Beautiful Day

PeaceRockandNature

Two updates within a week? Whatever is the matter with me?

I'm just having a complete wave of 'I love Rwanda' today. 

It is such a wonderful place to live.

I went out last night. My friend B set me up on a blind date with his best friend. First time I've done something like that since agreeing to go for drinks with a person who called the office I used to work at and liked the sound of my voice.

About as successful, too. But it was fun all the same. There was the obligatory hanging about, wondering if you've been stood up, then the 'where shall we eat' question, followed by the obligatory cheezy nightclub: Le Must.

The Living in Kigali entry for that is quite entertaining:

Apparently, Le Must originally started out as an exclusive members-only club, but has now opened its door to the man in the street... The little inside club is regularly crammed with about 50 people too many and the tiny dance floor can be crossed in a mere split jump, but it can be a nice change to the expat-saturated Papyrus and Sundowner… inside is a bit overwhelming and trips to the toilet are a traumatic experience after about 1am. Seriously. Scary shit. Go in pairs to clear a path.

I didn't attempt the bathroom, but did enjoy the patio outside. We had fun, and I'm sure we'll see each other around, but no spark. Also made slightly awkward by half their family being at the same bar. 

Le Must. Picture from Kigali Out. Nuff said.

Anyway, I got home at a fairly humane hour. Is it sad that I breathed a happy sigh of relief as I slipped into my slippers and curled up with a book? 

I was suffering slightly this morning as I made my way to Kimihurura, first to one of the ministries, then to Rwanda Revenue Authority, where I learned all about (or, rather, was confused completely by) the tax system. Turns out I could have registered as a sole trader after all. I didn't need to set up a company! If only RDB had explained that to me.

Never mind. Bit late now, and I'm quite enjoying being a CEO. Sounds kind of cool, and it's the first time I've ever run a company, so it's been a good learning experience whatever happens.

Had a couple of fabulous meetings with NGOs and the public sector this week. Still feeling quietly confident that this might actually work before I run out of visa in January, though I'm sure the time is going to fly.

Anyway, Kimihurura isn't a suburb of town that I know very well. It's quite green, there are big gaps with fields between some huge, impressive government buildings. It's been really hot today, well into the 30s but dry, rather than humid like Laos. I just found myself walking along the road, gazing out at all that green, and the big blue sky, and beaming back at it. I really am feeling a lot of love for this country today. No particular reason, just one of those days when life is very good.

I came home to this big, beautiful house I live in to find that Damascene had cleaned it for me. I sent him down the road to buy us both ice-cold Fanta, and reclined in my favourite room in the house - the office. I just can't believe how lucky I am to live here, even just for a little while.

I've really been enjoying my Kinyarwanda lessons, too. Got a pile of homework to do for next week. Jacques works me hard, but it's really refreshing to be learning something again. I haven't been in formal education for several years, and the type of free courses I did in the UK to buff my CV were about as challenging as Tweenies. It's really nice to face a real brain-bender.

By this time next week I need to be able to recite the following fluently:

Mwiriwe. Nitwa Marion. Nkomoka mu bwongereza, ariko ubu ntuya mu Rwanda i Kanombe kandi nkunda urwanda cyane. 

Good afternoon. My name is Marion. I'm English, but I live in Rwanda at Kanombe, and I like Rwanda very much.

It's a toughie, as nko isn't so much a sound as a breath over a glottal stop, and w (in urwanda and mwirirwa) is more of a g. Phonetically it's very easy for an English speaker to spell, but pronunciation is a whole other matter. People keep saying 'learn Swahili, it's easier' (shorter words), and it's spoken throughout East Africa, but I dunno, I just kinda like Kinya. I guess because I've already got a running start with the moto drivers. Although, how's this for a point of crazy:

Telling the Time in Kinyarwanda

The 24-hour clock begins at 7am, rather than midnight. It's based on the dawn. From 7am you start counting the hours: one o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock etc.

You do this with the word Saa (hour): first hour, second hour, third hour.

And you do it by interchanging Kinya (K) and Swahili (S):

7 o'clock: Saa Moya (S) 

8: Saa Mbiri (K) 

9: Saa Tatu (K) 

10: Saa Yine (K) 

11: Saa Tanu (K) 

12: Saa Sita (S) 

1: Saa Saba (S) 

2: Saa Munani (K) 

3: Saa Cyenda (K) 

4: Saa Kumi (K) 

5: Saa Kumi n'imwe (K: literally 'ten plus one') 

6: Saa Kumi n'ebyire (K: 'ten plus two')

To indicate whether it's AM or PM, you add mugitondo or nimugoroba.

What makes it tricky is working out how many hours from 7am you are, and which number system you use for each. Just because you can count to twelve in Kinyarwanda doesn't mean you can reel off the time so easily.

It may be a while before I can glance at my watch and tell someone what time it is, but it is fascinating stuff.

Finally, I stopped off at the post office on the way home today. Bit of a puzzle - it says I have a parcel in the book, but nobody could find it. I left my number, and I'm hoping that they do find it and that they'll call to let me know.

I also went to get a new lock for my PO Box, as I've lost the key. Everybody there is so nice, but we did have one of those funny conversations:

Hello. I need to get the lock on my PO Box changed as I can't find the key. 

What is your PO Box number? 

I give my number. She writes it down.  

- thoughtful pause -

Nobody can change the lock on a PO Box.

Preempting this response, I've come prepared. I helpfully point out:

The PO Box is registered in my name. This is the company name, and this is my name. Here is my passport as proof of my identity.

Nice lady looks up the name on the PO Box, checks it against my passport.

Well, I can get you the letters from the box, but you are going to have to change the padlock yourself. 

How do I do that when I haven't got the key? 

- thoughtful pause -

I will get someone to change the lock for you.

You do have quite a few conversations like that. I was contemplating it on the moto ride home, and I think it's all down to Poirot (as, I suspect, are most things). My reasoning is that, from a very early age, I was aware of a culture of mystery in the UK: Agatha Christie, Bergerac, Jonathan Creek... we spend half our lives trying to figure out how something (or someone) gets out of a locked box. 

This is the answer to customer services in Rwanda - more Poirot.