Monday moaning

It was back to work today and to what I’d hoped would be a meeting with the chargee, Chantal who, after rearranging the office three times has finally settled on the new layout. However, as usual, things have changed! She was needed at one of the secondary schools in Musange (one of the sectors miles from here) so looks like we’ll chat tomorrow. In the meantime, Amy has recovered and we’re off for yet another meeting with Andre (big boss at WV) for more approvals (we hope) on the latest revised budgets/proposals, yawn, yawn. Honestly, there is so much bureaucracy here and even when you know what needs to be signed and by whom, it’s then making sure they’re around to do it so fingers crossed he is. I really need to sort out my model schools, I’d much rather be teaching than doing these big training sessions where it’s all about the funding…

Another quiet weekend - just me, the guard and oh joy, a bottle of red (well half actually)! As it was J’s birthday I thought I’d have my own quiet celebrations, so after a couple of glasses of wine and a fair few squares of chocolate, I was having a great Friday night! Not sure I made too much sense for the calls home though. Selfishly, I kept this to myself. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to encourage Latislas’ drinking habits. As it is, every Sunday he’s taken to knocking on my door to say goodnight-completely sloshed...

Still, it’s peace of mind knowing he’s out there looking after me :0)

It’s just a bloody basket…

Just when I think I’m getting my head round things here, something happens which completely confuses me. Early Saturday morning, despite the slight hangover, I head to the market. I love the hustle and bustle of it all. After some pretty impressive kinyarwanda from me (it was!) at the fruit and veg stalls, then a quick stop to buy a loo brush, I make my way to the second-hand clothes area where I barter for a skirt and at 1000 rwf, it’s a bargain! Full of confidence, I go over to the woven baskets. At the moment, I’m just flinging my dirty clothes on the floor so think a basket would probably be a good idea and would look nice too. Anyway, as is usual here, my mere presence attracts quite a crowd and people strain to see what I’m buying. There is a bit of a problem at first because I don’t have the right money and even though I can see change in the seller’s hand, he just keeps repeating the price. After intervention from one of the crowd, the deal is finally made and I walk off with the basket.

No sooner have I walked away, I become aware of people staring at me. After, checking my skirt is definitely out of my knickers, I become a little paranoid. I take refuge in the corner shop and order a coke (you can’t drink on the street here). As I’m finishing my drink, I ask the shop keeper in French why people are staring. She explains that it’s just a strange thing to buy but doesn’t elaborate. On the way home I try to ignore the stares but there’s definitely something about this basket. Just outside my house, I greet someone who wants to keep chatting so I ask him what he thinks of my basket, he asks why I bought it and I explain. He says people use these for selling things at the market rather than for keeping things in.

So I’m no clearer really. Maybe people expected to see corn or avocadoes in there rather than the loo brush…who knows?

Sometimes, I have to remind myself of how beautiful it is around here so I appreciate just how lucky I am (and to stop myself wishing I was partying in London)… This really isn’t hard to do of course and after a gorgeous run Saturday evening I was once again pinching myself. As I relaxed in the garden with the last of the red wine, Latislas, my fire-starter, made sure the stove was lit and surprised me with 10 passion fruit he’d managed to pick from the tree (all is forgiven!) I then cooked a mean feast of corn on the cob and vegetable soup before bed…around 9 o’clock, rock and roll…