Goats and Gorillas

Look how sparkly Kigali is! Ultra mod buildings and all. Though I'm out of shape - walking from the post office to Kigali Bank had me totally out of breath. We're apparently 300ft lower than Nairobi, hence the warmer weather and mosquitoes, but the hills make it feel a lot harder. Had to stop at Simba for refreshments.

My Facebook status yesterday:

Opened an account with the Bank of Kigali on Monday. They said 'Come back on Thursday to collect your chequebook.' Today is Thursday. I went back. I collected my chequebook. It's Kigali Jim, but not as we know it. Gobsmacked :D

I'm still incredibly impressed by how efficient things have become.

From now on my posts are likely to be a bit more text-heavy, as it's hard to take photos here. Tried to get one of the deep furrows in the road, but there are always people walking along it, so here's one of the path from my house - without the ruts. Reminiscent of Gikondo all those years ago.

It is nice here, though there's a grassland space next door where all the local kids play (and scream) most days. There's no such thing as a lie-in. Thinking I will press on with starting my company, then see about saving for a larger house which I can sublet myself. For the time being, this is perfect.

Quick snap inside our water filter. Mine only used to have two candles, but we're hydrating a family of four, plus guard, Jado. 

So, it's been a funny couple of days. A friend was in town - the outgoing Commissioner General of Burundi. Very interesting guy, worth reading about his work there. We sank a few beers at his hotel and caught up.

Then, last night, I managed to swing an invite to the Goat & Gorilla, which is the (not so) secret bar at the British Embassy. I think it's every Thursday, and the last Thursday of each month (last night) is live music, but you only get in if you're on the guest list.

Little bit of nostalgia. It's been more than five years since I was there last. It used to be renowned for the extremely cheap price of drinks, but sadly no more. Though they do offer draft Mutzig, and very good goat brochettes with ibirhy (potatoes). 

After that, it was off to a post-conference do at Mille Collines. Sadly arrived just as the band were packing up (they sounded good). We drank a couple of glasses of Merlot poolside, before finishing up at Serena for a cheeky bottle of red with another tax inspector. 

Don't ever let anyone tell you tax is boring - these guys go to work with bodyguards.

Pool at Serena

I can confidently say that I have drunk more alcohol in the past 48 hours than in the past month. It's as though I never left Rwanda.

Only slightly depressing thing I guess, is the rampant sexism in this realm of International Development. It's still very much a man's world, by body count alone.

I learned that:

• I have a 'fantastic pair of breasts'
• I'm an 'attractive woman'
• Men feel the need to apologise when they are 'talking about complicated things' [subtext: which you probably don't understand/wouldn't find interesting]

Damn you, vanity, the first two are fairly flattering, but, no, I was born with a brain, and occasionally I do enjoy using it - so, please, continue talking about storage options for cross-border import items. I am actually learning something.

The most interesting thing of all?

Not one of those comments came from a Rwandan - all mzungus!

Hmm.

So much for Western equality, eh? 

Anyway, it was a very interesting night, and nice to mingle with people from all over the world: Rwanda, UK, Japan, Sudan, Ireland (Jerry Adams appeared to be a freedom-fighting folk hero to one African delegate). 

Me: When I was young I remember being caught in a bomb scare in London. There were lots of them, people were very afraid.

He: Yes, but you understand why he was doing it? 

Me: If I'd been blown up, I wouldn't have understood anything. 

He: [Pause] Yes, good point.

A surreal night, full of fun conversation and entertaining one-liners.

Despite the offer of a comfortable room, I decided to make my way home, walking the streets of Kigali at midnight. There was nobody about. It was a strangely lonely experience.

Just as I was starting to think perhaps I should have stayed, a moto pulled up beside me. I love moto drivers. They can get you out of any situation, and I haven't forgotten how to nap on the back of a bike. It's a very long way back to Kagugu, and it was a cold night. Slightly annoyed I managed to lose my favourite cardigan somewhere - possibly in the chauffeur driven vehicle, possibly in one of the bars.

I also learned that there is a protocol to riding with a political bigwig. You have to sit behind the driver, so the gunman in the passenger seat (who thankfully wasn't with us that night) can protect you. 

A sobering thought.