Day One: Kigali

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When I woke up this morning, it suddenly dawned on me that after nearly two years of anticipation, I was finally in Rwanda, my home for three months. I still don’t think that the reality has hit me to be honest and I think it must have shown through the confused, gormless look I wore on my face all day as Midori kept laughing in a rather nervous and concerned way.

First of all my living arrangements: currently I am living in the Kacyiru district (not far from the Presidence, the British Embassy and the Laico hotel). The house is somewhat sparse but it feels very safe and I am yet to find anything I would need missing. My host is Midori, who I would estimate is around my Mum’s age, and has worked as a nurse in some incredibly tough situations throughout Africa. From our conversations already and the warmth and kindness she has shown me so far, I could not feel more welcome and looked after. The house is not too far from Niyarutarama which is where my office is and I have already been shown how to take the local mini-bus, a fact which I will not reveal to dear Andra who told me to avoid them like the plague.

Before going to describe my impressions of Kigali so far, I should paint a picture of my current situation. I am sitting at the table in the living room at 9.45pm, with the remnants of what were two cups of Yorkshire tea which I furrowed away in my suitcase, a mosquito coil burning at my feet and the sound of almost silence. Midori is out and I am entertaining myself which, much to my great delight has not been at all difficult or scary. It is amazing how as you get older you grow and change in ways that are not immediately visible but present themselves when you least expect it. Although I thought that I would be nervous at the thought of being at home alone, I am really relishing the time of solitude and the forced space to reflect - neither of these being things which I am normally very comfortable with. Saying that, I did look at Midori’s rather impressive looking German knives and contemplate whether I should place one under my pillow. I decided against it for fear I would stab myself rather than any unsuspecting intruder. And yes, I am currently giving myself a little pat on the back; a little self-praise never hurt anyone.

No diary of mine would be complete without the misadventures that make my actions so often amusing for those who are witness to them. Recovering my luggage from the lost baggage counter, was no small feat for which I required a special pass from the airport police; a quiz by the young security guards as to my marital status and the presence of any children whilst they held my handbag hostage in the security scanner; and a telling off from the lost baggage lady for not being able to locate the worker who although not present in his office when I got off the flight at midnight, had somehow managed to fill out luggage claim forms with 20 other passengers. I was, she tells me, lucky to get my bag back. These words came back to haunt me when I realised that someone had cut (and kept) the apparently tamper-proof lock off my bag and on top of that, had taken my backpack as payment for their effort. They hadn’t even touched anything else in my case, except for the jar of kiwi marmite which I had placed inside the backpack, which to my great relief, was obviously judged unfit for stealing.

In terms of my work, I still have some lingering trepidation about what the three-months have in store for me. I found myself experiencing pangs of jealousy today as we walked around the city centre and I saw groups of young ex-pats who were obviously interns, having a laugh together. Part of me hopes that being the only intern in an office which is not affiliated to the UN or a huge NGO is going to be a little isolating. And yet, the other part of me is glad that I have such a unique role which I will not have to share with anyone else. Living in Kacyiru, I away from other foreigners who, I assume, live in the nicer, less Rwandese areas of the city. This trip will be a real test of how well I can step outside of my comfort zone and become more of a social creature. I do hate that I am longing to be part of the expat crowd though as it is the antithesis of everything which I have ever longed for or experienced. Being with other foreigners has never been the way I travel and I suspect that my current mindset is more a result of lack of sleep and nervousness about the unknown that is Kigali.

Pulling myself out of the doldrums that seem to have descended on this account of the day, I will end with a funny observation which I made tonight as I scrubbed and scrubbed my feet to no avail. Red dust is everywhere including, as I finally figured out, on the floor in the house. You cannot get rid of it and everyone’s feet suffer from the same red tint – although granted, mine are lily-white and therefore show the colour off a little more than others. I laughed to myself when I finally realised that by walking across the floor between my bedroom and the bathroom, I was adding a new layer of dust to my newly cleaned feet. A truly blonde moment to end the day on.