Fruit cocktails at Butare

Apr 9th

A leisurely breakfast and packing, then Épi and I go to catch a bus to Butare. The bus stop is only 50 yards from our door, but we just miss a matata. While we’re waiting for the next, a Rwandan man who is buying petrol in a jerry can asks us if we’d like a lift in his car for the same price as a bus fare. We look at each other and agree that we can’t come to much harm if there’s two of us, so we say yes. A few minutes later we’re driving in comfort down the main road, passing matatas jammed with people, and once again I can’t believe my good fortune in terms of transport!

It’s nice to be able to point out to Épi all the sights along the way; I’m very used to this road now, but it’s all new to her. (However, I’m really determined that I must go and explore more of her area at some time in the summer, before things get impossibly hot there. It turns out we must have almost driven past her front door on our way into Akagera Park back in early March).

At Butare we pay a call at the museum. I’ve already been round it twice, and Épi decides not to go round it until her brother or sister comes out from Canada later in the year. But we confirm that all craft objects are far cheaper at the museum than at the craft shop in town; she buys a load of palm leaf cards for half the price in COPABU.

I then take her on my “Brucey’s Tour” all round the Belgian quarter, the high street and the Catholic Quarter, and by then its getting really hot and we’ve walked a fair way, so we double back to my other favourite place – the Matar Lebanese supermarket. Here we find that the café is at last open, and we decide on a quick lunch here. (Blow the Hotel Ibis; they need some competition and this place is new and clean).

I have Ikivugoto to drink; it’s sweeter than any other I’ve had so far (I think they’ve put honey in it) and tastes wonderful on a hot day. Épi goes for the “fruit cocktail” drink, which turns out to be a raspberry and strawberry smoothie with yoghurt. It’s the best thing we’ve had to drink since we got here – better even than “Tranquillité”’s jus de fraise. We order salads; they take around 40 minutes to arrive but the food is beautiful and the presentation is to 5-star standard. Typically Middle Eastern, with little strips of red and green pepper as decoration round the rim of the plate. It’s not too expensive either. This café is good news for Butare. We chat to two of the brothers who run the place; they remember me from previous trips and they deserve to have a lot of patronage from all our VSO “family”.

The matata up to Gikongoro is hot and sweaty, and we’re glad to arrive at a cooler altitude. We plod up the hill to Samira’s house, but there’s no sign of Soraya with our key. Vincent, the guard, remembers me from last time; he thinks she’s gone to Tigas. So downhill nearly a mile to Tigas, past the road to Murambi genocide site (with a ceremonial arch draped in purple. Purple is the colour of Genocide mourning here, and you see it everywhere. Many people are wearing little collars of purple cloth); past the army barracks, past the prison (its noxious effluent dribbling into roadside drains and stinking to high heaven in the blistering sun), and down past the new recreation centre to Tiga’s.

Soraya isn’t there, either. She must be at Caroline’s house which is somewhere up in town and too far away in this heat. We text her and sit on the cool porch, admiring T’s vegetable garden (everything’s coming ready to harvest) and making conversation with the Head teacher’s family next door. I don’t know whether Tiga has warned them that other volunteers might be using her house while she’s away, but they seem to do this usual Rwandan thing of just assuming that all muzungus can be trusted but behave in their own peculiar ways!

Tiga’s house is right next to the school – there’s literally only a hedge to separate them. The school is being used for the local primary school “Boot Camp” and there’s the sound of singing from hundreds of teachers inside. It sounds just like the singing we often hear coming from within the prison as we pass it. Come to think of it, all that’s missing is the prison smell!

Soraya arrives and we chat for ages. She’s desperately unhappy at Mushubi, and lonely as well. We do all we can to give her a lift, but the problem is just that her school is so isolated. VSO is giving her some extra money to cover her moto costs, but it’s the sheer time and weariness of getting to and from Mushubi that effectively imprisons her there. But we agree we will do all we possibly can to get her more into the general social scene next term.

There’s no food at Tiga’s so in the evening we mooch back up into town. That’s about a two mile trek, so we’re all keeping trim. In Gikongoro the word “flat” doesn’t exist; it’s just a case of how steep the slope! Unfortunately the brochettes place I used last visit is shut (everything in Rwanda is closing for the afternoons during the whole of Genocide Week), so we try the guesthouse on another hill. This turns out to do a very good “omelette spéciale”, and we dine well. We escort Soraya to Caroline’s house where she is spending the night; it’s a lovely modern bungalow but the approach to it is over mud and rubble and it’s a treacherous path in the pitch dark. My wind up torch is paying for itself!

Then with heat lightning flickering all around us, Épi and I saunter down through the warm evening air to go home. Some furniture workshops are still hard at work even at this time of night. At one point there’s that “Queen of the Night” flower out of sight in someone’s garden, but with a scent so potent you can smell it for yards. As in Gitarama, there are dozens of people walking, singly or in groups, from one part of town to another. Even more so than in Gitarama, it’s so dark at night you don’t see people until you’re almost walking into them. The street lights are more out of action than working, and there’s too little moonlight to do any good. But the stars here are lovely. It’s funny to see the Plough upside down (we’re just inside the southern hemisphere), with Polaris below the constellation.

We rig up a mozzie net for Épi’s bed, check on Suerte the rabbit (he’s very suspicious of us, cowering in his cardboard box with a litter of stale bread and cabbage leaves all round him), and I have to deal with an enormous moth that’s somehow got into my bedroom. All this fresh air and altitude and walking in the sun has tired us out, and even the din of heavy rain most of the night doesn’t stop either of us sleeping!

Another really good day today. The only dark spot is Soraya’s state of mind. While both Épi and I are talking about plans for meetings involving Soraya, I think we both feel she might resign before the start of next term. I really hope we can persuade her to carry on, even if it means a sudden change of placement.