for showing that it doesn’t matter how long ago you taught someone, the connection is still always there; Anne-Marie O’Rourke for all the stuff she sent me, especially the hat (which I still have despite my best efforts to lose it); Jane for her continued interest and support; Helen Regan for being number one supporter of my blog; Jane Moore for – among other things – all the cute puppy pictures; Jo Peare whose amazing work in the South African refugee camps made me so proud of her; Lydia Behan whose suggestion of using www.wordreference.com to help me with my French translations was possibly the single most useful piece of information anyone gave me in the last 22 months; both the Pfeiffers for reasons too numerous to mention; Ruth O’Mahony Brady whose recording of ‘The Man With the Child in His Eyes’ I played innumerable times in Rwanda as I went to sleep; and many, many more. Thanks to you all and do keep in touch.

Airport

Got to the airport at 1600 Saturday so I could see the football. Checked in at 1700. No one was there. Perfect – just as I planned.

Oh, and the best single piece of marketing I have seen in Rwanda. Patrick, who used to be with the Ivuka Gallery, has set up a stall in the duty-free area, selling his small pictures. A perfect size to fit into carry-on luggage, $40 each, a perfect present to bring home. He sold three of them just while I was watching. Hope the airport isn’t taking too much of a commission.

Oh, and possibly the worst piece of planning ever in a duty free. Because plastic bags are banned in Rwanda, you get your duty free in a paper bag. This means that if you are changing flights later, your duty-free will be confiscated because it isn’t in a sealed plastic bag!

Shamrock Rovers in Kigali

One of the items of clothing I brought with me was my Shamrock Rovers shirt which I wore around Kigali various times. On my way to the airport my taxi driver asked me: ‘Do you still have that green and white hooped shirt I saw on you last year?’ (I use the same taxi driver in Kigali all the time).

‘Do you mean the Shamrock Rovers shirt?’.

‘Yes, Shamrock Rovers’.

‘Yes, it’s in my suitcase’.

‘Can I have it? You said you would give it to me when you were going home.’

‘What?’ Then I remembered – yes, I had said that.

‘Em, yeah. Sure – wait until we get to the airport and I’ll get it out.’

At the airport.

‘Here it is – em, do you support Shamrock Rovers?’

‘What? Of course not, don’t be stupid. The colours are the same as the team I support in Kigali. I’ve never even heard of Shamrock Rovers!’

Jean-Pierre

(Translated from the fractured French, shards of English and the few words of Kinyarwanda I could understand)

JP: I hear you are returning to Holland?

Me: Em, yes – Ireland, I am returning to Ireland.

JP: Ah yes, England. I need something.

Me: (sigh) What?

JP: I need a woman. I need you to send me a woman from England who will love me. If she is a friend of

yours that would be best, because I trust your judgement.

Me: Ah, a woman. Are you not married?

JP: No, and I don’t want to marry a Rwandan woman. I want a muzungu woman.

Me: Really? Why don’t you want to marry a Rwandan woman? Rwandan women are really beautiful.

JP: Yes, they are much more beautiful than muzungu women but all they are interested in is money. As long as you are bringing them money, they love you. If the money stops, then they leave you and start loving someone with more money. But muzungu girls love you for what you are, for the person you are. That’s what I want.

Me: OK, but how can I tell a muzungu girl back in IRELAND about you and expect her to come out here and marry you?

JP: I know things are bad in England at the moment. Surely they would like to marry a good-looking Rwandan man with a steady job who will treat them right?

Me: I’m not so sure.

JP: What? You don’t think I am good-looking?

Me: Of course you are, that’s not what I meant. I mean, how can I convince someone back in .... England, that she should come out here to Rwanda and marry someone she has never met? And how can I be sure that you will like her?

JP: I trust you. I know that if you tell a woman back in England about me she will trust you and come out here to me. And I trust you to pick a good woman for me.

Me: OK. Em, have you any ... requirements? Age, shape, religion?

JP: No. As long as she is beautiful and believes in God, that’s fine.

Me: OK, I’ll see what I can do.

JP: I told my family I will be getting married this year, so email me soon – and send me a picture please!

Progress Report

Three days into being back in Ireland and I thought to myself: 'This reintegration business is a piece of cake'. It is now six days and ... well, this is not going to be as simple as I thought it would be. Some things are good, some are not so good. I'm keeping a list which I will share with you in the near future. But here I am back in my house which has about thirty times more stuff in it than my house in Rwanda and it took me an hour to decide what to have for dinner tonight. I head to France next Wednesday for nine days - maybe that will give me time to get my head straight. (Alfred: That could have been a bit more upbeat - no mention of Guinness, free range chicken, driving a car again, hot showers ..... and I love the Greta Garbo tenor of the 'I need to be alone ... in France'. Anyway, you guys have been patient enough - I'll squeeze something out of him tomorrow.)