My Private Army

April 8th

Leisurely breakfast today; Geert and Jan both still chatting up the Dutch TV girls. I don’t blame them; they’re very attractive women and other than fellow VSOs you don’t exactly fall over Dutch people here in Ruhengeri. We wondered whether they might be interested in doing something about the good works the Dutch VSOs are doing in Rwanda, but, alas, the real problem is that all our good work isn’t as sexy as one woman rescuing child prostitutes. Somehow, arranging training in English teaching or management training for primary heads doesn’t have the same audience appeal. Maybe we should introduce them to Samira and her collection of wooden dildos for her HIV programme. Now that would make good viewing, especially in Holland…..

I agree to take Geert’s boots, cagoule etc and Jan’s boots back to Gitarama while they continue their travels around Kibungo in the far south-east of Randa. They’re going to see Wanlam, the Indian VSO who came round Akagera with us, and won’t be needing any mountain gear. This is all very well, but by the time I leave the hotel I’ve got three pairs of boots dangling by their laces from my leki sticks. They prove an irresistible magnet for Rwandan men; I get accosted by shoeless street kids begging for one of the pairs; I get asked straight out “how much” to sell them; I get asked “give me my boots” by one brazen individual. They all think I’m such a loaded muzungu that I need three pairs for my own use. Also, what I can’t see is that the boots have pulled my lekis down in my backpack so that they’re almost jutting out horizontally and likely to take someone’s eye out if I turn quickly. So a quick re-pack is called for.

By the time Geert has been to the bank we’ve missed the Atraco express bus for Kigali and are faced with over an hour’s wait on a very hot morning. So we decide to try our luck at hitching a lift. Within five minutes we’ve been picked up in a United Nations jeep. What we don’t realise until we actually get going is that the jeep is escort to a U N convoy of 6 lorries, carrying about 200 armed Indian troops to Kigali. The Indians are part of the U N force based in Goma, in the Congo, keeping the peace around Goma and stopping Rwandan rebels infiltrating back into the country. The troops do a 6 month rotation; their officers stay a year at a time. These troops are off to Kigali airport and then home to India; the plane taking them home will have brought the next contingent of 200 to replace them. So we’re heading to Kigali with our private army of 600 Sikhs, their blue turbans looking very fetching in the morning sun. In our jeep is Lieutenant Rao, a charming Hindu, and two taciturn Sikhs. Rao speaks excellent English (“I was educated at a Catholic convent school in India. If I made any mistakes with my English I had to write it out 200 times. So everyone became very good at English”). He’s witty and the journey passes quickly. That’s just as well because the jeep is not designed for people my size. It has a canvas roof, and anyone looking at it from the roadside would have seen an amazing head-shaped lump where my brains were pushing up the canvas. We must have looked something like a motorised camel.

Lieutenant Rao certainly knew his way around Kigali. I don’t know who was the most impressed – him that an ancient Englishman like me should have been clubbing at Cadillac; or me that an Indian officer stationed in a neighbouring country should regularly drive about 70 miles each way for a good night out. And what do you discuss with an U N officer in his car – why, whether Cadillac is a better nightclub than KBC, of course!

Seriously, though, Rao was very kind to us. He dropped us literally at VSOs front door and I can’t thank him enough for his friendliness. Épi had texted while we were on the road, confirming that she was coming to Gitarama, and I had replied telling her and therefore everyone else in the Programme Office about our good fortune. What a pity I didn’t think to text everyone at the office just before we got there so they could come and see the grand arrival. Who else has rolled up at VSO Kigali with an armed escort?

So far in Rwanda I’ve been very cautious about accepting lifts from anyone except for very short rides around Gitarama. Others, including Tiga, have had good experiences flagging down NGO vehicles around Gikongoro. For me this ride home from Ruhengeri was yet another of those “I can’t believe that this is really happening to me” experiences. They’re coming so thick and fast at the moment that it’s quite surreal.

Cathie was also at Programme Office; likewise Samira. Ah, but Samira’s about to go to Kibuye for a rest, so won’t be able to let us into Tiga’s house in Gikongoro. Cue Soraya, who texts to say she’s looking after thee houses and two rabbits for the week. (Yes, and this story gets wackier by the minute). Caroline’s gone back to Belgium to see her long-suffering boyfriend; Tiga’s gallivanting round Ethiopia, and Samira’s breaking the VSO photocopier and then off for a swim in Lake Kivu. And Soraya has escaped from her wilderness at Mushubi to the bright light (singular) of Gikongoro. Caroline and Tiga both have pet rabbits that should have been eaten by now, but somehow……. Soraya can’t wait for us to come and join her; from nothing at all five minutes ago, we’ve now got a choice of three places to live in. Except that there’s some big problem with Samira’s water supply, and Tiga’s got the nicest place. So there you are. As long as I don’t have to share sleeping space with a bunny!

At the Atraco depot they seem to have spent Genocide day repairing the concrete ramp into the bus station – about time too, before someone gets run over by a bus lurching over the potholes. We sit next to a woman with a sick child; Cathie turns out to have an astonishing memory for faces and recognises the woman as a teacher in one of the primary schools we’ve inspected together. The woman has escaped the INSET Boot Camp for a couple of days to take her son to the doctor in Kigali. So we can chat to the woman, and Uncle Brucey can try to keep the baby amused, till we reach Gitarama.

Cathie stays for supper and we cook up a huge meal and talk far too long into the night before we all subside. It’s so nice to at last have Épi across to explore our southern province, and all the domestic arrangements have fallen into place at the last minute.

Best things about today – just about every single thing. Roll on more days like this. And next time you hear people slagging off the U N remember that they were very good to us!