Strawberries

Strawberries are grown in Butare and made into jam there, too, but they are not common elsewhere in Rwanda. On our last visit to Kigali, we bought a small pail of them. After 3 hours in the car back to Cyangugu, they were much the worse for wear. Naphthali, our 10-year-old neighbour, came in to see us when I was “husking” them. When I asked if he liked strawberries, he answered with one of those memorable phrases only those who do not have English as their first language can produce :
“What is the meaning of a strawberry?”
After tasting one, of course, this question became completely irrelevant.

Mystery solved

It is perhaps a sign that I am becoming Africanised that I first tried to solve the mystery of the inzibyi by asking people. Not much progress there - people knew of it, some had even seen one, but no-one could identify it exactly.
Of course, even children (or perhaps especially children) in the UK would have looked at the internet first. Sure enough, there is more information than you could possibly imagine or want about Lutra maculicollis, the small spotted-necked otter or inzibyi. Numerous photos are available too. Strangely, however, the top hit in Google is now this blog wondering what an inzibyi is!
Among the articles is an academic study of the distribution of inzibyi in the lakes of Rwanda. It was carried out in 1990, a sign and reminder of what a different country this was before the genocide.

The mysterious "inzibyi"

We were talking to a young Rwandan friend last night. He has often ben out fishing for sambaza, small sardine-like fish which are very popular in the market here. They are attracted by lights and then caught in nets. The presence of dozens of fishing boats in a small area of lake gives it quite a magical quality most nights.
In the course of the conversation, he mentioned that they also sometimes caught an animal in their nets - the "inzibyi", English / French / Swahili names unknown. This was described as :

about 20-30cm long
black, with a large mouth
like a small pig - an animal with legs, not a fish
capable of biting people
not eaten by humans, but given to dogs to eat

I am intrigued and have no idea what this creature is, although its description and name was confirmed by several others in the company. Suggestions welcome, I am going to try to find out.

Breaking the fast

This is how our last week-end in Kigali felt. It is now 6 weeks since we ventured out from beyond the forest and we have had virtually no ex-pat company in that time.
The week-end was luxurious in that regard - meeting some new people, hillwalking in the mist and rain with Scottish friends and collecting another friend from the airport to bring him to Cyangugu for 10 days. In all this, it is the chat that is important, both the serious and light-hearted. While we are here in Cyangugu we don't often "miss" people from our own culture, but when we get quality time with friends, it is just wonderful.

Two approaches

"Paying taxes builds the nation" declares a billboard in Kigali (in French), appealing to ther nobler sentiments of taxpayers.

"Pay your taxes on time to avoid penalties" says another, using a more pragmatic approach to tackle the problem.

The secret shortage

I first heard about the shortage of diesel in East Africa in an email from the UK. Apparently the problem is a broken pipe near Mombasa. There was no sign of any problem in Kamembe until last week, when suddenly only one of the seven garages had any supplies. When I asked about this, I was told that the shortage extended as far as Kampala and Nairobi. There is plenty of petrol and paraffin, but diesel is hard to find.
However, a search of the “New Times” website reveals nothing and there has been no news on the radio about this problem.
The approach to such things is so different at home, where there would be news bulletins and rumours abounding. I still remember the huge queue of cars which appeared at the garage outside my office window just 2 hours after (untrue) stories of an impending petrol shortage were broadcast on the morning news. It illustrates the different attitude of the public, accepting that such things will inevitably happen and also the tight control that there is over the news.

Plastic bags and other rubbish

If you wanted to give an example of a draconian measure, you need go no further than this :

“Article 104 of the Environment law bans the importation, production, storage, use, sale and distribution of polythene bags. According to the law, anyone found in possession of a polythene bag may be sentenced to one to five years’ imprisonment or a fine ranging from five million to 50 million francs.”

You can see the original article on the New Times website. Of course this law is not implemented as it is stated here, although it is true that plastic bags acre confiscated from passengers arriving at Kigali Airport.

The shop where we buy bread has most of the loaves and rolls in plastic bags. When I ask about this, people believe that there are different kinds of plastic bags, only some of which are affected. This may well be true, although I haven’t managed to confirm it yet, but the use of plastic for packaging is certainly reasonably common. What is interesting is that Rwanda is very largely clear of the littering by plastic bags which characterises some other African countries and which led to the passing of this law.

There is a wider issue about packaging and about waste disposal generally which the country needs to deal with and quite urgently. Virtually all manufactured goods are imported and the number of goods which are overpackaged western-style will definitely increase. The modern supermarkets in Kigali are already producing a lot of packaging waste and it will need more than a draconian law against polythene bags to ensure that there is infrastructure in place to deal withy this.

The week in brief

Sunday – In church, an announcement is made asking the congregation NOT to take change from the offering basket.
One family brings their new baby to give thanks for her surviving 5 days in intensive care shortly after birth. It’s a reminder of the difference health care can make, but the infant mortality figures here are still frightening.

Monday – our normally reliable MTN internet connection, via the mobile phone fails.
It’s goat day at the refugee camp at Bugarama, 50 goats to give out from our Christmas appeal. Chantal, the Social Worker, has it well organised, but inevitably there are some unhappy people who feel hard done by. In the end, though, we manage to get the job done. For the people living here, this is a drop in the ocean, but the local official with us says that the government will complete the house-building we and other churches have started. A very encouraging sign of how churches can lead the way despite very limited resources.

Tuesday – we usually meet with a group of Rwandan friends after work for a Fanta : the English club, as we reluctantly call it. Tonight we invited a new acquaintance, the friend of a friend, but the atmosphere changed noticeably when he arrived. One of our friends explained that they needed to get to know him first before they would feel comfortable in a group like that (we meet in a pub). This society is still very divided and distrustful.

Wednesday – the ufucu (mole) lives! The mole traps in our garden were dismantled (empty) ages ago, but today there were 4 large molehills on the grass. I’m quite glad – Wikipedia confirms my suspicions that moles are carnivores, but our neighbours stick to their convictions that the moles will eat the sweet potatoes and other plants.

Thursday – I gain a new respect for Rwandan wildlife when we see a 2-metre snake on the road while we are on our way to Nyarusange. It’s only the second one we have seen here and it’s 5 times as long as the first, which was dead. The live one is quite a scary sight. Instinctively, I drive round it – it’s only afterwards that I remember an episode story from the “Lady Detective Agency” series where a snake gets caught in the engine of a car.

Friday – an email from MTN suggests the oldest IT trick – turn the phone off and then back on. The internet connection is duly restored.
Dinner at the “pork restaurant” with a friend – the menu consists of pork and matoke (savoury banana), but at £5 for the three of us, including 1 kg of fresh pork to take home, we can put up with the lack of choice every so often.

Saturday – I’m cooking dinner for the first time since Sheena came back from Scotland and attempt stovies using matoke. Unfortunately the matoke has ripened since we were given it on Tuesday and the stovies turn out really quite sweet and not very pleasant. Next time I’ll use a recipe.

Murambi

There was a warm, gentle breeze blowing when we arrived at Murambi Genocide Memorial Site. It’s just 2km from the main road and despite the group of people working at the entrance, it was very quiet and peaceful.

At the front door we were directed by a young man past the main building to a set of terraced brick buildings. He opened the door to the first one : inside were wooden benches piled high with preserved human remains, not much more than skeletons, covered with white powder. Someone had left a bouquet of flowers, now withered. The second and third doors revealed the same. It was only in the third room, where there were some larger bodies, that I realised that most of the remains were of children. There were obvious signs of damage on many bodies – holes in skulls, broken limbs. Murambi was built as a school but never used and has more than 20 such rooms. Between 40,000 and 50,000 people were killed here in the space of a few short days in 1994. They had gathered to seek protection from the killing which was going on around them.

For me, as I suspect most westerners, the only appropriate response in such surroundings is silence, or perhaps a few words in a hushed voice, but we were joined by one of the handful of people who survived the massacre. He now works at Murambi, telling his story to visitors. He has a dent in his head where the bullet entered. I have to admit I found his talking intrusive and distracting, but it did provide the only information on the events at Murambi. The memorial is stark in its simplicity and its portrayal of the extent of the genocide.

A large shed has several ropes on which hang the blood-stained clothes taken from the victims. On our way back to the car we were shown a large hole which served as the mass grave. Most of the remains had been exhumed form here. We signed the visitors’ book and left. It was about another 20 minutes before we spoke.

Rwandan story - never been to school

S has never been to school. She is in her thirties now, so this was in the 1970s. Her mother died when she was young and her stepmother did not think it was important for girls to go to school. This would have been well before universal primary education was available in Rwanda, anyway.
Now S is married with 6 children and is a lady of great enterprise and considerable artistic flair. She is learning English, she cleans houses, she takes on sizeable painting and gardening jobs, providing employment for other people as well. It is still a struggle to make ends meet, because these jobs are intermittent and her husband works as a guard, which provides a regular but small wage.

Rwandan story - the family split

One family fled Rwanda as the RPF approached at the end of the 100 days. After some time in the Congo, they decided to return, except for the father who was frightened and one of the brothers, who had got a job.
When war came to the Congo, the brother was killed in cold blood along with some priests. The family was told this by someone who buried the bodies. The father fled into the jungle : he has not been heard of since. The split in the family became permanent.
One of the dilemmas for families like this is that Genocide Memorial Week is about victims of the genocide, not those who died in the war in the Congo in the years shortly afterwards (some say that the numbers are about the same). They can therefore feel excluded from the events.

Another brother of the family has recently been sentenced by the gacaca court for minor crimes. His wife and 2 young children are dependent on the rest of the family for support.

Rwandan story - the walk to Angola

I have a friend here whose family fled Rwanda at the approach of the RPF at the end of the genocide. With many others, they went into the Congo as refugees and kept walking to escape the RPF soldiers. They eventually ended up walking to Angola. With no prospect of settling there, they started to return and were eventually repatriated from Lubumbashi in the Congo by UNHCR.
Now my friend’s father is in prison, expecting to die there. The family visits him every week.