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Well friends, I’m back in the USA. I won’t be updating my blog after this last post, so enjoy ;o)

Despite the fact that our “safari vehicle” got hopelessly stuck in the mud for four hours, my trip to Murchison Falls, Uganda was simply amazing. The trip began early Friday morning when I boarded a trusty “safari vehicle” for north-western Uganda. I was joined by seven travel companions (four Dutch girls and three other Americans). We arrived at Murchison Falls in the afternoon and spent the best part of an hour traversing the rocky slopes with a guide. I’ve been to Niagara Falls several times, but this was still very impressive. If it’s okay with all of you, I would prefer to call Murchison a ‘water chute’ rather than a ‘water fall.’ The Nile River seems to be flowing along quite peacefully, and then, suddenly, it finds itself rushing towards a great chasm. The water doesn’t fall over the edge of a cliff, but rather, is funneled violently through a gaping hole in the earth.

Saturday was equally pleasant. We left our camp at 6:30 AM to start a game drive. I saw giraffe, buffalo, antelope, gazelle, baboon, warthog, lion, and elephant (though the elephants were very far away). In the afternoon, we took a river boat cruise up the Nile back to Murchison Falls. Along the way I saw more wildlife including crocodiles and hippos. Satisfied with a long day of nature watching, I went to bed early.

The group’s biggest adventure came on Sunday, while we were en route to the Rhino Sanctuary. We were driving around the perimeter of the park along an electric fence (it reminded me a lot of the electric fence from Jurassic Park) when our “safari vehicle” (really just a conversion van with a roof that pops up) happened upon a large patch of mud and proceeded to sink into the muck. After a few seconds of nothing but spinning tires, our driver suggested we all get out and try to push. Half of us had clamored out of the van when it began to pour (no I’m not kidding). In an attempt to stay dry, we all then got back in the van and decided to wait out the storm. After twenty minutes, the pounding rain began to let up. What we see outside our fogged-up windows is not pretty. We’re now sitting in a van parked in the middle of a small river… the water reaches halfway up each of the tires.

We see one of the park rangers approaching in his rain gear. He suggests we try to push the van to drier ground (about 10 feet away). He also suggests that we take off our sneakers and put on flip flops if we want to spare our nice shoes. So I do as I’m told, step out of the vehicle, and promptly sink about five inches into the mud. I try to walk forward and loose both my sandals – the mud is just that thick – and have to dig around with my hands to find them. Finally, we decide it would be easier to go barefoot.

Long story short, we end up trying to push this stupid van out of the mud for four hours. We get the park rangers to bring a truck, and then another truck, to help pull us out of the hole. But even with two trucks, ten people pushing, and the van’s own engine, we can’t move it. The tires just keep spinning, throwing mud all over us and digging deeper holes. (Meanwhile, another ranger sees us without shoes on and yells: “What are you crazy muzungu people doing!? Don’t you know you can get parasites from water like this!?” But the two Americans are medicine students and say that since we’ve been walking around in this mini mud river for about an hour, we’ve already been exposed… if there are indeed parasites in the water, it’s too late to do anything about it. Plus, parasites are treatable).

Some of the participants are fed up and want to head back to Kampala, but I ask if we can please try to see just one Rhino… after all, we’re so close to them, and we did pay all this money and come all this way etc. etc. A Ugandan guide agrees that yes, we should go see the Rhinos, and if the van isn’t out by the time we get back, we can take a public bus back to the capital.

Rhino trekking ended up being awesome. We were so close to these prehistoric-looking creatures; some of the Dutch girls were scared. In fact, one male rhino began approaching us head on and the guide had to intervene and shout calmly but forcefully in English: “Stop, stop, go back, go back!” And the rhino listened and turned away.

Overall, I had a really great weekend – I’ll let you know if I end up with parasites in a couple weeks.

My last two days were spent in Kampala with Zawadi and our British friend Neil. I got to ride a boda-boda a couple more times, did some shopping, and drank some Ugandan beer (which I hated by the way… I miss Blue Moon).

Zawadi rode with me to the airport, and I remember thinking as I walked across the pavement towards the plane: it smells like Uganda… it smells like it did on the night of my arrival… like smoke from a fire mixed with the scent of flowers… And I was already nostalgic for my time in Africa even before I left the continent.

But I am genuinely glad to be home with Mom and Dad and Emily and am looking forward to moving into my new apartment and starting grad school in September.

Thank you all so much for following my blog. I learned a lot of things about myself and about the two countries I visited. I met some really amazing people that I will never ever forget. Rwanda especially will always hold a special place in my heart.

Best,

Sarah

Zawadi and I at Lake Victoria...

Kampala

Kampala is dirty, loud, and hectic… but I love it. There’s something charming about all the chaos. Goats run across the streets, barely dodging cars; dead animal carcasses hang outside butcher stands for sale; and the entire city is one big traffic jam.

When Zawadi and I got off of the bus in Kampala, we were immediately surrounded by men shouting “taxi!” We had been planning on taking a cab to Zawadi’s friend’s office, but the drivers were trying to charge us 15,000 Ugandan shillings (8 dollars), and that was way too much. So instead, we struck a deal with two boda-boda (motorcycle) drivers – we only had to pay them 3,000 Ugandan shillings each. My boda-boda driver threw my big green suitcase in front of him and rested it between his chest and the handlebars. Then I got on the back with my purse, bag of Rwandan coffee, and my huge backpack. What a thrill that ride was… I was torn between sheer joy and terror; marveling at the colorful new city and praying that my driver didn’t loose his grip on my suitcase (or the handlebars for that matter).

It’s good I’m friends with Zawadi, because she has friends in high places. Her Pakistani friend from work booked us a hotel room for our first night here, took us out to dinner, and provided us with a driver so we didn’t have to pay for any taxi rides today.

We went to see a beautiful lake-side resort in the morning, and then went to the Cineplex to catch the afternoon showing of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Harry Potter was also playing, but I’m saving that one for when I get home. (Mom, Dad, Em – I hope you didn’t see it without me already, but something tells me you probably did). I had soft serve frozen yogurt for the first time in a month (and that’s a long time for me to go without some soft serve), and even had a Smirnoff Ice before dinner this evening. It’s almost as if I’m back in home already. Well that’s a lie actually. All you have to do is drive a couple blocks from the city center to see shacks with tin roofs and peddlers selling everything from phone cards, to firewood, to buckets of peas.

Last day in Kigali

Oh my God. I am currently sitting in Simba café, and as it is my last day in Kigali, I have decided to splurge and order the 5 dollar chocolate milkshake. I have never tasted anything so delicious. Yum.

We had our closing ceremonies for the Human Rights Workshop on Saturday. Then Chelsea and I went to say goodbye to our host family… and then I went dancing until 2 in the morning! Can you believe it? Me dancing at a club in Kigali?? It was so out of character for me, but I had a really fun time.

I leave for Kampala, Uganda tomorrow morning at 5 AM. Zawadi, my host sister, (and a Rwandan participant in the Human Rights workshop) will be my traveling companion. She will stay with me in Kampala until I leave for my safari on Friday morning.

In the meantime, Taryn (one of the Americans who is still in Rwanda) and I have been kicked out of St. Paul’s. (Not because we did anything naughty, but because they just don’t have any rooms available tonight). Thankfully, we found another church-run hostel that isn’t too far away.

Sunday lunch was spent at my favorite restaurant in Kigali. It’s a hole in the wall Indian place within walking distance of St. Paul’s. Over these past few weeks, I’ve made friends with the owner, his wife, and their twelve year old son. They know me by name as I’ve eaten there at least five times. Last week, they invited me to bring all of my friends to “take dinner” with their family. So I brought 8 of the delegates (some Rwandan and some American) to the restaurant Sunday afternoon, and the owner (I feel horrible because I forget his name now) made us wonderful pots of paneer (a popular Indian dish made with cheese cubes with a tofu-like consistency), lentil, and spicy mushrooms. And finally, after our feast was over, they refused to let us pay for anything. They are such a kind family; I will miss them dearly.

Today, I plan on taking a hike with Jesse (our program director) and a couple of his friends to see the sun set over Kigali. It should be a good way to say goodbye to the city.

Hope all is well with everyone… I will be back in the States in about a week and a half!

This has been my breakfast for the past week... yummy drinkable yogurt and a doughnut that looks like a sweet potato.

I was right! The bunch of little Africans sharing St. Paul with us this week are Twa people (though obviously not the ones we went to visit last week). They’ve been staying here for at least five days now and are all around five feet tall. The women wear beautiful, brightly colored cloth, and wake us up at 6 AM with their joyful humming. (Our windows don’t close here, so we can hear everything that goes on outside our door).

I was walking back from the other side of the compound yesterday when I noticed they were trying to take a group photo. I heard them mumble something, something, muzungu something, and realized that maybe they needed help taking a photo. So I walked up and offered them my assistance, and they seemed glad to have it. I took several photos of the group as well as some individual portraits. Then two of the women started pointing at me and saying muzungu again. I finally figured out that they wanted a photo of me. So I handed the camera over to some guy and before I knew it I was surrounded by a sea of indigenous Africans and being told to say cheese. I really wish I had a copy of that photo… twenty Twa people with me in the middle.

Anyway, later that night I spoke to one of the men in the group, and he told me they are here for an education seminar for the Batwa people. About half of them are from Burundi, and the others are from the south of Rwanda. The majority of them have never been to Kigali or seen so many muzungus before. They really are very nice and like to give us hugs whenever we pass.

I ran into Laura Jordan again today randomly at a craft shop. We had a really nice conversation… I expressed my disappointment in the fact that my volunteer work has not been what I expected it to be. But she confirmed that many short-term programs in Africa have the same issue… you can’t expect nine days of volunteering to make a real difference anyway. All you can do really is make connections with the people you meet, practice cross-cultural communication, and learn as much as you can about your host country.

This morning, we visited the American Embassy for a discussion with a USAID worker. It was a very interesting session… the staff worker actually said: “The current government is not receptive to criticism… you have to tread carefully.” It was refreshing to hear someone say this aloud as we’ve all known it to be true. Very few young Rwandans acknowledge this fact – or ever say anything negative about the RPF for that matter.

Tonight we are going back to the American Embassy to watch the movie “I Love You Man.” Apparently the marines are throwing this get-together and are serving popcorn!!! I’m very excited as I have watched neither a movie nor television in four weeks and am feeling seriously cinema deprived.

Nyamata Memorial

Yesterday, we had a very trying afternoon. We drove to the south to visit the Nyamata Genocide Memorial. It’s a church where 10,000 Tutsis were trapped and slaughtered. Only seven individuals survived.

Normally, I wouldn’t share something this personal or depressing with my online community of followers, but since most of you may never come to Rwanda, I think it’s important to share with you what I saw and felt in hopes that by learning from humanity’s horrific past, we may work to change humanity’s future.

The following is what I wrote in my journal upon returning from Nyamata:

They’ve collected the clothes of the victims and placed them on the wooden pews and around the alter. Piles and piles and piles of clothes collecting cobwebs in this space that was once considered holy. I lean against a brick pillar for support. Our tour guide tells us they tied the most educated Tutsis to this pillar before murdering them in front of the crowd. There are steps that lead to a small white room under the church. In the room, there is a glass case filled with the skulls and bones of countless victims. I had thought that would have been the worst of it…

Out back behind the church, there are stairs to another cellar. I walk down into cool air and am staring at a row of coffins covered in purple and white ribbon. I follow our Rwandan guide to my right (he himself is one of the survivors of this massacre) and find myself in between two long rows of towering shelves filled with human bones. All the skulls are lined up in perfect order and stare straight at me with those gaping eye sockets. It’s the teeth that get to me though… A skull might just be a skull; a symbol of death, or of human evolution. After all, I’ve been in their presence before in the catacombs of Paris. But these skulls are different – they are not blocked by glass or rope. And they did not die of natural causes. The one I look at now is maybe a foot from my face with almost a full set of teeth. These teeth look just like mine. These are the teeth the victim may have bared in a smile or perhaps in pain at the moment of his death.

I have to leave and promptly walk up the stairs and back into daylight. I sit for awhile – not knowing how or what is the appropriate thing to feel. Sadness? Anger? Despair at the utter failure of humanity? Then a Rwandan friend comes out of the hole in the ground and he is crying. These are his people – this is his country. He was a soldier in RPF when they came to liberate Rwanda. But RPF was too late to save these 10,000 victims that were killed on April 7, 1994. And so were we.

Being here is starting to wear on my mental health. I will be sad to say goodbye to the friends I have made, but am looking forward to a change of pace. I will be able to walk away from this experience a changed person, with a better idea of why we must fight for human rights and put a meaning to the term “Never Again.”

Photos from Kibuye

Gacaca short

On Saturday, our group was allowed to attend a gacaca court. I had been looking forward to this experience ever since landing in Entebbe, but to be honest, it was a bit anti-climactic. Gacaca is a traditional justice system in Rwanda where in the past, the accused and the accuser would sit on the ground together and discuss the crime committed. After the genocide in 1994, there were so many perpetrators that the jails were overflowing. So in an effort to speed up the judiciary process, gacaca courts were reestablished. Gacaca has also been said to be Rwanda’s way of dealing with injustice… some say the ICTR is a form of neocolonialism.

We didn’t sit on the grass. We sat on wooden benches in a cement floor room with Paul Kagame staring at us from his portrait behind the judges’ desk. We had translators (everything was in Kinyarwandan), but even they were confused sometimes. The man on trial was probably in his fifties and had been accused of training young men to kill Tutsis. His story was obviously bogus; he kept contradicting himself – even our Rwandan translators said they thought for sure he was guilty. We stayed for three hours, and were informed that it would probably go on for another three, so we left at the halfway mark. It would certainly have been intriguing had I understood Kinyarwandan. But nevertheless, I’m glad we got to see part of a trial.

Visit to the Batwa Village

I had wanted to write more about our visit to the Twa village last week. The Rwandan government calls these people “the community of potters” (because ethnic terms have pretty much been outlawed), but they have also been called “the people who were left behind by history” and “the people who have been here from the beginning.”

The Batwa people are the descendants of pygmy tribes that used to live in the rainforests in the south of Rwanda. But when the government claimed that land for national park use, they moved north toward Kigali and have been living on the mountain where we met them for 30 years.

Getting to the village was an adventure in and of itself. We hadn’t gone too far on the main highway – maybe 20 minutes or so – when we turned off onto a dirt road. Then we spend another 20 minutes bouncing around in our little van until we decided it would just be safer (and faster) to get out and walk. The landscape was breathtaking and it was nice to have some fresh air (they’ve been burning plastic near St. Paul’s, and the fumes are not pleasant). We walked in single file along a small footpath – taking great care to watch our step as the way was rocky and several of us were wearing flip flops – until we spotted some small huts over the next ridge. I was in high spirits; it felt like quite an adventure and some people were singing songs from The Sound of Music. As we descended upon these mud and stick huts (the Twa village), we were greeted by the village chief. He was a tiny old man with a huge smile who embraced each one of us. Then some of the elder women came up to greet us, and hugs were given all around. (Note: the Twa are not nearly as short as I thought they’d be… the chief was probably around 5’2’’). We were then lead down the hillside until we ran into a small group of other Muzungus who were walking up the hill. We ended up forming a circle on the slope and listened as the leader of the group, Dr. Karl, told us about the Twa people and his work in their village.

Facts:

The child mortality rate in the village is 47%. Dr. Karl says lots of children get worms (because they don’t always wear shoes) and that they are severely malnourished/don’t get enough protein. People do raise goats, but rather than using these animals for food, they sell them for money—with this money, they can buy food for a week (sweet potatoes and cassava). The health center is only two miles away, but it takes an hour to walk there across the rough terrain. When Dr. Karl taught a class on hygiene, no one knew what soap was or how to use it. Water is so scarce that they can’t afford to bathe. It takes an average of two and a half hours to get water every day. They walk to a spring which is so weak that they can only collect it one cup at a time.

***

We didn’t take a tour of the village because a baby had died early that morning and the community was making preparations to bury the body. Dr. Karl said that if the baby’s mother could have been transported to the medical clinic, they could have saved the child; but how is a pregnant woman supposed to walk 2 miles while in labor?

Anyway, we started to head back to the bus and I saw an American participant hand a bottle of water to a child. I immediately reached for my bottle as well, but made eye contact with another US delegate (we had talked about the politics of giving earlier in the week) and decided to ask Dr. Karl if it was okay. He took the bottle out of my hands, thought for a moment, and then handed it back and said “we’d actually prefer it if you didn’t – unless you have 150 bottles to give out.” So I walked away with this full bottle of spring water, and just started crying. An immense feeling of guilt and helplessness overwhelmed me – it was so easy for our group to turn around and walk away, but the Twa were stuck there for good. We were headed back to Kigali where there were showers and bottled water and grocery stores. And then I thought about how in a couple days, I would head back to the United States where I’m even more spoiled. The contrast between my life and the lives of those in the Twa village was so evident, so absurd. It didn’t help that I couldn’t get the images of dirty, skinny children in rags out of my head.

I apologize for sharing such a depressing story – take comfort in the fact that Dr. Carl and his team are working to improve the lives of these individuals. They were recently able to provide shoes for the children in the village, and they are currently helping to build terraces on the hills which should reduce soil erosion and increase agricultural productivity.

For more information about the Batwa, visit:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQSGEzrO1EM&feature=PlayList&p=EE8545F0720BF74B&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=35

Field Trip Day

We took a break from our volunteer placements today to go see a play on family planning (very interesting, but it was in Kinyarwandan so I missed a lot) and to visit a Batwa village (the "Twa" people are an ethnic group that make up less than 1% of Rwanda's population). The Batwa village was especially emotional - they live in abject poverty - but I will write more about it later. I must go to sleep after posting these pictures (I save my favorites online incase my computer dies or is stolen) because we leave early tomorrow morning to go see a Gacaca court (traditional court system where perpetrators of genocide are judged by their peers). And as soon as we get back from Gacaca, we take a bus to Lake Kivu where we will spend two nights.

First photo is of me on the mountain we had to climb to get to the Twa village. Second photo is of a boy at the play who was staring at Jesse's father. (Jesse is our program director and his father has a house in Rwanda and lives here part of the year). Not only was Jesse's dad a muzungu, but he's also pretty old, and to be perfectly honest, there just aren't a lot of old, white people in Africa.

It's a small world (and other stories)

I forgot to tell this story when it happened, but I suppose better late than never! During my first week in Kigali, some of the participants and I decided to grab lunch at a place called “Simba Café.” We had just sat down and were getting ready to order when three people entered the restaurant. I noticed two of the three were also Muzungu (white folk). And as I looked closer (as I always do when I pass another Muzungu), I started to think that one of the girls looked really familiar. And then it dawned on me – the girl walking toward me was none other than Laura Jordan; the ex senior chairwoman of the Richmond Rowdies (fan club for Richmond’s sports teams). She had graduated a year above me, but I knew her because of Rowdies and because she was friends with my friend Jessica Harkness. Actually, Jessica told me Laura was in Rwanda teaching English at a Missionary School, but I had no idea she was in Kigali. (Technically, Laura’s school is just outside of Kigali). Laura and I got to chat for a bit, I met her Rwandan boyfriend, and I may go and visit her school before I leave Rwanda. But seriously, how random is that??? She could have picked any café in Kigali… it really must be a small world.


Other possibly interesting bits of info:

Apparently, I’d make a great Rwandan wife because I’m ‘quiet’ and I ‘sip my wine slowly.’ One of the Rwandan delegates told me this a couple nights ago and I didn’t know whether to be freaked out or flattered. He’s now calling me several times a day… like some people have told me before, I'm too polite for my own good...

People here are very touchy feely. Guys that are friends will hug and do the kiss the cheek thing on a daily basis. There is also a ton of hand holding. And at first I was okay with it, but the other day, I got in one of my moods (sometimes I get cranky when people try to hug me) and may have offended one of the Rwandan delegates…

I ate an entire jar of Nutella in 24 hours… yeah I’m a little bit ashamed of that. I duno how it happened really – I went to the grocery store yesterday looking for some lunch and all I could come up with was 4 cucumbers, a box of “family crackers,” and a jar of Nutella (hazelnut/chocolate spread). Not only did the Nutella run out roughly 24 hrs later, but I also ate it all without a spoon. Valerie took a picture of me holding the empty jar. Impressive or disgusting? You decide.

Two of the eleven American delegates have decided to drop out of the program early, so we’re now down to nine…

First photo is me with my Certificate of Completion for the learning workshop (remember the 1st week here was the workshop and the 2nd and 3rd weeks are volunteering). And the second photo is of Valerie doing Yoga at St. Pauls (our home)!

Photos from Musanze

This photo is of children in Musanze... I thought it was a unique picture in that all of them are looking directly at the camera. I didn't even ask them to look, but they were all staring straight at me, so I whipped out my camera and took a shot.

This one was taken on the bus ride on the way to meet the Mayor of Musanze district.

Making Oogali and Host Family!

Just so you know, Oogali is made from corn flower and water and tastes a lot like playdough...

Video

Oh gosh, I don’t even know where to begin… so much has happened since I last wrote that it will be impossible to share all of it.

Musanze was amazing… such a beautiful country this is. We took a two hour bus ride up to the north-west corner of Rwanda through winding mountain roads. I was okay on the way there, but on the way home I did get very car sick. (That part was not fun). In Musanze, we interviewed community leaders about the land reform process and talked to individual families about their lives. It was one of the most interesting experiences of my life. We were invited to eat lunch at one of the family’s homes (meat, potatoes and peas with our hands); and then after lunch the members of the umdugudu (village) danced and sang for us.

The next day we went to Uyisenga Nimanzi Peace Village – a center that takes street kids off the street and gives them a place to sleep, eat, and learn. We had a tour of the village (two inactive volcanoes could be seen in the distance) and I bought some crafts that the kids had made. The best part of the day though was the traditional dancing! (See photos).

It’s hard to describe the emotions I feel here everyday. There seems to be all this positive energy in Rwanda (like the dancing was so beautiful I wanted to cry), but then you think about what happened in 1994, and about what it must have took (is taking) for these people to get back on their feet and go about their every day lives. And our Rwandan friends from our delegation are so friendly, it’s easy to forget that their histories hold so much tragedy. But then, something will happen that reminds you of the genocide and all the happy feelings just vanish. For example, Valerie told me that on the bus ride to Musanze, one of the Rwandan participants was showing her pictures on her cell phone. She was going through photos of her, her friends, and her little niece. And then, with no warning she flipped to a picture of two skeletons and said “these are my parent’s bones.”

Valerie and I discussed the experience and agreed that as an outsider, it’s very difficult to process this information. We’ve read so much about the country’s history, but reading something in a book is nothing compared with actually being here. But at the same time, we’ve been so busy, it’s been hard to think much about the negative. Since we’ve arrived in Rwanda, we’ve been go go go go… our schedule leaves very little room for free time. Then, something like this incident happens, and we remember why we chose to come here in the first place. But like I said before, our schedule hasn’t left a lot of room for personal reflection, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Life at the homestay has been wonderful. Another US participant – Chelsea – and I are staying with Zawadi, her Aunt and Uncle, and 6 of their 8 children. The food has been delicious. Last night we helped make cassava – a dish that is the staple in Congo. Actually the family spent many years in Congo and some of them told me they feel more Congolese than Rwandan. Everyone speaks perfect French, but Zawadi has asked me to only speak in English so that the family can practice – but I’ve been cheating a little bit.

Yesterday, July 4th, was National Liberation Day. It celebrates the time when RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) moved in from the north of the country to Kigali, overtook the government, and ended the genocide. My friend Kevin, a Rwandan delegation participant, happens to work in the Anti-Corruption Bureau of the government. I have a feeling he’s pretty high up on the ladder – whenever we go somewhere, he always sees someone who knows him. Anyway, Kevin ended up getting all the American participants and their Rwandan hosts VIP passes to the Liberation Day ceremony. So we woke up early yesterday morning to go to the Amohoro Stadium to see President Paul Kagame speak.

Chelsea and I had another adventure this morning when we went to church with our host family… but I don’t have time to write about that now!

Today is the last day of our conference; we visit the National Human Rights Commission tomorrow; and then start our volunteer placements on Tuesday.

Hope all is well in the States (or wherever this finds you).

Sarah

Photos of Kigali

Muraho! (Hello in Kinyarwandan)

Since I last wrote, the Human Right’s Conference has begun and all the American and Rwandan participants have been introduced. There are 28 of us all together… all the Rwandans are great; some of them speak French and some do not. (Many of them are actually Ugandan by birth and therefore speak great English, but not French).

Tomorrow we head off to Musanze – a village where the government has been practicing land reform. Land ownership has actually become one of Rwanda’s most pressing issues… it’s the most densely populated country in Africa and land scarcity is increasing and putting pressure on the population. We will be speaking with village officials as well as local families to find out whether land rights are being respected, and how the situation might be improved. We stay two days in Musanze and then come back to Kigali and head off to our homestays!

I’ll be living with a girl called Zawazi – she is actually working at my volunteer placement as well, so I have a good feeling we’ll become friends.

I also learned that another girl will be staying in Rwanda until July 28th, so I won’t be alone anymore.

That’s my update for now,

Cheers,

Sarah

*This is one of the photos I took on the bus from Kampala to Kigali - each time the bus stopped, a bunch of Ugandan men would run up to the windows selling grilled bananas and random meat on a stick...