Tackling the market traders in Gitarama

Feb 2nd

We decide it’s time for a big shop-up today. So across the road to the bakery for rolls, then we tackle the beer-and-fanta depot almost next door. Cause havoc as two muzungus bring their systems to a halt. The whole point in Rwanda is that you exchange a full crate of empties for a full crate of full bottles, thus only paying for the actual content of the bottles. Somebody wanting to start from scratch really fouls up their day. Eventually we pay a hefty deposit and get a crate of mixed coke and fanta. A bloke is so desperate for work he virtually wrestles the crate from Tom’s hands and demands to act as our porter. We explain we live next door, and his day has clearly been ruined.

Then we tackle the Saturday market. This is very big and quite intimidating. Within seconds we’ve drawn a crowd, and not just children, who want to see what the muzungus will buy (and no doubt to enjoy seeing how much the good market ladies will rip us off). It starts off OK; we buy what we think are limes and turn out to be lemons (green and wrinkly in Rwanda), then we get ripped off as we buy onions. We hesitate over the cabbages (we’ve agreed we need more greens and roughage). Suddenly a big mama is standing next to us and giving the market trader what for. Turns out she’s someone associated with one of Tom’s projects and knows him. For the next ten minutes she inspects everything we want to buy and reduces the price by half. The crowd thickens, with half enjoying the spat between big mama and the traders, the other half just goggling at two white men. Next we bump into Janine, our domestique. Big mama hands over to Janine and we finish our shopping. We’ve got two rucksacks full of fruit and veg, enough to last us all week.

It’s lunchtime so we dine at “Le Petit Jardin”. This is very close to our flat and I didn’t even realise it existed. Easily done, because the garden in the title is hidden behind a hedge from the road, and is almost concealed from the market, too. In a place where your every move is being watched it’s a little oasis of privacy. We order their speciality – goat brochettes and baked potatoes. It’s not exactly fast food – we wait for about 40 minutes and decide they’ve gone to find a goat, but when it comes it’s delicious. The potatoes are baked in their jackets, then halved, coated in some sort of spicy sauce and salt, and grilled. Yummy! The goat has been marinated in something not too spicy; it’s tender and delicious. And all this, plus a fanta, for £1.
It’s not the sort of place to go during a lunch hour, but ideal on a weekend.

We spend the afternoon chopping vegetables and cooking up a vegetable stock – cabbage, tomato, carrots, peppers, onions, garlic. When it’s cooled we’ll freeze it for use during the week. We’re going to try a vegetable curry one night and a veggy shepherd’s pie on another. Move over Jamie Oliver….

In the evening we go down to Karen’s to watch a DVD. It’s groundhog day and every year she watches the film…. Can’t say I would do this if there were an alternative, but there is no alternative and at least it’s being sociable. She and Christi have cooked a meal; we have humus, olives, fried bananas, rice, and guacamole. Our contribution is a box of shortbread and a load of chilled fanta.

Just as we’re about to start watching the DVD the power goes off. (It went off during the afternoon, but this is a long outage). We just manage to get the film seen before her computer battery gives out. We’re joined by Ulrika, who works in one of the (many) orphanages around Gitarama. There’s a heavy German presence in the town, mainly in agricultural development (draining marshland and improving agricultural techniques) and the Germans are highly respected here. Also, they all seem to have (reliable) 4WD vehicles so they’re useful people to know if you need to cadge a list at short notice. Turns out Ulrika’s one of the Tuesday salsa crowd, too, so that’s even better.

Tom and I escort Ulrika back to her car, then we walk home. Everywhere’s pitch dark except for the main road with its car headlights, and the few buildings like the bank which have back-up generators. And by dark I mean dark. Even if they’re wearing pale clothes, you don’t notice Rwandans coming towards you until they’re about a yard in front. But everybody’s polite; nobody makes a big deal of the situation.

Back in the flat we faff around with torches until we’ve found our candles and matches, then fiddle around getting them lit and glued to plates. Just as we’re lit up, the power comes back on.

High point of the day – surviving the market (I couldn’t say we coped with it); cooking
Low point – realising I’m running out of clean clothes unless Janine doe some laundry soon!