Saying Goodbye – Murabeho…

My final week in Kigali was spent in a blur of activity. Packing was the easy part. But still I had things I wanted to do. One last workshop. One last English class. Get that bicycle for Simeon. Go to Jeanne’s thesis defense. Give away a bunch of stuff to the sewing students. Plant the orange tree. Final fittings of the clothes I had ordered. Finish the quilt. Have a party to say goodbye. Somehow, God was on my side and I got to do it all.

As I have said before, life in Kigali is simple, and yet everything takes time and offers up complications. Take the bicycle for Simeon. Sandrine, Jeanne’s daughter, found one for sale in Nyamirambo and was able to negotiate a good price. The bike was delivered to Jeanne’s home during the party after her thesis defense, which was awesome! (You see how all these things stack up and blend together?) The bike is glorious. Black, heavy, very used but exactly what Simeon will be crazy for. And for a price that is reasonable. I pay up.


But now the bike is in Nyamirambo, which is about as far away from Kabeza (where Tubahumurize is located) as it could be. And Jeanne is afraid that if Simeon rides it, the police will seize it as it is illegal to bicycle on the main roads. So another plan is hatched and the bike arrives by taxi in a pickup truck. The deal is that Simeon has to pay for the taxi. That seems fair. And then he is the proud owner of this clunky, overdressed bike with balding tires. He is over the moon! He rides it with gusto! He is already tinkering to tune it up.

Giving away my belongings to the sewing students was truly a joy. Bit by bit, over the course of a few days, I would walk out into the courtyard with some items in my hand. What really blew me away was how the students were not greedy at all. They would see something and say, oh, that should go to Léah. Or to Soulange. Or to Madina. I was so delighted with their generosity towards others, and their sensitivity to those who were desperately poor, but who keept it well hidden. Everyone ended up with one or two things of mine that I hope they will enjoy and perhaps cherish. Certainly, they will remember me by them for awhile.


On the morning of my departure, I got up early and Simeon and I planted a small orange tree. This tradition is for everyone who comes and stays and supports to plant a tree. I packed my filthy jeans! I hope to go back and see how big the tree has grown.

As for the party, I wanted to invite the women of the community to come and join us for a drink (Fanta) and some small tasty appetizers. Jeanne got the word out to the women. I spent a few hours picking up supplies. Sandrine did some baking and the women in the kitchen were amazing. Suddenly it was all ready, trays of food, boxes of drinks, and the women were arriving. Women from the workshops. Women from the English classes. All the sewing students.


It was quite overwhelming when I saw them all there. Some had walked from quite far away. The food and drinks were gone in a minute. And then, even though I had said I didn’t have room for presents, there were some anyway. Along with lovely words to and about me.

I took my time, scanning the room and looking into each woman’s face, remembering them, the details of their lives. There were speeches. Jeanne had some very nice things to say about me, but the most touching thing for me was when Crescence spoke. She said that I had been like a mother to them all over the months. It really jarred me, but in a good way. It made me suddenly fully aware of the loss in their lives. So many women with no mothers. Some of them still so young. I saw that I had, indeed, however briefly, filled that void. I had opened my heard and my arms to them all, and they had felt loved and safe, as in the arms of a mother.


Her words and my thoughts were very much with me as I got into the car to the airport two days later. The weeping of the sewing students was not just for me. It was for what I represented to them. The losses they had experienced so early in their lives. I like to think that these tears they shed were healing tears.

My own tears came later, and they helped me heal too.

The First Quilt

I saved fabric scraps that the sewing students tossed when they were cutting their first patterns. Scraps off the ground. Scraps in the trash. It was used fabric and dirty, but under the use and grime was some loveliness that I saw. I planned to make a small quilt out of African fabrics. Day after day, I brought all the bits inside, washed them and hung them around the rim of the bathtub to dry. I had tried to explain what I was doing to the students, but basically, they thought I was completely bonkers. But I persisted.

Fast forward a month or so. I had not made much progress on my little quilt. All the tiny squares and strips are cut. I had made a few patches. But the only times the sewing machines are free so I can work were in the evenings, when it is dark, and on the weekends. Plus, the machines are quirky and I have not found one I really like. Even when I do, sewing is slow. There is a lot of making do with treadles.

Then, about a month before I am set to leave, a woman comes knocking at Tubahumurize. Jeanne meets with her. She is an American looking for sewing groups to take up quilting. Her group will supply the fabric and supplies. They will sell the quilts in the US. She brought a book about the basics of quilting. She left Jeanne with some American fabric. Not my taste at all, all pastels and teeny flowers. Bo-o-o-ring.

But Jeanne had been following my paltry quilting efforts with interest. This visitor spurred her always active imagination to even greater heights. We talked. Her idea was to get the students started quilting, but with African fabrics, new African fabrics. This is not a well-known craft in Rwanda. So Jeanne thought she could offer her students a niche market, an opportunity to make a little money while in school. And they could start right away in order for me to take a quilt home to sell. It would fetch more in North America.

The idea was presented to the board, which okayed it with enthusiasm, especially after seeing my little pieces. They saw the potential. They saw the beauty. Leone, who was pregnant, showed great interest. I plan to send my little quilt to her for her baby.

A few days later, Jeanne came bursting into the centre, her arms laden with fabric bundles. The quilt was on! All the students came in and we talked about size and design. And suddenly, all the scissors and rulers were out and the cutting began. Fast forward a few hours and we have piles of fabric of all sorts. I delve into my fabric stash and add a few pieces to add more character to the selection. Also, to be honest, my fabrics are of higher quality.


Fast forward again. I have taught the students a few shortcuts about sewing pieces together. I offer some more ideas on design. I emphasize over and over the importance of accuracy, so that it all fits together nicely. They are too eager. They don’t have the right tools. The charge forward on this project with naïve gusto!
The top is finished! Not perfect, by a long shot, but big and bold and beautiful. I explain the next steps are to layer the quilt. We use flannelette for the middle and a bright, bold pattern on the back. I clear a place in the middle of the main room. I stay up late and get up early to work on getting it to lay flat, to be square(ish), to fit. I put in a few basting lines to hold it in place and call in some students to help with the basting. It is done. We trim up the borders. We lay down a grid of diagonal lines in chalk, to make a diamond-shaped cross hatch pattern.

All that is left is the quilting. We have a discussion about why we can’t use the machines. The quilt is too big. The machines are too small. Hand quilting is more valuable. They are convinced. Some are appalled, daunted, when they see what we have to do, all by hand, but a few are excited. Everyone takes a turn at putting in the tiny, straight running stitches, some not so tiny and some not so straight. We run out of quilting thread, so we switch to ordinary thread. A core group of four takes over – Epiphanie (the instructor), Immaculée, Epiphanie and Léah. And me.

But I am leaving in two days! How will we ever finish! It is huge. There are so many stitches to put in. And I have tons of other things to take care of. On the final night, the four remain after hours, quilting. Each time I pass the room as I make my own preparations, I hear them chatting together. It makes me thing that this is exactly what a quilting bee must be like. Everyone together for hours, chatting about this and that. I think that this is probably some of the best therapy they have ever had.

I feed everyone supper as it is clear they are in it for the night. They eat, as always with gusto. I get out more food. Simeon’s chappatis with honey. A treat! They gobble them all down. Satisfied, they go back to quilting. They are in it for the night. I fall asleep to the muffled sound of their voices. Indeed, on the morning of my departure, they are all sleeping. They finished it! I offer them soap and towels and the use of the shower. A luxury! Then coffee. Another luxury!


But, of course, the quilt is not quite done. We have to sew on the binding. I had cut out the binding strips and sewn them together. The instructor sewed on the binding and we spent another two hours hand sewing the binding. I am leaving in three hours now! It is done, they tell me. Not quite I explain. We spend another hour wiping off all the chalk marks and checking for missing stitches. Okay, now it is done. Out come all the cameras. Out come all the other students. They are very excited and very, very proud. It is gorgeous! And full of gorgeous, generous mistakes.

It fits in my luggage. (I somehow knew they would get it done, and saved space.) It is really time to go now. I make the rounds with my hugs and my whispered messages. The students are awash with tears. I am holding it together until we turn the corner, out of sight. Then I cry.

Leaving Rwanda

The time is quickly approaching for me to leave this city and country and continent. Just 7 more sleeps, as John would say! So at this juncture it seems appropriate to reflect on my stay here: what I have brought, what I have learned and what I will do next.

As to what I have brought, first and foremost I came with information that the women who are beneficiaries of Tubahumurize did not have before. I have given workshops in first aid, hygiene, women’s reproductive cycle and nutrition to several groups of women as well as to the sewing students. All were well received, but if I had to pick three things that were most useful to these women, I would choose the following.

First, each and every woman, young or old, was totally entranced by how their bodies function, especially their reproductive organs. Women in their childbearing years were super-interested in their menstrual cycles and how to avoid getting pregnant! Everyone wanted to know how twins came to be. Most were delighted to learn that it is the male sperm that carry the sex of a child. Women approaching and in menopause were very interested in all the changes taking place in their bodies. I think all the women were really relieved that pretty much everything they experience is normal. As well, it may have been the one and only time these women and girls have had a chance to talk about such matters frankly in a group.

Second, in the first aid course, they were completely absorbed by the large charts I brought that illustrate the digestive, circulatory, nervous and skeletal systems. (These charts, by the way, I plan to donate to a free clinic nearby.) They loved discovering their pulse and having a glimmer of the miracle that is the human body. There is so much that can go wrong, it is truly something that most of the time, it works like a charm! I think they have a much better understanding about preventing illness, through good hygiene habits and assuring the care of wounds and burns. As a sidenote, in Rwanda, the custom is to put oil and sugar on a burn to help it heal faster! This is pretty counter to anything I have ever heard, so I simply told them what is standard practice in Canada. They were all also very interested in learning how to cope with diarrhea, especially in children.

Finally, in the course on nutrition, everyone was very interested in the three major food groups, carbs, fats and proteins, but especially interested in the whys of foods that are not very good for us, especially in the prevention of diabetes, which is rampant here, and heart disease, which is no doubt rising along with obesity. Because meats and eggs and cheese are relatively expensive here, the main sources of protein are from beans and peanuts. The women seemed reassured to learn that beans are actually a very good source of protein and of carbs. Thus, even the poorest women can feel good about how she feeds her family.

I was amazed to learn that here, where just about everything is cooked on wood or coal, which is either hard to find or not cheap, it is not the custom to soak the beans before cooking them! Thus, learning to soak the beans the night before you want to cook and eat them was a real eye-opener, because they can see that this will save them money since the beans need less time to cook over coals. Such a small thing will make quite a difference.

Another thing I believe I brought is a small understanding of the use of herbs and spices in cooking. In Rwanda, basically the only flavouring is salt. And oil. And a spicy oil called Akabanga. Even Jeanne, who has travelled all over the world and eaten all kinds of different foods, here in Rwanda feels limited in what she knows how to cook because she doesn’t know how to use herbs and spices. She and her husband Aaron have loved everything I or Simone cooked and Jeanne pines after this knowledge. Since I brought a bunch of spices and have added to them here, that will be my gift to her: a bag containing all these spices and herbs and condiments plus a few recipes and some information about where herbs and spices are normally used. I think it will please her.


In the sewing area, I have dazzled more than one young woman (in reality, the whole class!) because I know how to sew, and on a treadle machine. I actually used a hand crank for a couple of years in the Yukon, but that is another story. I was sewing something in the sewing room here, with the whole dang group watching me with huge eyes, and I ran out of thread in the bobbin. They were amazed to see me wind it up on the bobbin thingy (I can sew, but I don’t know the names of the parts of the machine… :(). They, including the instructor, had been winding the bobbins by hand because they didn’t know that there is a small groove in the bobbin that allows it to stay in place for winding “automatically.” Again, such a small thing, such a big difference.

As well, my small project using old discarded fabric to make a quilt has become a real item here. They are amazed by the look when different colours are juxtaposed in patterns, random though they may be. Jeanne is completely taken with the idea of this sewing school having a specialty. To be honest, there are hundreds and hundreds of people throughout Kigali who sew, but mostly dresses, skirts, tops and such. She feels that if they can make quilts and sell them overseas, like in Canada, using African fabrics, then the students will both have a specialty and a source of income while they are in school. With luck, I will bring home their first quilt next week when I fly. That is the plan anyway. This knowledge of mine has the potential to really make a difference in the lives of the sewing students -- this class and those to come.

Also to the sewing students, Simone and I brought a sense of imagination through art and through English class. For example, we played Mystery Guest during English class; the students had to guess the identity of another student who was pretending to be someone else, based on the name written on a piece of paper they drew from an envelope. They had a lot of difficulty imagining how the person in front of them could possibly be someone else when it was so obviously Rosette or Jeannette or whoever. But they finally got the hang of it and thoroughly enjoyed trying to figure out the various identities! They have had very opportunities in their lives to imagine things beyond what is directly in front of them or to play.

Finally, in terms of what I brought to Tubahumurize (in addition to the funds and supplies donated, which came from all of you!!), I would have to say I brought a lot of love, understanding and happiness to these women. Jeanne has told me that before Simone and I came, many of the women were unhappy and listless. She has noted the difference in their attitude and their sense of joy and even playfulness since our arrival, with the introduction of English classes, workshops and yoga. In English class one evening, Simone and I were a bit stumped about what to do next and we decided to teach the women to sing Head and Shoulders Knees and Toes, a nursery school rhyme for preschoolers as you know. Well these grown women had a blast singing the song and acting it out! It is as though they hadn’t had enough time to play in their lives and were just happy to have ten minutes of complete fun! Our English classes are especially like that – lots of fun!

In terms of what I have been given, I don’t think I can begin to do justice to it using words. But of course I will try. The whole point of a blog, hello! I think the main thing is love. I have most certainly been loved here, for who I am. Nothing more and nothing less. What a gift! So many women have shared their deep gratitude to me for tiny things I have done. Hugs beyond belief. And what a gift to raise someone’s spirits with a word of encouragement or praise. Even remembering people’s names means so much to each person. How is this a gift to me? I think because what makes them feel good makes me feel really good, not for having done the thing but for having made their lives a bit better, even for a moment. The moments actually add up into something significant. I believe that.

As for what comes next, well I understand that returning to a developed country can be quite a shock. I am prepared to have a slow reaction of some kind. And it will take time for me to process my experience here, to make sense of it, the good, the bad and the ugly as it were. I am certain of that. And of course, I will have to send photos and gifts and letters and so on to my new friends here, asap.

But after all that, after I rejoin my friends, my husband, my great, big, growing family, my mother, my puppy, my cat, my book club, my granny group, my choir, my co-workers at the op-shop, after most of the dust has settled, I will be able to focus on the future. The future of me and Tubahumurize. What could I do next? What will I do next? I have a million ideas but am not ready to make any decisions or promises. But I think it is safe to say, “to be continued…”

Jeanne Mwiliriza

So much happens here at Tubahumurize and in general that it is easy to forget that Jeanne Mwiliriza is the sole reason this association exists. It is time you knew more about this amazing woman.

Some of you may know that the reason Jeanne started this organization was because a dear friend of hers, constrained to a wheelchair, had called, afraid that her life was in danger from her husband. Jeanne talked with her and reassured her that it was just idle threats again. They planned to meet the next day. But by then, her friend had been murdered. Very shaken and filled with guilt, she suffered for a few months. But when she made some kind of peace with herself, she also made a decision to start a centre for traumatized women who had lived or still lived with violence. She wanted to do something so that her friend’s death would not be repeated.

But perhaps that is leaping forward somewhat. Jeanne had been married to a successful doctor, Joseph Butara. They had three children: Eloge, Valentin and Sandrine. Prior to the genocide, they had lived in Kigali, but when a new ruling Hutu party was elected, Tutsi families such as their own were no longer welcome in Kigali. They moved around quite a bit searching for a safe place to settle.

In April, at the time of the genocide, her children were ten, eight and five. During this time, the family’s story takes two paths. One results in the murder of Joseph Butera and the escape of the two boys to a refugee camp with their Aunt Charlotte where they lived for about seven months. The other results in Jeanne’s miraculous survival and that of her young daughter.

Over the course of the genocide, Jeanne was taken at gunpoint seven times to be killed, but each time (except the last) there was an argument over whether she was a Tutsi at all. (At this point in Rwanda, identity cards had become a moot point: it was all about madness and murder and how people looked.) Jeanne is not a tall woman, and Tutsi women tend to be tall; thus, the soldiers argued over her “identity.” Each of these six times she was spared and was released.

The seventh time, several soldiers came into her home determined to kill her. The leader was especially intent. He ordered Jeanne to get into the wardrobe in her bedroom so he could kill her. She refused. Her lack of fear really annoyed him and he was hell bent on her death. So instead of the wardrobe, he told her to get in the closet. Again she refused. Finally, he flung open the door to the closet and swept aside the hanging clothes. His abrupt actions caused a photograph of Jeanne and her husband on their wedding day to fall from the top shelf to the floor in front of him. Startled, he looked at the photo and paled.

He asked Jeanne if the man in the picture was her husband. When she replied that it was, he said that he could not kill her because her husband had operated on and saved his own badly mangled leg when he was a young boy. Other doctors had wanted to cut the leg off, but Joseph had wanted to heal his leg because he was still so young. “Without your husband,” he said, “I would not have been able to walk in here to kill you.” Thus, he reasoned, he could not kill her.

He left with all the other soldiers, telling them and everyone else that she was to be left alone as though dead. For the remainder of the genocide, Jeanne and Sandrine were untouched and unmolested.

Rwanda is not that big and people have connections everywhere. Through these, Jeanne finally found out that her husband had been killed, as well as her parents and two sisters, but there was no word of her two boys. She was sure that they too were dead along with her sister Charlotte. She cried all the tears she had, dried them and turned the page onto a new life as a widow and mother to young Sandrine. She also took in children who had become orphans overnight, and whose parents had been Jeanne’s friends and neighbours. Eventually, she “adopted” five orphaned children.

Only in December did Jeanne discover that her boys were alive and well with her younger sister, Charlotte. She was overjoyed to welcome them home into the family. However, Jeanne was never able to find her husband’s body, though she looked frantically for many long months. His bones were never recovered or identified, and to this day, her greatest sorrow is to have been unable to lay him to rest in the ground with a proper burial.

Jeanne is a beautiful and charismatic woman of fifty now. I can only imagine her in her thirties, even after three children. She was, no doubt, still a beauty, filled with intelligence and sparkling charm, despite her many sorrows. She met her second husband, Aaron, a few years later through the church where he was pastor. His own genocide story is of utter loss: his wife, his siblings, his parents and all seven of his children were killed. I cannot conceive of the loss and emptiness he must have felt and, no doubt, still feels from time to time.

Jeanne and Aaron married and continued to raise Jeanne’s expanding family. Memories of the genocide haunted them both, and Jeanne began meeting with other women to share stories and hardships and to comfort one another. They healed slowly, in the knowledge that they were not alone and that their stories mattered.

After the death of her friend, after Jeanne had determined that she would open a centre for traumatized women who were once or were still victims of violence, she began taking the steps she needed to take to be able to do a good job: a sociology degree, courses in trauma counselling, youth training, first aid, health education, Grameen banking and micro-credit loans. Jeanne has founded several associations of women as well, but since opening its doors in 2006, Jeanne has worked full-time for Tubahumurize. She works without a salary to this day and her own home is used for the centre, thus forgoing the rental income she would otherwise have recieved.

One thing Jeanne is really passionate about is that the future of this country depends on letting go of ethnic divisions. Thus, the mandate of the association is specifically inclusive of all women, no matter their religion, ethnic background or economic status. Everyone is welcome. That does not always sit well with some women, but in order to build something new, something old has to be left behind. Jeanne is a devout Christian actually, but is not narrow minded. Indeed, I believe Jeanne has captured one of the great strengths of Christianity, perhaps its best, and that is a belief in the equality of all people.

I witnessed her listening to a young woman recently, a sewing student, who was relating some information to her about her family situation. Jeanne was totally present for this young woman, listening attentively, gazing at her with her warm eyes, asking questions, saying reassuring things. It was a joy to behold. Jeanne, filled with boundless energy and enthusiasm, filled with ideas and plans and dreams and more ideas, sitting so quietly in the presence of this young woman. This is an example of how she works. A whirlwind sometimes, not always organized or on point, but always, always has her priorities straight when it comes to the women. She is there for them.

Jeanne certainly cannot run this place alone, nor should she, but she has many qualities that assure this organization’s success. I am certain that through faith and determination, she will make sure this happens. One dream at a time.

Another Atypical Day

My niece Marie mentioned recently (complained?) that she still has no real idea of what Simone and I do all day, here at Tubahumurize. So this blog perhaps will give a clearer idea of our daily activities, although it must be said that one day is never the same as the next so there is no truly clear routine. And to be honest, yesterday, Friday, the day I am going to describe, was a very busy day.

Our day began in earnest around 8:00 am, with the arrival of the sewing students who bring a lot of excitement and energy and chatter. Simone was already up, doing yoga in the morning sunshine with Simeon, who is a natural. Though I usually stay in bed as long as possible, just listening and thinking and gathering up energy for the day, yesterday I got up quickly, knowing it was to be a full day.

By 8:30, Simone and I had cadged a lift from Aaron to go to the huge indoor market at Kimironko, about a half hour walk from the centre. I even skipped my cup of coffee to leave early! We spent about an hour there, buying a few items to bring home as presents, and of course, I had to fondle all the fabric and buy some too. Then we tipped the young man who helped us find things and we hopped on moto-taxis back to the centre.

After my coffee (!!)(half hour to prepare and drink), Simeon and I walked to the local market to look for a woman named Anatalie. She had been ill and had come to the centre to see if I could help fill her prescription. I had called a nurse who works in a free clinic; she was able to fill the prescription and had dropped it off at the centre the day before. At the market, we asked a few people where to find Anatalie, who works there sewing. I ran into Prosperine, one of the beneficiaries at the centre, who told us that actually Anatalie had gone to Tubahumurize to see me!

But before returning to the centre, Simeon and I needed to buy some vegetables. I found another lovely woman I know, Febronie, who sells tomatoes there. She filled our bag with fresh tomatoes and helped us get potatoes, garlic, carrots onions and rice at a good price. She seemed very proud to be able to help me and for sure we were surrounded by a great gaggle of people the entire time, all clamouring for me to buy whatever they had for sale and just wanting to shake my hand or greet me.

I actually love this environment, so full of smells, sights and sounds, the hustle bustle of people working and chatting and arguing. It feels very relaxed, and though people want me to buy from them, they accept when I make a choice and don’t seem to hold a grudge against me or their “competitor.” I guess what I am saying is that the atmosphere does not feel at all competitive. Just noisy!

Bags full, Simeon and I walked home. I went to tend to Anatalie, giving her clear directions about the medications and putting in the first dose of eye ointment that was prescribed in her eyes. I think she has a touch of pneumonia actually, so I hope the antibiotics she takes will kick in. I told her if she does not start feeling better in three days, she should return to see her doctor.

After this, I had promised Valentin that we would (finally) build a composter for the garden. Two days before, we had gone to several shops down the road to find some stiff wire mesh (about ¼” holes) and some heavier wire for attaching things. Mission accomplished, we had returned with 2.5 metres of wire mesh and a roll of heavy wire.

So Friday, we began by cutting four stakes from wood that had been stored in the garage. Then, we prepared the area where the composter was to go, digging a shallow round hole, into which we inserted the ring of wire mesh and bury it a few inches. We covered all the edges with duct tape to avoid the nasty cuts that wire can give (though it is not sticking that well, so we may need to find another solution).

Valentin drove in the stakes, I cut wire to attach the stakes to the mesh and in about an hour, we had our composter up and running! I even started to fill it with some garden waste. Several people watched this process, especially Simeon and the two Erics from the sewing class. It is going to reduce the landfill wasted generated by the centre and will also enrich the garden soil. As a sidebar, the garden seeds we planted are all sprouted and growing away!

Then, I sent Simeon up the lemon tree with gloves on and a pair of secateurs in hand to prune off a few ridiculously tall branches – so tall it was impossible to harvest the lemons. Also, the two lemon trees need pruning in other ways, but that can wait for another day. We started with the tall branches. So he did that. It looks much better already.

During this time, Simone was busy working on the newsletter and finishing a funding report. Jeanne was off having her hair done. Epiphanie, the sewing teacher, called me to try on the skirt she is making for me, which I did! It fits perfectly. No more of that off-the-rack stuff for me! Made to measure rocks! Simone and I consulted a bit on the day ahead, especially a project we were planning with the sewing students and we divvied up the work.

I took a few minutes to read my email and especially to read Sarah’s blog, about her (my daughter-in-law) amazing, excellent and thankful recovery from brain surgery! Another story for another day, but she is doing well. I spent some time organizing all the photos of the sewing class into one large folder as we were going to present a slide show after their class. Jeanne had returned and prepared a meal of leftovers, which we all ate with gusto. It was almost two o’clock after lunch and we had a class with the sewing students at 3:00 pm.


What we wanted the sewing students to do was to write to the many individuals who were part of a large fundraising effort in Alberta. A program called Green and Gold out of the University of Alberta, had planted an enormous organic garden and had given away all the produce, only asking for a donation. This raised over $16,000 CDN and all the proceeds are to come to Tubahumurize! (The connection to Simone is through her boyfriend Eloge, who is the son of Jeanne, who runs Tubahumurize. Networking, networking…)

Simone and I got the paper, pens, pastels and coloured pencils ready, as well as a template for the students to follow when writing their letters. Valentin and I hooked up my computer to a larger flat screen monitor and Simone got together some music to accompany the slide show.

Shortly after three, the students finished cleaning up for the weekend and came around to get their “lesson.” They were very diligent in their work. Once completed, they took some time to add illustrations to their “cards”. I think these notes will be very much appreciated! They are really sweet. Then, everyone came inside to watch the slide show. They loved it! Laughing and hooting and pointing, seeing pictures of themselves and each other. It was a great success! Something to be repeated for sure. Everyone wants copies of these pictures and that is something I plan to do on my return. It is too expensive and complicated here to make prints.

After the students left, Simone and I got busy in the kitchen, baking a chocolate cake for the birthday party we were invited to that evening, the now-13-year-old son of one of Jeanne’s sisters. One hour later, we had two lovely round Ultimate Chocolate Cakes, covered in chocolate peppermint icing.


At this point, I took a short nap! Shortly before seven, Jeanne, Aaron and Sandrine (Jeanne’s youngest daughter) arrived to pick us up. Simone looked stunning in her new African outfit! We spent a pleasant evening with a very nice family, mostly eating and chatting quietly. All very subdued and dignified. The cakes were a hit! We did not stay late as everyone was tired.

On our return, Simone and I sipped glasses of wine and talked for quite awhile pretty much about life, the universe and everything. She is feeling a bit sad about leaving but also excited about a two week stint in Europe with friends and then her return to Montreal – and Eloge!

I have no idea what time it was when I untied my bed net and arranged it around my bed. I only know that I slept soon after and stayed that way till morning. I think Simone is still sleeping, a wonderful thing as she often has insomnia.

So that was one day. Not typical, but frankly, none of them are. Hope this helps you picture our lives a bit better Marie! Over and out. Elaine

Hidden Secrets

Kigali, for a quasi-tourist, is somewhat of an enigma. You can certainly tell that the culture has not had to tolerate people from different cultures, and also that a large number of people have never lived or travelled anywhere else. It is very much an oral culture, a place where you know all that you need to know by living here. Everyone knows where everything is and how everything works. Although, frankly, not everyone has the same information, so someone is actually wrong! Many assumptions are made about foreigners, but especially that strangers cannot comprehend the things that are so evident to Rwandans. As I have mentioned before, the buses have no sign on the front to indicate their destination. This remains a mystery to me and I have to ask every time. Another example is that streets have names, but rarely will you see a street sign. This is very frustrating for a visitor who wants to know how to get to x or y or z.

People are somewhat bemused when they are asked where you can buy this or that. They will tell you that that kind of store or business or product is everywhere. But if you don’t speak or read the language, if you don’t know one road from another, if you don’t know all the landmarks, if you weren’t born here, how can you tell? And the Rwanda guide books are filled with mistakes. Even the tourism office is not always able to help. The last time I was there, I needed more information about something. I got vague information at first and when he saw I still didn’t understand the details of what I had to do, he explained a bit more. And finally, after a third stab, I had enough details to actually be able to follow through. At the tourist bureau! And the sad part of that is, they think tourists are stupid to need so many details! Ethnocentric, do you think?


A couple of weeks ago, Simone and I had a plan to visit Nyungwe National Forest, where there are several species of monkey troops as well as chimpanzees. The forest is large and you have to have a vehicle to be able to appreciate all the various aspects of the park, especially to track the chimps. Also, we wanted to make a few short side trips, to a cheese factory and to a coffee roasting business. I wanted to rent a car; not a car and driver, just a car.

I saw a sign (in English!) that advertised a Rav 4 at $50/day. I thought that sounded affordable. When I went in to inquire, it turned out that that price was for long-term rentals of more than two weeks. Furthermore, to rent a car for two days to go out of town, I needed to have a driver as well. Why, I asked, when I have been driving for over forty years, accident free, including in Paris, including on the ‘wrong’ side of the road in England? Why? Well, this is Africa, she responded. People could just drive away with a car to Burundi or Tanzania. In other words, steal it! And this is pretty much the status quo everywhere. Car plus driver for two days, between $200 and $300US. Yikes! How on earth do we manage in other parts of the world to keep theft from happening?

I googled car rentals at Kigali international airport. It listed Avis, Alamo, Hertz and some other companies as having services there. But trying to actually connect with one of them was impossible. In fact, I am skeptical that there are actually any there at all because none of them show Kigali or Rwanda as a location.
I googled car rentals in Kigali and up popped a map with dozens of downtown locations and decent prices, but we are back again to street names and business signs! As far as I have noticed, there is nothing recognizable to see, like perhaps a fleet of cars out front that might indicate you could rent a car there.

We have tapped into our friends, acquaintances and even strangers to try to figure out a way to rent a car without a driver without costing an arm and a leg. We have even stooped so low as to ask to borrow. Probably totally inappropriate, like asking a neighbor in France to borrow his lawnmower. (He mowed our lawn himself rather than let us touch it.) I am completely stymied. But I have not given up. Somehow, we will find a way, figure something out.

But meanwhile, it is somewhat frustrating. And to be fair, this society, though perhaps insular at some level, really works very well. Plus everyone is very helpful, always. If I sound a bit frustrated, well I am, but only because I have not yet cracked the code to the information I need. And I may never, and I will just have to learn to live with that.

Lessons from Rwanda

There are a lot of things here in Rwanda that really are quite amazing. For a country that was so very recently leveled to the ground, without infrastructure, without services, without hope, without peace, Rwanda has achieved a great deal. The economy is booming, at least here in Kigali. The infrastructure is back in place – not perfect, but there is running water, electricity (with random interruptions), sewers and garbage collection. The schools are functioning and more are being built, even as I write. Health care is available for about two dollars per year per person.

The courts continue to be very busy with genocide cases, but they too are functioning well, albeit slowly. The government is stable, with severe penalties for anything that smacks of corruption. It seems Rwanda has gone from being the scourge of Africa, a blight oin the eyes of the world, to a model country that is the envy of most other African nations.

How was this achieved? I am not an historian, but I have talked with many people and observed a great deal during my stay here. First of all, I would have to credit a deep faith as one of the primary factors in Rwanda’s recovery. Largely a Christian nation, the country’s despair has been replaced by hope, which many Rwandans see as the return of God to bless this country, having abandoned it for a long time. You cannot talk for long with a Rwandan before God is mentioned as a huge force in his or her life.


Second, it seems to me the government has taken some extraordinarily courageous steps in reconciling the past with the present. Gacacca courts are a primary example, where crimes by more minor players in the genocide are tried and sentenced. By minor, crimes are those of property as well as murder, but no more than some number of people, perhaps ten. The implication is that these criminals were mere pawns (and young pawns at that) in a much larger agenda of genocide. This community court process is due to end in November this year so there is a great deal of effort to complete the cases currently before the courts.

This is a particularly difficult process for those who were the victims in the genocide, because they have to accuse the perpetrators. The perpetrators have to admit their crimes to the accuser(s) and ask for pardon but very often their sentences are not severe. There simply is not enough room in the country’s prisons to jail everyone who participated in the genocide, even if they committed murder. What is expected is that the victims pardon the perpetrators of the crimes. This is the difficult part. But somehow it is working. Victims pardon the accused, at least in word. Their own private thoughts and feelings are set aside, at least in public. As one woman said to me, I have pardoned (him) because I have to.

I find this a very courageous journey towards reconciliation. If people are able to live together in harmony again, if their children are well-educated and not inculcated with divisive ideologies about ethnicity, if the economy continues to grow and everyone has opportunities to prosper, then people can look to the future rather than the past and there is real hope for long-term success.

In addition to this overarching system of reconciliation, there are other ways in which the Rwandan government has taken some remarkable steps. A small thing, but something that has grown much larger in recent years in the Western world as our sensibility about environmental issues has grown, here in Rwanda, plastic bags are forbidden. If you travel here and put your shoes in a plastic bag, that bag may be confiscated at the airport. People carry reusable bags of all kinds and paper bags are the norm in grocery stores and markets. Household garbage is stored in empty bags that once carried coal, or sorghum or grains. When garbage is collected, the bags are emptied into large trucks and the bags are returned to the owners. If Kigali was to start a household composting program, there would be very little garbage at all!

Another interesting feature that has been inserted into the lives of the Rwandan people is called umuganda, which translates as “community work.” During the morning of the last Saturday of every month, everyone is expected to participate in their community’s well-being, at least one person from each household. The buses stop running, the streets are closed and everyone remains in their own community. Roads are repaired, schools, churches and other public buildings are built, even young children participate in this process, carrying bricks and lumber and water.

To me, this half day per month of community work, while compulsory, is a reminder that we all have a responsibility to make our country better. That we are the state, as my friend Sandi never tired of saying. Can you imagine such a mandated day in your community?? Perhaps you are lucky and live somewhere where people actually do take that responsibility seriously and actively participate in their communities voluntarily. But I fear that all too many of us just expect someone else to take care of it, whatever “it” is.

So to me, with these few examples, I believe Rwanda has taken stock of the rest of the world, and learned something from the things we don’t do so well, and from the things we have done badly. And Rwanda has taken advantage of being able to build something from nothing, or something from a very broken something else, incorporating the best of the rest of the world, and inserting and inventing things that are entirely new. Go Rwanda! And God bless.

Turning Sixty in Kigali

On October 30, I turned the big six-oh. That is a pretty big number and I had some feelings about not wanting it to go unnoticed, even so far from home. And it was noticed, for sure!

When I got up, Simone prepared me a delicious omelet and toast for breakfast. Plus my morning latte! I was banished from pretty much everywhere in the centre for much of the day so I amused myself in my room, having occasional wafts of deliciousness intrude from time to time. I did know that Friday was the day for the students to reveal their secret friends, which they call ‘cacahuètes,’ a game of stealth present-giving that had been going on for over a week. Simone and I had agreed that this would also be a celebration with cake and ice cream. Thus, I had already laid in two tubs of chocolate ripple ice cream and the supplies for Simone to make cake. Simone and Valentin, Jeanne’s son, had also worked hard to finish a solar oven in the hopes of using it to bake the cake. But it rained all morning so toaster oven it was.

Around three o’clock, I was told to get ready for the sewing class party, so I put on a skirt and blouse and walked into the main room, which was decorated with streamers and signs. To my astonishment, everyone stood and sang happy birthday in English, French and Kinyarwanda. Then I got to wear a birthday crown. Everyone was all dressed up and seemed just delighted with their surprise. There were gifts, cards, applause, tears (mine) and great joy all around.

Secret friends were all revealed as well, and there were many more hugs. After that, we enjoyed cake and ice cream, which was utterly delicious to the last lick! For our finale, we danced and sang Rwandan songs with great gusto. At 5:30, Simone declared that everyone had to go.

I was again banished to my room but invited out again when guests started to arrive for the next party. Another kind of surprise, as I had asked for a party but had no idea what it would be like. Lots of people came to wish me well, people I had met maybe once or twice before. Adrienne, from Oregon, and her husband and children, whom we had spent a few hours with one day, came. English Sarah came from Ruhengere as did Jeannette, our Rwandan host from last weekend. There was a feast of food. Then cake and ice cream. Again! Conversation, dancing. More cards and small gifts. The whole event was truly lovely.

I was truly blessed to be among all these people on my birthday. I felt truly loved, honoured and special. Who could ask for more?

Gorillas in the Mist

This past weekend, Simone and I made the trek to Volcanoes National Park to go gorilla trekking. We paid the big bucks (aka tourist prices) and rode the bus from Kigali to Ruhengere, in the northern part of Rwanda, very near the borders to both Uganda and DR Congo. There, we were able to stay with a friend of a friend – very much the way things work here – which was very nice indeed, allowing us to meet a whole new set of people. We also hired a 4x4 and driver through the friend of a friend. The night before, from the bus, we were treated to a display of one of the active volcanoes, which glowed red and seemed to be sending up sparks. Remarkable!

Monday was our day so we set off, picking up Steve, a friend from Kigali who was able to join us at the last minute. At 7 am, we met up with other visitors at the welcome centre for Volcanoes National Park. We were given a few instructions and split up into various groups, depending on how far you wanted to walk and which group of gorillas you wanted to see.

We were given a small lesson on gorillas – their life span, their social hierarchy, their habits, even the fact that the details of the nose of a gorilla are as unique as those of a human fingerprint. The “noseprint” is how each gorilla is differentiated. There are trackers who follow each gorilla troop daily so that it is easier for the guides to take groups of trekkers directly to them. There are also researchers who study their habits and care for them if sick, and all manner of local men and women who are implicated in the treks.

Simone had her heart set on a long trek so she chose the Amahoro group of gorillas. In all, there were just six trekkers in our group as well as two guides and several porters. The first stage involved half an hour in the 4x4 along a road, which, we were told, gave us a Rwandan massage. Very , very, very bumpy! At the foothills of the volcano (Mount Visoke I believe) we left our jeeps behind, hired porters for our backpacks (well I did) and headed overland, through fields and small villages, where everyone was working and all the children delighted in waving and saying ‘hello’ and getting a reply, and sometimes joining hands – very much the Rwandan way of greeting.

The fields were rich with crops, especially potatoes, corn, beans and acres and acres of pyrethrum, a plant of the chrysanthemum family (very like marguerites), the dried flowers of which are sent to the US and used to make mosquito repellant. People, especially women, work barefoot in the fields with deep hoes, cultivating the very fertile earth there and harvesting crops, their young children on their backs or playing nearby. They stop and wave their greetings.

Finally, we reached the edge of the park, marked by a rough stone wall constructed both to keep the animals in and to curb the encroachment of people, whose fields butt right up to the park periphery. We all clambered over into what was basically the jungle’s edge. We followed narrow paths through groves of bamboo, eucalyptus, bananas, and all manner of plants I can’t identify. There were many stinging nettles, and we were warned to keep our hands within the range of the narrow path. I got one good zap, which is still a noticeable tingle today. And on and up we went.

The morning was chilly but fine. However, it had rained heavily the day before so the paths were muddy and slippery. We picked our way up the rocky slopes, through the jungle and through clearings for about two hours. We arrived at a clearing where we met up with many trackers and guards, who keep the forests protected from predators and poachers. We left our backpacks behind, except for cameras, and moved forward quietly for a few hundred metres.

Just out of sight behind a grove of bushes, I could hear the rustling sounds of something large. The people in the lead had stopped in amazement, looks of wonder filling their faces. They seemed to be holding their breath. And in a few seconds, I saw why. Just a few metres away was a group of about a dozen gorillas, lying in the sun, making nests, grooming one another and themselves, cuddling, sleeping and eating bamboo shoots. It was quite a sight. It was very like a dream. Hard to believe that I was actually standing there in the jungle on a mountain watching these enormous, magnificent creatures, hearing them grunt and snuffle, seeing them interact, being regarded by them, smelling their scent, noticing their very human-looking ears.

We stayed in the area for an hour, taking photos, smiling, whispering, smiling some more, moving a bit for a better or different view, taking more photos and smiling some more. It felt like hallowed ground; such a privilege to be part of their natural habitat for this short while. The gorillas were mostly very calm. One young male walked right up to our group and passed between us, without a glance, as if to just give us all a thrill. He was maybe six inches from me!

I saw a young baby climb a vine and swing around the treetops. Later he came down with a flurry, having moved out to the end of a bushy branch until the branch dipped low enough for him to jump off. I saw baby gorillas tussling with one another, from time to time beating their chests to let us know who was in charge! But they were still so young that they would fall over as they beat their chests. You couldn’t help but laugh at their antics.

The silverback leader, about 35 years old, was in a sleepy mood, and clearly did not feel at all threatened by our presence. The second silverback, about 25 years old, had lost a hand in a trap when he was young. He is apparently a great fighter and protector of the group. As we were preparing to leave, an older female started to make some noises to which the leader responded. They were apparently signaling their desire to mate. Unfortunately, we were not around to see this event, but perhaps we would not have been welcome anyway.

Picking my way down the mountain was done mostly in silence, my heart and head trying to process what I had just been a part of. On our return journey across the fields, the skies opened and we were pelted with a cold, driving rain that drenched and chilled us all to the bone. Even so, my mood of quiet elation and wonder persisted.

Today, a day later, I have not fully grasped how I feel about the whole thing. Honoured. Blessed. Moved. And yet, for reasons I cannot fathom, some aspects of the experience remain surreal, dreamlike and unreachable in my conscious thoughts. And perhaps best left that way.

The Tubahumurize Sewing Project

So many people were involved with fundraising through Give Meaning.com for the sewing project here at Tubahumurize. It is now into its second month and is a complete success from every angle. There were twenty students at the start, but several had to drop out for various reasons, though certainly not because they wanted to. There are currently 18 students – 16 girls and 2 boys – and we are in the process of bringing two more young women aboard, one of whom began the program but had to drop out.

Most of the students are 15-20 years old. Very nearly all of them are orphans whose families were killed during the genocide. They live in a variety of situations. Perhaps with a relative, like an aunt. Some have been taken in by women who are members of Tubahumurize. A few live on their own and a few are heads of households. Two or more girls live in households where they are basically servants and only with great difficulty have they gained permission to do their housework and attend our school. One girl gets up at 4 am so she can get here for 8 am. Three women have young children. Most students had to leave school early on. Only one or two have finished primary school and have attended some secondary school.


Their teacher is a woman named Epiphanie and she is really something. Very calm and patient, and obviously very talented, since the young people are learning by leaps and bounds. It was clearly not intellect that held them back in school! They are still working with used clothing, which they take apart and turn into something new. I am amazed at what they can do in such a short time and also at what they produce from sometimes pretty dowdy fabric. They make some pretty neat outfits! They are not quite ready to cut into new fabric but I would be willing to let any one of them make me something, as long as Epiphanie supervised the process!

The class is not just getting an education in sewing. They are also receiving a variety of other kinds of activities that will help them develop into more rounded individuals. For example, they attend workshops in health, nutrition, life-skills and English, and we offer them art classes, English choir, and soon yoga. As well, they attend trauma counselling, which right now is on an individual basis. They do not yet feel comfortable talking about their troubled young lives in front of one another. It is too new, even to them. They have perhaps never talked about what has happened to them. It is buried deep and is very painful.

The students also take turns preparing their midday meal. There is a large three “burner” coal burning brick stove, on which they cook their meals. The usual fare is beans and rice, which perhaps would grow repetitive for me, but for them is likely their main meal of the day, and by Rwandan standards, is pretty healthy. We have plans to put in a small garden, which the students can help plan and tend, and to raise chickens for eggs, again with the students in charge of building shelter from the rain and a fence. The fruits of the garden and of the chickens will also help to supplement their diets.


The lot on which the centre is located is perhaps 100’ wide by 75’ deep. The main house is quite spacious by Rwandan standards, with a large living area, where all the counselling and workshops take place, a small functional kitchen, an office, a bathroom, and two bedrooms, one with a private bathroom.

The students’ sewing area is behind the centre. The ten treadle machines are nestled into a small room. All of the cutting and patterning and hand sewing take place in the courtyard, paved with smooth, painted cement, between the main house and the sewing room. The students take turns at the machines, with half sewing and the other half working on other stages of their work. They learn from a blackboard, which is literally that – a board painted black – but it works! – and from listening to and watching their teacher. At the end of each day, the students work together to clean the courtyard, and at the end of every week, they clean all the cement areas as well as the courtyard kitchen area and the bathroom.

I have grown very fond of these young women and men. They are perhaps the most industrious young people I have ever met. Not one of them is looking for an easy way out. They all seem to take this opportunity very seriously and responsibly. In their lives, opportunities like this will likely be few and far between.


I love their names: Pascaline (2), Claudine, Ephipanie, Immacule, Clementine, Madina, Elvani, Osette, Jeanette, Soulange, Antoinette, Jacqueline, and Erique (2). Clearly I am missing a couple but I am working from memory here. I love their response to new things. I had brought a few skipping ropes, and one day I took one out for them to use. To see the joy on their faces, to hear their laughter – it was almost too, too good. They are so painfully beautiful, still children really. And probably never had much of a childhood, considering that most of them were three or four at the time of the genocide. To have lived through that, at no matter what age, was most certainly traumatic.

Every weekday morning, when class is just starting, the class sings a hymn and offers a prayer. They sound like angels to me, with their high, clear voices. So last week, I started a choir with those who wished to participate. They seem to love it and want to sing more than once a week. I am teaching them some pretty easy stuff, like This Little Light of Mine, Kumbaya, Summertime, Swing Low, and We Shall Overcome. They hardly know what they are singing but I do my best to explain in French and someone translates into Kinyarwanda at minimum, what the song is about. Basically, so far, it works. They love to sing, and they seem to enjoy learning and watching me as they rarely take their eyes off me while we are singing, and they copy me, even if I scratch my nose or something. My own choir instructor should be so lucky! It’s like they don’t want to miss a beat! (No pun intended… )


Just today, Simone and I offered the first art class. We introduced the concept of art – What is it? What kinds of things are art? Who can make art? They were engaged and interested but a bit mystified. I think very few of them had ever had an opportunity to do much that requires just imagination. The exercises we did today were very simple. One was with the class sitting in a circle, eyes closed, one behind the other. One person chose a shape and drew it on the person in front’s back. The shape transmitted was sent around the circle to the last person who then wrote the shape they received on a piece of paper. They had a lot of fun with that.
The second exercise was to draw someone else in the class without looking at the paper. You could see who had never drawn before, who was intimidated by the exercise and who really got it. It was pretty impressive really.

Next week, we asked them to think about what they might do if they were granted three wishes: what those granted wishes might look like. We will offer all kinds of materials for them to work with, from drawing to collage. I hope they will be able to share their wishes with everyone. We are also planning a large mural sewing project as well.

So these are the kind of things the sewing class is up to. Every day, they amaze me. They give me the most wonderful hugs and always smile and want to chat. They are somewhat shy but curious about everything. They think I am nuts because I have asked them to keep their cuttings scraps for me, with which I hope to piece into some kind of quilt, but which to them are garbage. Hopefully, I can show them such scraps’ usefulness. I try my best to be a kind of mother figure to them. Indeed, they call me Elaine but they also call me Mami, which is like older woman I think. I went out today with a bolt of fabric I had bought to show them. They approved enthusiastically.

They adore poring through the little album of photos I brought with pics of all my family and friends. For young people with little or no family, indeed from any woman with whom I have shared my family pictures, I have never felt one twinge of jealousy that I should be so rich in family and they so poor. Indeed, they seem genuinely delighted. One group of women actually applauded when I said I had a wonderful and kind husband. Most of them are either widows or living in abusive situations.

At the moment, there is a possibility that this project will receive money for an electric sewing machine that does embroidery as well as money for a serger. This will bring the students’ abilities to a much higher level. In fact, even the instructor would have to be taught how to use the embroidery aspects of the machine. But that is very much a fashion here, to put some gorgeous finishes on women’s clothing in ways I have never seen but certainly recognize as a form of embroidery. So we are all hopeful about that as that kind of skill will bring in more money for sure.

Simone and I are trying to come up with ways that the students can make some money, once their skills reach a certain level. This will be soon, as we are going with the teacher next week to purchase fabric for the first time. So we are planning and scheming on their behalf so they can begin to earn a bit. It may involve banking anything they make so that when they graduate, they will be able to purchase cloth or a sewing machine. This plan is in its infancy.

So thank you to all of you who helped to make this project become a reality. It is really amazing what is happening here, thanks to you. It is also amazing what is happening to me, because these kids just rock my world.

The People of Rwanda

The other day, while I was in Akagera Park, I met a German woman and her husband who had been travelling in several other African countries. They talked a little bit about how much begging went on in the countries they had visited. I reported that I had seen very little of that here, just a few children who annoyingly say “give me money”, practicing their few English words, and a few older women downtown who beg, sitting on the ground with a child or two by their side. Otherwise, at least as far as I have seen, everyone is very busy working.

Seriously, the streets are always filled with people. The majority of the economy here is at a micro level. There are thousands upon thousands of small shops that sell pretty much everything under the sun, though you totally have to know where to go to find what you are looking for as neither the store front nor the sign will tell you much at all about what is inside. Then there are the thousands upon thousands of people who walk the streets selling fresh eggs, phone cards, internet cards, tomatoes, jewelry, papayas, and so on. Then there are the professionals, very much the minority and pretty much only in Kigali, who work in offices, hospitals, schools and the like. Then there are the hordes of moto-taxis that are ubiquitous, not to mention taxis, which are equally present and the hundreds of bus drivers. Then there is construction that seems to be going on everywhere, both in the city and rurally. These endeavours require thousands upon thousands of people to do the work. It looks to me like this country is growing, and growing well, economically.

To date, I have not heard anyone refer to anyone else as anything but Rwandan, which suggests that President Paul Kagame’s recipe for reconciliation is working, at least on the surface. Who knows what goes on in private? But public is a good step, rather like racism in Canada. It is not evident in Canada though it rears its head in more insidious ways. And children are hopefully being taught about being Rwandan, not Hutu or Tutsi or Twa. I am starting to see the great variety in facial features, stature and so on, but I have never seen anyone flinch, for example, if, on the bus, they sit next to someone who is different from them.

Speaking of buses, I do enjoy them, plus they are pretty cheap, only 200 RWF (about 50 cents). The buses are packed, but everyone gets a seat. You do have to be able to tolerate a fair bit of body odour! The larger buses hold about forty people I think. When all the main seats are taken, there are aisle seats that fold down. The etiquette when getting on the bus is to always take the seat furthest to the back, especially when the side seating is quite full. If someone gets off from the back, several people shift to fill that spot. Otherwise, everyone in the aisle would have to stand, fold up their seat, and make room for the next person getting onto the bus. It works like a charm but you do have to know the rules.

I have had many a nice chat in French with various people on the bus. People are generally very friendly and warm towards mzungus, and always delighted to hear we are from Canada. Almost always, someone knows someone in Canada and asks if we know them too. They have no concept of how vast Canada is. Others are curious to know what it is like, and how it compares to Rwanda. Rwandans are very proud of their country and rightly proud of the direction in which it is going. They see hope after many years of despair.

Of course, here at Tubahumurize, I do hear a different side of things as pretty much all the women here have suffered or still suffer in situations of domestic violence. Simone thinks the young men of Rwanda really have a problem; they are far too confident and far too cocky, swaggering when they walk. It is clearly still a patriarchal society, even though the family is definitely matriarchal.

There is a very strong division here between male and female. To be female is to have children and take care of home and family. Dowries are still essential; you cannot marry without the dowry. The man has to give at least one cow to marry a woman, which, believe it or not, is a small fortune as cows are very precious. Girls are still the ones who are last to go to school. Homosexuality is impossible, not recognized, not believed in (sinful). It just doesn’t exist (obviously, completely closeted). Divorce is pretty close to impossible. The judge will say to a disputing couple, if one wants a divorce and the other doesn’t, to go back to the home and work it out and come back in six months. In the case of clear domestic violence, divorce is possible but the police become involved, creating a real risk of violence escalating.

I see this divide between the sexes as a huge obstacle to change within the family. The women of Tubahumurize are lucky, in that they are learning about all the things they are capable of, and are gaining confidence in their abilities, some earning an income. These are important steps, I think, in changing the role of women in the family so that women and men share more equal partnerships.

All that said, there are many men who clearly are gentle and kind, who see women as different but equal, and who probably are wonderful partners to their wives. Not everyone is dominating and cruel or punitive. But there is definitely an underlying thread of male supremacy that needs to shift before this country can really emerge as a fully-functioning society. That’s the way I see it anyway.

Agakera National Park

In contrast to our site visit, Simone and I spent the weekend in the relative lap of luxury. We hired a driver and went for two days to Akagera Park, staying overnight at Akagera Lodge. Simone, who had visited once before, very much wanted to see elephants, and I was excited to see whatever we saw, having never seen exotic wild animals in their natural habitat. (Sidebar for anyone who decides to visit: take what the guide book and the website with a grain of salt: e.g., there is NO guided walking tour, there IS an entrance and reception to the park in the north, the hotel phone number is WRONG and the hotel does NOT take Visa. They do take US$ though, so we were saved!)

We left at 7:30 am on Saturday in a 4x4 SUV, driven by Robert. During our two hour plus trip to the park, I saw the countryside and had a glimpse into the lives of rural Rwandans. The hilly countryside is quite lush, filled with fields of crops and banana plantations. People walk and ride bicycles along the roads, and there are many minibuses that are always quite crowded. Many people were tending their crops in the fields, all by hand. Very labour intensive lives. What amazed me were the many bicycles, driven usually by young men and on which were laden huge piles of green bananas, or numerous jugs of water, or several bags of coal, for example. The roads are hilly, so to see them laboring uphill, let alone on the flat, was quite something.

On our way there, we visited Agahozo Shalom Youth Village, the result of Simone meeting someone who had worked there and said to drop in. The director, an Israeli named Nir Lahav, took time to talk to us about the work. It is an amazing place that encompasses a pretty large area. Until last year, it was all about construction, only opening last year to 150 orphans, who entered between the ages of fifteen to seventeen, four from each region of Rwanda. The selection process is based on vulnerability, rather than criteria such as intellect. Construction during the next year and a half will boost capacity to 500 orphans, which is the goal. The youth will live there for four years, attending school and having access to a great deal of resources, including sports and music, as well as responsibilities, like tending the fields. Sixteen youth live in a home with a housemother, who is local, and a counsellor, who is also local. It is their family.

The village is modeled after ones that were built in Israel after the holocaust, with cultural adaptations. By any standard, the village if gorgeous and is clearly well-funded. Volunteers are welcome, but with a project in mind. The hope is that these young adults will return to their homes and villages someday, and will be leaders in their communities. To learn more, visit their website at www.aghozo-shalom.org. If only someone would take such an interest in Tubahumurize's vulnerable women and build a safe village for them and their families!

From there, we travelled on to Akagera Park, which is long and narrow, located in the northeast corner of Rwanda bordering Tanzania. We entered at the southeast corner and exited the next day at the northeast corner, guided by Fulgence, who was very knowledgeable. The park boasts many large lakes on the western side and savannah on the east. During our trip, I was introduced to my first sightings of all sorts of wildlife. When I say sightings, I don’t mean through binoculars, but just a few metres away, like ten to thirty: giraffes, Cape buffalo, topi, oribi, hippos, baboons, vervet monkeys, a baby crocodile, a green mamba, a warthog, impala, bush bucks, water back antelope, reed back antelope and zebras! Our guide was also able to identify a wide variety of birds we sighted: great white pelican, open billed stork, sacred ibis, egrets, saddle billed stork, marabou stork, African fish eagles, spur winged plover, African grey hornbill, goliath heron, blackheaded heron, hadada ibis, oxpickers and red necked francolins. The closest we came to elephants was fresh dung but we lost their trail. There are not that many (200) and the territory they cover is pretty huge, moving every day from one lake to another.

The experience was amazing, truly amazing. There was always something to see, if only a sweeping landscape that could take your breath away. The “roads” we followed were sometimes just tracks with ruts and rocks, very bumpy and very rough. It took almost eight hours on Sunday to travel up the Park to the north. Peering into the bush or across a plain was sort of like looking for the piece of a jigsaw that doesn’t belong. Perhaps something moving, or a bit of different colour. Early on, I was confused quite often by piles of red earth, that looked rather like animal shapes from a distance. It turns out they are termite nests, sometimes several feet high. They are literally everywhere, though I have no idea where they fit into the ecosystem!

The park has existed since the time of the Belgians, but has only opened recently to tourists with a considerably smaller land mass. Still, the park was expanded this year to over 125,000 hectare, up from 90,000 last year. I gather that during the war, the park was not safe for animals as they were poached heavily. But bit by bit, it is being repopulated, sometimes deliberately by humans, and sometimes the animals just arrive and stay. Some never left. So I would think in ten years the park will be quite rife with many species of growing populations of animals. As well, one would hope the park will have the infrastructure needed, like package tours and such, as well as systems for tracking animals, to become a truly great tourist attraction, not to mention Visa-friendly and accurate on the web. That said, the expense was worth every cent. I could not have imagined that two days could bring such richness.