I’ve just become aware of the fact that many of you might start wondering whether I actually do any work out here or whether I’ve just enroled myself in an ‘alternative’ sports camp...

Well actually I’m pretty shattered at the moment from all the moving around I’ve been doing. I’m conducting some research into the levels of HIV awareness amongst secondary school students in my district. Most schools have “Anti-AIDS clubs’ and I am meant to be supporting them with training, peer education and peer counselling. But before we begin, I am trying to find out what they already have in place. Generally not much. Yep, ok, so it’s maybe a more serious type of school club than we’re used to, and they also have “Human Rights Club” and a “Gender Awareness and Female Empowerment club” (a friend working in one school noted that the girls that made up their Gender Awareness club didn’t really know what to do with themselves during their weekly meetings so used the time to clean their school. The irony).


This means that I’ve been buzzing around my district visiting schools, talking to headteachers, club organizers and the students themselves. Buzzing is probably far too industrious sounding a word. I do buzz – I go everywhere on my delightful motorbike (named ‘mookie’ by aforementioned American friend which is apparently the name of a deceptively small basketball player who is actually very powerful and makes up for size in attitude) but the roads are generally dirt tracks, or full of potholes that jar your back as you stumble and bumble along. Also, Rwanda is just a set of hills so you’re generally chugging up or down – it’s not always hair streaming out of helmet, and eat-my-dust-Africa.


I do love the bike though. It’s great to be able to whizz along (on the good roads) and drink in the beautiful Rwandan countryside. It really is stunning. Dusk setting in when the sun casts a warm glow on the hills is just the most beautiful time in the day. Importantly though you can get away from the constant peering eyes (most of which I have to admit are friendly, it just gets a bit too much sometimes) and the herds of children that follow you. It’s great because people often turn to watch the bike go by – then note the white skin, and you hear the common hue and cry signal go up; “MMMUUU-“ but you’ve already gone past them, and they’re just a tiny turned face in your mirror when the “ZZZUUNNNGGGUUU’ falls out of their gawping moouths.



Anyway, the school visits have been great, it’s nice to be out on the road, and talk to people about what they need in their schools. I’ve also been visiting health centres, which is actually a lot more difficult. Generally, I walk in and people assume I’m important because I’m white and even if there are more than 200 weary looking mothers with screaming babies on their backs, I’m often ushered in to speak to the people who work in HIV testing and counselling. These guys are so overworked, and seem as weary as the mothers outside who have travelled for miles in the hope they’ll be seen (yet often without a hope of ever being able to afford the medecine that the doctor will prescribe).


Today I was in one of only 2 hospitals in my district – and met a doctor whilst he was on his ward round. The ward wasn’t as overcrowded as the other hospitals, but a child made tiny by disease and formed seemingly just of skin strapped to bones lay in one bed, not moving as his grim-faced mother sat by him. I guess it happens all over the world. But this child would have been seen a lot sooner than out here. Fearing medical costs nobody goes to the doctor until it’s too late. And I’m sure it was too late for this kid. Quite often you see people walking through the town carrying bodies, generally corpses, in homemade stretchers made from tough grass stalks.


Anyway, it’s not actually all doom and gloom, so please don’t think it is. I hitched a lift with the American friend (God damn it, Max, there! He has a name!) up to a remote part of the district as I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be jarring my back on the bike for two hours. As it was I now realize that the point of bikes is that they actually jar your back less than a car – the bike can weave in and out of the craters, Hank the truck just has to plough right on through... Anyway, most people can only get about on foot – but because of the hills, it takes hours even if just to visit the next town over the crest of the hill. So people are constantly asking for a ride, and since Hank the truck has not only a backseat but a bit on the back for people to cling on, it soon became The Most Popular Truck in Nyamagabe. At one point there was myself and Max in the cabin bit, 4 in the back (including a breastfeeding mother and a very hungry sounding suckling baby), and 12 (I kid ye not) in the bit at the back, holding on and cadging a lift over the hills and far away. Despite the danger involved in hauling so many people over potholed mud tracks, it would be quite impolite to say no to people asking for lifts when they’re haggard old women, a charming guy on crutches and three smiling military men with AK47s. Jump on in!