African Bagel Company

On Saturday morning I went - with two other muzungus - to find the African Bagel Company. I had heard that you could buy freshly made doughnuts on a Saturday morning for just 500frw (50p). You can.

You can also buy - as the name suggests - bagels.

The place was hidden away down a lane behind a big metal gate with the letters ABC written on it. None of us noticed this so we went for a 30 minute walk down some rural lanes asking confused Rwandans about bagels. None of them knew of it and, when we eventually found it, we saw why. Inside the gate everybody was a muzungo. The place is run by some Americans living in Kigali, and is frequented by an almost entirely white clientele. The doughnuts were delicious, but I think African Bagel Company is a misleading name; it should be called the American Bagel Company.

Igitoki (Plantain)

It occurred to me that I should dedicate a post to this mysterious entity, cousin to the banana, substitute for the potato. Igitoki grow on trees just like bananas, and to the amateur banana spotter, they look the same. Some certain igitoki can be sliced and fried to make a delicious sweet treat (think banana), but the usual, everyday igitoki are boiled, just like a potato would be. If you were to look at it - innocently - for the first time, you might ask why is there a peeled banana on my dinner plate. And if you were to close your eyes and put it in your mouth, you might ask why is this potato so long. Boiled plantains are very similar in texture and in taste to boiled potatoes. This might disappoint or relieve you, depending on what you were expecting. In Rwanda they are grown as a staple - a vital, versatile, carby food - along with, 'Irish potatoes' (to distinguish from sweet potatoes), Cassava (for sombe) and rice (umuceri). Oh and igitoki is said as it's spelt. i-gi-to-ki or i-gi-to-chi depending on your accent.

This is a huge clump of igitoki that had just been delivered outside somebody's house. They are cut down when green; I don't think they ever turn yellow. Now, plantains are bigger and beefier than bananas so you can see that there is a lot of food on this clump. I was told that this would easily feed a family for a few weeks. The price: 1000frw (about £1).

Here they are, just hanging about. What's that purple dangler at the bottom? No idea

People I Look Like (to Rwandans)

Do you watch movies? Yes. You look like this actor, Matt Bomer.

Do you support the Liverpool Football Team? No. You look like Suarez.

Scott, are you related to the Queen? No... Because you look like the Royal Family.

Hello, I am very good to meet you sir, you are the image of Michael Jackson.

Day 20: Lunch

What I have learnt, is that a lunch of nuts, olives, is not acceptable in the eyes of a Rwandan: Are you sure you will not have some stomach problems from eating these things? But but four bananas is absolutely fine because I am not hungry after my breakfast.

So today, this is my lunch. I might not eat them all now.

I bought them from here, the Kigali City Market. 600 francs for the small bunch, and 100 each for the ordinary kind.

Killing Things

After Saturday's outing to the local church, the boy brought a heavy-looking, black book to me. This, bibble, he said. (I had left mine in England.) A few days later, I was sitting in my room when I heard something walk in under the door (there's a large gap). It was an enormous ant. I'm not usually bothered by insects, but when they're so big that you hear them before seeing them, I'd rather they're not in my room; also, I had been told a horrible story by an English boy who'd been bitten by one of these ants, and I wanted it gone. I looked at the mosquito spray next to my bed, but I couldn't bear the thought of the thing writhing around on the floor squealing in pain. Then I noticed the bible.

Two days later, I was sitting in the office, and there was a mosquito buzzing round my head. I caught it in my hand, squashing it, and all of its previous victim's blood in my palm. This might be the most unpleasant thing that's happened to me here. I must have looked unhappy, because when I returned from the toilets after washing my hands, one of the office girls said, I have seen you look your face when you kill the mosquito, you have to vomit, isn't it?

I'm sure it's a terrible thing to use a bible to kill things, and I feel sorry about this. I'm not usually a fan of killing anything, but with everything determined to bite me, and suck my blood, my only options are to fight back or be a victim.

Day 14: Lunch

A few days ago, I met two English girls, who told me about a lady at a market in Kigali, who makes tailored shirts at a reasonable price. Her name is Josephine.

In the afternoon, I took a moto to the market. There were ladies sat in front of vast piles of beans, moving each one around with their finger tips, and carefully examining them, before moving them to the correct pile. Tall, wooden market stalls formed dark and narrow lanes, about three feet across. Walking through these lanes was more exciting for the surprise of what would be round each corner, all the way a background mumble of muzungo.

After one wrong Josephine, I eventually asked my way to the right Josephine. who was very friendly, and spoke fantastic English. Naïvely, I had imagined her range of fabrics to include stripes, checks, and other European styles. I was wrong. But since I had been escorted to her by an old lady and her entourage of small children (muzungo!) I had to follow through. I promise you will like it (the shirt), Josephine kept saying. She used a long, wooden stick to hook down each fabric on which my eyes paused for more than half a second. They were all as bright and bold as each other, and mostly imported from the Congo. How do you see Rwanda? she asked. Everybody asked this question, in the same phrasing. Eventually a small man in an ill-fitted shirt turned up to measure me. It turns out he's the one who makes the clothes. Josephine is just the front-man. I paid for the fabric (5000frw) and said goodbye. I will pay for the making when I collect the shirt on Wednesday. I promise you will like it, Josephine said again, before I left.

On my way back to the sunlight (rain actually) I stopped in the food section to buy some miniature bananas for lunch. At this point, five or six hands began to thrust different fruit in front of my face. 200! 100! 300! These were the only English words they spoke. Eventually I bought more than I wanted, and a man called Eric sold me a bag. I go by the name Eric. I work in the market no problem. Unable to dissuade him, he escorted me round, holding my bag, and I felt obliged to buy some oranges (they were brown). I gave him 200 for his trouble and thanked him. Next time you are here I will come. I am Eric work in the market no problem.

Unfortunately I didn't take my phone to the market so I have no photographs, but here is my pile of fruit. I don't know what I'll do with it since my breakfasts and dinners are made for me every day.

Day 14: Breakfast

For breakfast were the usual eggy-chapatis, and for once I had company. Albert's cousin sat watching me daintily trying to cut the plate-sized chapati with my knife and fork, without knocking it off the plate and onto my trousers. We eat them like this. He took a chapati in hand, folded it in half, and half again, and bit into it like a slice of pizza. Now I knew.

I saw the boy after breakfast. To go to the church? he asked. When the person who makes your food, washes your clothes, and polishes your shoes, asks this, I'm sure the only polite answer is Yes? And I like to think that you get a lot more out of life when you say yes to things. In fact, that was my answer the first time I was asked about coming to Rwanda: Yes?

Getting to the church involved a fair bit of clambering down dusty dirt tracks, and jumping over ditches filled with old flip-flops and discarded vegetables. This experience is not unique to that route; most residential areas and footpaths (ie. not busy main roads without pavements) are like this. It makes me appreciate how privileged Albert is to live on a street with a surfaced road (and a pavement which the motos sometimes use because it's smoother than the road).

As soon as we arrived, I realised I was under-dressed. I hoped the novelty of being a muzungo would distract their attention from my terracotta chinos. At least I hadn't spilt eggy-chapati on them. We sat outside, under a stilted roof. It was a sort of linear amphitheatre, with rows of steps sloping down to the front. On each step was built a simple wooden bench. I sat, with the boy near the back until a roundish lady at the front started waving at me and we moved. You are living with Ernest (one of Albert's cousins). I am his colleague. He must have told her but I was still confused how she knew it was me. You are very welcome, she said, a typical, friendly Rwandan greeting. I shook the hands of the starers around me and we sat to face the front; all except one child, who sat on the back of the bench in front, facing me, repeating the word muzungo at me every few seconds. The whole service was in Kinyarwanda, but the lady next to me translated every now and then, whilst intermittently quizzing me: Do you accept Jesus? Do you pray every day? Do you know the holy spirit?

I should say that this was an Adventist church, which is why we were there on a Saturday. It isn't something I know a lot about so I can't elaborate.

 
There was a choir, separated into two parts: those wearing lime green, and those wearing bright red. The lady limes wore green togas; whilst the men had much less conspicuous green ties. The red ladies wore red shirts with flaring collars, under white trouser suits; whilst the men settled with red collars and cuffs on white shirts. The service ended with a cheerful sounding song. Its mean thank God for everything, the lady explained. She waved her arms passionately as she said everything. Irrespective of the religious aspect, it was quite nice to see a group of people so appreciative of life, and the world around them. It made me think of how cynical we can be in England.

As the pastor closed the service, a boy, of apparently five or six years, ran up and touched my shoulder. His mother told him off and dragged him away. He wants to take your hand. The child who had been saying muzungo at me, in every noticeable silence - he could have been saying it throughout but I couldn't hear - had fallen asleep on his mother's lap.

Conversations

How do you see Rwanda?
It's very nice.
You know a lot of people they like Rwanda because it is the best country in Africa.

Is that your chicken?
Yes, this is my chicken. This is where dinner is made.
Your kitchen, okay. 

Would you like a biscuit?
Yes, just one.

Is it safe?
Oh yes. Rwanda is very safe. No one can touch you. Even at 10 o'clock you can walk down the street and there is no problem.

Do you like Rwanda?
Yes, it's very nice.
It is the best country in Africa.
Yes?
Tony Blair is here in Rwanda. Did you know that?

You are tired?
Yes, very.
But you don't like to slim?
Oh, sleep?
No slim, like this.
Oh. Swim?
Yes. You do not like to swim?

The security in Rwanda is very, very safe. No one can say a thing to you or stop you like this. But in Kenya, Uganda, Burundi, they will take your money. Here it is very safe.

Did you learn to carry things on your head like that lady over there?
No. This is only for the poors. I have never carried a thing on my head.

How do you like Rwanda?
It's very nice.
Even Tony Blair is living here.

That room there it is the chicken.
The kitchen?
Yes.

Is it safe?
Rwanda is a very safe country. Nobody can do something bad.
So no crime happens? There are no bad people?
No.
Why is that?
Rwandese are very nice people, because they know what it is like to be very, very bad.

Would you like to try some of my pizza?
Yes, just one.
One slice?
Yes.

Do you like rum like this.
Rum?
Yes.
Running?
Yes.
Yes, I like running. Do you like running?
No, I say drum.

Do you have a cook and a cleaner at home?
Yes, everyone in Rwanda has cook and cleaner, even the poors.
What about the cleaner here?
No he does not have.

Would you like a banana?
Yes, just one.

In England you do not like to have someone cook for you?
A lot of people enjoy cooking. I enjoy cooking.
Life is hard for you.

Day 11: Lunch

I've decided to scale back on lunchtime eating and spending as I'm fed enormous portions for both breakfast and lunch. Instead of buying out, I am taking fruit, nuts and olives to work.

Unfortunately, this means I don't have a reason for a lunch time walk. But yesterday I thought I'd take one anyway. This is what I saw:

A lot of buildings are hand-painted with big brand advertising.

Most shops have painted images of the products they sell. Reference Shop.

Win Win Agritech Ltd.

Fanny Shop

Day 10: Dinner

When I returned home from work, the boy was about to leave for market. I thought this would be a great chance to hunt down some good bananas. Can I come to the market? I asked. No. You can stay in your house, he answered. I would like to see the market, I replied. Yes, he said.

Kugenda m'isoko, the boy said, to go to the market. In the market were a number of live inkoko (chickens), and no intama (sheep), but he taught me that word anyway.

There were plenty of banana stalls selling the ordinary kind, the miniature kind, and (my word) the massive kind. Never before have I seen such big bananas, but the boy wouldn't let me buy them. These are not good, he said. In fact he wouldn't let me buy from any of the first four stalls we visited. He would carefully examine each bunch of bananas, lifting, squeezing, poking, then he would shake his head. These are not good. Eventually we found a stall that was good enough.

On the way home I was practising my Kinyarwanda. Banana, banana, banana, I was saying: umuneke umuneke umuneke. I find it helps to repeat these things, and the boy - in the process of learning English - is a sympathetic ear. Umuneke, umuneke, umuneke. The boy laughed; at first I thought he was laughing at me. Those girls, I hadn't noticed them, we pass and they say they loved you. Banana, banana, banana.

* * *

I was not hungry this evening when the boy knocked on my door: You can come on the table. It is ready.

There was nobody in the living room, just four giant pans of food, a stack of plates, and an avocado the size of a small melon. I suddenly became aware of how full I still felt from my earlier banana binge. The avocado sat on a plate in front of my chair, as though it were daring me to eat it. The boy put on Rwanda TV, and sat watching the news whilst I examined the food. Is a special dance, the boy said, pointing at the figures jumping around on television. In the first pan was umuceri (rice), in the second imboga (green vegetables), the third contained meet of inka (cow), and in the fourth, ibirayi (potatoes). Irish potatoes, said the boy, watching me, watchng them. I took a healthy lump of each dish wondering how little I could eat without being rude. I heard a mosquito behind me and turned around to look for it. Just then I saw the plate on which the boy had placed my mountain of assorted bananas. The boy had put them in the empty, glass cabinet, as though they were prized ornaments. When would they be eaten? I turned around to face my dinner. This national anthem, said the boy. The avocado just watched.

Eventually, thankfully, Albert's cousin and his neighbour turned up, and then the cousin's cousin. They all ate so much, there could have been ten of me. You do not eat avoka? the boy asked. Okay, I said, unbuttoning my waistcoat. Well I'm glad I did. It was the freshest, and most delicious avocado I have tasted. And it was not nearly so daunting, shared between four of us. Banana? I offered, umuneke? Luckily they all said yes.

New words:

isoko = market

inkoko = chicken

intama = sheep

ibirayi = potato
yawe = your

Day 10: Breakfast & Lunch

This morning's breakfast was tasty if uneventful. Here is a photograph. Regrettably the African tea (lots of milk), this week seems to have been substituted with ordinary Rwandan tea, black.

For lunch I went to Nakumatt (Kenya's answer to the supermarket), and bought a sandwich. You know what a sandwich is so I won't show you a photograph of that. I will, however show you the red egg, and its innards. 

Yum!

I successfully managed to ask the cleaner for a knife (icyuma) and a spoon (umuriko) which he kindly brought me. The red juice has the same effect on your hands as do blackberries.

Day 9: Lunch & Dinner

 

Well I decided that I couldn't go on eating the amount of food I was eating, without something terrible happening. So for lunch I had a chicken pasty from a place called Simba: Rwanda's answer to the supermarket. Not particularly exotic, I know, and I'm sorry about that.

After lunch I had to visit somebody for work, and along the way I learnt gusura (to visit), and from a billboard advertising 'beer for men', I learnt the words abagabo (men) and umugoba (man). Oh and amafaranga means 'money'. It's written on all the bank notes.

To make up for the boring lunch, for the first time ever, I have been able to name everything on the table at dinner. There was umuceri (rice), igitoki (plantain), imboga (vegetables - they were green), and ubunyobwa (peanut sauce). The peanut sauce that the old man made was so much better than those I've had from buffets. One of Albert's friends (there were four of us, and no Albert) taught me mwiriwe (good afternoon), mwirirwe (goodbye), and muramuke (goodnight).

Muramuke!

Day 9: Breakfast

Waiting for me in the living room this morning, was this. After eating the first plate of three, thick slices of eggy-bread, I asked the boy if the other plate was also for me. It was. I felt full but I didn't want to be rude, so I found room for the second plate. Just as I was finishing, the boy brought out a third plate of eggy-bread. In total I ate seven thick slices of eggy-bread. I might need to buy a bigger waistcoat.

Whilst I was stuffing my face, the old man came back (I think he gets the weekend off), and started pottering about the living room chatting away to me in Kinyarwanda. I have no idea what he is saying but I appreciate that he talks to me anyway. He pointed at the Rwanda tea I was drinking, and then to the English tea I brought and said things like nibyiza (it's nice) and biraryoshye (it's delicious; I had previously been spelling it bira joshi, incorrectly).  I learnt a new word when he pointed to the Rwanda coffee and said ikawa. He poured some out for me to smell. For a few minutes I was scared he was going to make me a coffee. He didn't.

Day 8: Lunch

Yesterday, for the first time, I ate lunch at Albert's. What can it be, I wondered, a new range of food I had yet to discover? Some new lunch delicacy? Or rice, chips and sombe? It was rice, chips and sombe. I didn't take a photograph, but after lunch I went into town to visit Bourbon Coffee. It's a Rwandan café chain (with a Western Starbucks/Costa-esque feel to it), and they've recently opened their first shop in London. I wanted to get out of the house alone (without an escort) and I had planned my escape perfectly. I left the house mentally armed with some key phrases. I finally got to walk past the little shops and houses I had passed so often on the back of a moto (na moto) or in the car (n'imodoka). Here is the view from Albert's road. At the bottom you can see a lot of houses made of corrugated metal.

When I finally passed a moto, I stopped. Now was the time.
Amakuru? I said.
Imeza. he said.
Nanga he kugende mu mujyi? I asked.
All the words had come out of my mouth in the right order and he had understood! I had asked him how much it would be to take me into town. As soon as it happened, I realised my mistake. He told me how much, in Kinyarwanda. I knew no numbers in Kinyarwanda. I held up four fingers and said Four hundred? hoping that my lucky guess would make it seem like I understood. No, he replied in English, five hundred.
Okay, I said.

Note to self: learn numbers in Kinyarwanda.

Here is what I had at Bournbon Coffee. Unfortunately, with the Western surrounds, come (almost) Western prices. I had a pot of African tea at 2,000frw (just over £2), and a slice of cake at 1,800frw. The headphones in this picture are very important because Bourbon Coffee has free wifi, which (when it works) is faster than the connection in Albert's house, so from here, I can use Skype.

Day 8: Breakfast

Albert was late up this morning so I explored the market in Ruhengeri. I bought a bunch of 9 miniature bananas (umuneke) for 200frw (approx. 20p). They were delicious. This photograph is not of miniature bananas, it is of plantains (igitoki).

Some more of the beautiful Rwandan countryside. So far I haven't seen any flat areas.

For breakfast, we stopped en route and got a (giant) corn on the cob, which took me over an hour to eat. It was quite tough, and not sweet like sweetcorn. It was very nice all the same. Some of the kernels had begun to pop (into popcorn) and were white and fluffy.

Day 7: Dinner

Here's fun: umusambi*

 

Rwanda is sometimes called the Land of a Thousand Hills (milles collines en francais).

For dinner we went to an Italian. Albert, his girlfriend, and the driver all had the special omelette. I had a pizza fillet de boeuf (a lot of French is used in Rwanda from its colonial days, even in Italian restaurants) and a Mutzig, a Rwandan brand of beer (inzoga). Very good. We stayed in a nice hotel that night for just £15 per room.

*I don't know what one of these is in English as I've never seen one before. I also saw a lot of goats (ihene) tied up outside people's houses, and quite a few cows (inka, said a bit like 'ingha'). Oh and chair is inhebe (not ihene).

Day 7: Lunch

Most of the day was spent driving around for Albert's work. This is a village in which we stopped. In the background is a volcano and a large bird of prey. STOP.

For lunch we stopped at the Rwandan favourite, a buffet, where I had rice, beans, a white mush made from maize/corn (underneath the pink sauce), peanut sauce (the pink sauce), and what are those last two things on my plate? Well, the shorter, more orange fellow is the cassava root*, the leaves of which make sombe. And the other? Is that a banana (umuneke)? Ah, don't worry, it's just a boiled plantain (igitoki). The buffet was 1000frw, and I had a Fanta (I had asked for Orange juice. This has happened a few times here.) which cost 400frw. So in total, approx. £1.50. Bargain.

*When I looked up cassava in the dictionary, it informed me that careful preparation of the root is needed to remove traces of cyanide(!).

Day 7: Breakfast

Scott. You have desire to see Northern Province? Albert had asked me this a few days ago. He was going away for the night on business and asked if I wished to come with him. I did. We will take breakfast at 8.30 and we will leave at 9. We did.

For breakfast I had a tower of fluffy ruffs/eggy bread, and a cup of Rwandan tea without milk.

Albert told me to sit in the front of the car, and he sat in the back with his girlfriend. This is my driver. he said pointing at the man next to me. He is very good. The driver was good, and Albert kept repeating the fact. Very good. Very, very good. He wasn't what we would think of in England as a 'good driver', but in a country where few roads have markings (or pavements), where cars have to muscle their way through crowds of pedestrians and scooters, and where the right line is the racing line, he was a good driver.

We went through little villages, where corrugated-metal houses were surrounded by plantain trees and woven fences. Children were waiting outside ready to wave at any cars that passed. If they saw me they would wave and shout Muzungo! Muzungo! Muzungo!

Muzungo! Muzungo! Muzungo! Albert laughed, when you are with a muzungo, they cannot see you. They can only see the muzungo.

Day 6: Dinner

I've given up trying to take photographs of dinner in Albert's dark living room (for the moment). Instead I thought I'd post these photographs of some plantain trees in Albert's garden. The plantain is the harder, more savoury cousin of the banana, and it often pops up in food (cooked) here. The old man saw me looking at the plant and informed me that in Kinyarwanda, plantain is igitoki.

 The old man also pointed at an avocado tree in the neighbour's garden (which I don't have a picture of) and told me that it is avoka.

I wanted to go for a walk as the only time I get to myself is usually when I'm sleeping, and even then, the mosquitos seem intent on interrupting my thoughts. I told Albert that I would go for a walk, and by the time I had my shoes on, Jado, the boy, had his on and was ready to escort me for my walk. In this situation, I think it's better to go along with it. As it happens, it was a very enjoyable amble. Jado taught me lots of Kinyarwanda, which I can summarise best in these phrases.

kugenda mu rugo n'amaguro = to go home by foot
kugenda mu mujyi na moto = to go into town by moto (scooter taxi)
kugenda ku kazi n'imodoka = to go to work by car
kugenda kunywa amazi/inzoga = to go and drink water/beer
kugenda kurya igitoki = to go and eat plantain
igiti = tree

Very good. Dinner tonight was rice, potatoes, mystery meat, salad, no sombe (which I have discovered is made from the leaves of the cassava plant; nothing to do with spinach), and a beer.

*If you notice any of my Kinyarwanda spellings changing through my posts, it is either because I don't know how to spell the words, or because I've recently discovered the correct way.

Day 6: Lunch

Friday's lunch: Spiced rice, rolled-up egg thing, fried plantain, various bean mixes, yam, peanut sauce, red egg, passion fruit, 2x mini banana. Yum. Each day I see these wonderful advertisements on my walk to and from Camellia. I thought I would share them.

House burning down in apocalyptic chaos? Quick! Phone the insurance company. 'A friend indeed'.

On an aeroplane during a terrorist attack? At least I'm insured!

Simply Rwandaful

Day 6: Breakfast

Good morning! Today's breakfast was another round of bread-omelettes (two), and milky tea. I managed to communicate to the old man that I'd like to know to know the name of the dish, and he called it a farin.

Albert's girlfriend was around for breakfast, and knowing she speaks English, I took advantage of the situation and asked her how to tell the old man that his food was good. She told me nibyza means it's nice. I repeated this to the old man, and he seemed very amused at my small attempts at Kinyarwanda.

He even went so far as to show me the flour, with which he made the chapatis. (I would have guessed they were shop-bought.)

Feeling good about my new-found ability to communicate with the old man, I gave him my empty water bottle to throw away (there are no bins in the house) but 10 minutes he returned from the shop with a new one for me. (Orakozi.)

Here is a photograph of the clean water tap - from my bedroom window - where the washing up is done each morning. Those pots will be from last night's dinner.

Shortly after breakfast, Jado (the boy) flagged down a moto for me, and of I went to work. At the end of my first week, I am much less afraid of good moto drivers (and much more afraid of bad moto drivers). I have stopped holding onto the drivers, and started holding onto the handles behind my seat. (Most others I see don't hold on at all.)

This morning's words:
farine = chapati-omelette thing
nibyza = it's nice

Day 5: Lunch

This afternoon I walked to Camellia again to buy my lunch. The other staff told me again to let the cleaner go, but I told them I need the walk.

In today's pot I put tomatoes, spiced rice, chips, a sort of root vegetable mush, fried plantain (yum!), fried fish, a piece of the meat with carrot inside, and some peanut sauce (which you can see at the top edge). I picked up my usual two miniature bananas, and the packing man had an orange ready for me. He's very particular about wrapping the bananas and orange up in tissue, and the fork. In fact, the Rwandans that I've met so far, do seem quite attentive and careful. The meal cost me the usual 2,800frw, and I bought a mango juice from the shop across the road for 500frw (which I believe is a bit expensive) (50p).

Here is a rubbish photograph of the outside of Camellia. Today as I was on the approach, a little boy ran towards me, then walked the remaining few metres to the restaurant with me talking in Kinyarwanda at me. I don't know what he was saying.

I learnt in the office that when somebody says bite (hi), you should reply byza. And that amakuru (news) can also mean do you have any news? or whassup, to which you should reply imeza.


Summary of words learnt today:

byza = hi
amakuru = whassup
imeza = whassup in return

Day 5: Breakfast

When I opened my curtains this morning, I saw the old man polishing my shoes. I felt instantly guilty about this.

This morning breakfast was at 8. The old man went to fetch the policeman's friend (the boy in the white vest) who lives in the hut in Albert's garden. This morning he was not in a white vest, and instead just had a towel around his waste. "He wants me to tell you to wait here and he will cook your breakfast." he said.

The old man brought in two eggy-bready things (like yesterday) and some African tea (without ginger). All I could do was say Orakozi over and over again like an idiot. The man just smiled and kept saying yes. After I'd cleaned my teeth I was horrified to see the old man in the living room untying my shoelaces for me. It was too late to stop him. Tonight I will undo them when I take off my shoes. I must also learn his name, when I can find somebody to ask.

Day 4: Dinner

After a very difficult moto (scooter taxi) ride home (Albert's house has no address, and his road has no name) I arrived back at 8.30.

Dinner was ready early, but Albert was not around, so I ate with Serj, Ernest*, and a guy in a black polo shirt, whose name I don't know. The green soup made another appearance as a starter. I asked about this, but Serj told me it has no name in Kinyarwanda, so they call it potage. For the main was sombe or Sombi, a dark green mush, which I believe involves spinach; rice, which Serj told me is called morcheri; and had chips, which the guy in the polo told me is called ifirite. I took a very small portion today as I'd come straight from a cafe where I had consumed a pot of African tea (very milky, with ginger) and a (huge) slice of (dry) cake (with lots of icing). The photo is dark again because Albert's living room is quite dark.

There was no meat this evening, but double the carbs. I've realised this is not unusual, no more than having a dinner with two or three types of meat is unusual.

After we ate, the guy in the white vest (from yesterday) turned up to eat. He asked if I made it home okay. Later on, the boy came in to eat too. This is the first time I've seen him eat. The lizard was in his usual corner of the room, above the TV. No sign of Albert tonight.

Summary of words learnt tonight:

sombi/sombe = green mush
potage = dark green soup (ever present)
morcheri = rice
ifirite = chips
amakuru = news (Rwanda TV was on during dinner)

*His name may not be Ernest.